The first time I met him, he looked more like a homeless man than my junior high camp counselor. Barefoot and smelling of cigarettes, he wore an old white t-shirt and dirty jeans. I don’t think I ever saw him in anything else. He was a poet, prophet, saint, sinner, and the nearest thing to Jesus I’ve ever met. His name was Rich Mullins, and “to meet him once was to be in his life forever.
Twenty years ago this week, Rich died in a tragic car accident, but his legacy lives on in those of us lucky enough to have known him. Like a seed that falls to the ground and dies, Rich’s life continues to bear fruit. In fact, he’s the reason I’m still a Christian today. As a 14-year-old kid, I longed for someone to just be honest with me about faith, life, doubt, and brokenness. Rich was, and it was captivating. He never wore a mask, never postured, never pretended: “The power of Rich Mullins’ life lay in the power of his brokenness and unblinking honesty.”
As you disciple the next generation, resist the temptation to fool your students into believing you’ve got it all together—they won’t be able to identify with that anyway. Instead, give them your whole self, warts and all. Rich changed the trajectory of my life because he had the audacity to believe in the unconditional love of God, giving him the courage to be vulnerable. As one of his pupils said, “I have sung his songs and read his writings and stood at his grave and am convinced that in his barefoot, quirky, grace-filled wake he left a pair of shoes that no one will ever fill.” May it also be said of us.
Gary Alan
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