Wanderings: Covered in the Wrong Dust

I’ve been on some lonely trails lately. One of the gifts of a trail like this is the chance to think and pray without interruption. This week, as I’ve been wandering, I’ve been thinking about discipleship—and dust.

There’s a beautiful Hebrew phrase from the Mishnah:

“Let your house be a meeting place for the sages, and cover yourself in the dust of their feet.” — Pirkei Avot 1:4

In other words, walk so closely behind your teacher that the dust from their sandals settles on you. That’s what it meant to be a disciple in the time of Jesus. It wasn’t just about learning information. It was about staying in step, adopting their pace, absorbing their way of life.

But somewhere along the way, something changed.

🧾 When the Dust Settled in the Classroom

As the movement of Jesus spread beyond its Jewish roots, it began drawing people from every corner of the world—people with no memory of Abraham or Moses, no context for the stories that shaped the early disciples. The church had to find ways to help these new believers walk in the Way.

One of the first answers was the catechumenate—a guided pathway for new Christians. It was wise, really. People needed to know the story, to learn what this new life was all about. They needed anchors. A rhythm. A starting point.

But slowly, almost imperceptibly, something began to shift. Discipleship—which had always been about staying close, covered in the Rabbi’s dust—started leaning more toward passing on ideas about Him, rather than walking with Him.

Over time, the catechism emerged—structured questions and memorized answers meant to teach the faith. Again, not a bad thing. But formation began to drift from relationship to recitation. From proximity to proficiency. From dust on your sandals to ink on your study guide.

Today, that shift still shapes how many churches do discipleship.

We’ve traded dust for data.
We’ve exchanged closeness for curriculum.
We’ve replaced proximity with printable outlines.

You show up. Fill in the blanks. Sit through six sessions. Take notes. Go home.

Some churches even turned discipleship into a kind of game. One of the most famous models calls it “running the bases.” You hit first with a class, round second with a small group, slide into third with a ministry team—and if you make it home, you’re told you’ve arrived. You’ve done it. You’re a disciple. Thousands of churches followed suit.

But Jesus never set up bases.
He just said, “Follow me.”
Not to a finish line.
But into a life.

And maybe you’ve learned something helpful. But did you get any dust on you? Did you walk closer with Jesus—or just attend a class about him?

In 2002, a study out of England looked at people who had left the church. Many had gone through multiple programs. They had been faithful in Bible studies, discipleship classes, small groups, and volunteer roles. But when asked why they left, they said: “We jumped through every hoop the church gave us—and nothing in our lives really changed.”

Their marriages were still struggling. Their habits weren’t different. They weren’t more whole. The conclusion was clear:

They had received information—but not transformation.
They had been taught content—but not drawn into proximity.

Even well-meaning strategies often miss this. Because you can pass every Bible study and still not look any more like Jesus.

📺 When the Dust of Culture Clouds Our View

At the same time the church was sanitizing discipleship into curriculum, culture was rewriting what truth even meant.

Here’s a trail of breadcrumbs to help understand what happened:

In the 1980s and beyond, postmodernism began to take hold in Western thought. It pushed back on the idea of absolute truth, especially the kind claimed by science and religion. Instead of truth being “out there,” objective and universal, postmodernism said: truth is “in here”—what feels true to me.

At first, that seemed freeing. We could each follow our own truth and just agree to respect one another’s differences. It was polite. Tolerant. Kind, even.

But it didn’t last. Because if everyone has their own truth, how do we live together? What happens when our truths clash?

That’s when a new wave rolled in—illiberalism. No longer saying “you do you,” it said: “This is the truth. And if you disagree, you’re not just wrong—you’re dangerous.”

Truth was no longer debated. It was dictated.

And like a cloud of kicked-up dust, it began to settle on us:

“The dust of my truth got all over you—and you didn’t even notice.”

We started calling coercion freedom.
We rebranded compromise as compassion.
We baptized censorship as safety.

And we’re still disoriented. Still dizzy. Still divided.

Because the dust we’re walking through isn’t from Jesus.

🚤 So Where Are We Now?

We’ve lost the dust of the Rabbi in the Church.
We’ve picked up the dust of the workbook.
We’ve swallowed the dust of culture.

And many are quietly wondering: Is this it? Is this what following Jesus looks like?

I don’t think it has to be.

We can learn again to walk closely. To move with Jesus, not just memorize him. To let his dust get on our shoes, our hands, our lives.

“Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you… When you’re joined with me and I with you, the relationship is intimate and organic…” — John 15:4–5 (The Message)

That’s what discipleship is meant to be: intimate, organic, lived.

Not theory. Not content. Not a 6-week series.

A way of walking.
A relationship of trust.
A life of proximity.

So, whose dust is on you today?

✨ A Final Word

There are good ways to disciple people—ways that create nearness and not just knowledge. But that’s for another post.

Today, I just want to leave you with this:

Everyone is being discipled by someone—or something.
And the dust always tells the story.

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Each week at The Compass, we’re exploring what it means to walk more closely with Christ in a noisy, confusing world.

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📣 Share This Post

If this post stirred something in you—if you felt the dust and the ache—would you share it with someone who’s also longing for the real thing?
A friend. A small group. A pastor. A daughter or son.

Truth shared in love can start holy conversations.

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Let’s walk in the dust of the Rabbi—together.

🙏 A Simple Blessing

May you feel the dust of Jesus on your life again.
Not just in theory, but in the closeness of daily presence.
May you walk with Him, not just talk about Him.
And may His truth—steady, loving, and real—be the dust that marks your soul.

Gratefully,

Gene