The Secret in the Potato Peelings

The restaurant server introduced herself, brought water with lemon, and described the specials. Now it was time to order.

When it was my turn (I like to go last), I ordered the lamb. After scanning the menu, I always order lamb.

“You want your potatoes mashed, fries, or baked?” she asked.

“I love mashed potatoes,” I said. “But only if they’re real … not powdered. Could you tell me if …”

“I’m not supposed to tell you that,” she responded. “Rules.”

Instantly I felt challenged.

“Let’s you and me think about this,” I said. “What if we were all—and we actually could be—your very best friends. Then do you think you’d tell me if the potatoes are real or not?”

“Yeah, I probably would,” she said. “Hmmm … here’s what I’ll do for you. I’ll just whisper this once.” And she lowered her voice. “I’ve worked here for four years. I’ve never, ever, seen any potato peelings on the floor.”

I ordered the baked potato.

I noted this conversation in my journal the next morning. Something told me that it would be useful someday when, in a sermon or a piece like this one, I wanted to introduce some principle of spiritual life.

And so it was that the story came back to me this summer as I spent time studying the procedure by which Jesus chose 12 unexceptional men and turned them into history-changers.

I’ve known about Jesus’ disciples ever since I was about 3 years old and we were taught to sing (with motions) the little song, “I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men.” In the song the line is repeated a second time and finished off by the words, “If you follow me.” A great piece of hymnody written by Bach or somebody.

Almost 70 years later, I’m still romanced by the mentoring process that produced 11 apostolic champions. And let it be said once again: 11 out of 12 is not a bad discipling-average. I always feel better when I reflect on the initial bull-headedness, the contentiousness, the tendency toward the vindictive in the lives of the disciples. I say to myself, “Surely, you were never that bad.”

When I preached one day on the diversity of the disciples, someone said to me afterwards, “Don’t you imagine that, more than once, Jesus had to sleep between Simon the Zealot and Matthew the tax guy in order to keep them from killing one another?” As a long-time pastor, I could appreciate this possibility.

Here is where the potato story shows up. As I refreshed myself this summer with the almost-three-year story of the training of the twelve (A.R. Hay’s wonderful 19th-century book title), I came to a startling realization. Almost nowhere do you ever find the disciples doing anything that is commendable. Over and over again their conduct is, well, jerky. Unless you think that simply sticking in there is worthy of commendation. Then you’re probably one of those who gives a trophy to everyone on the team who even shows up.

The truth is that these spuds needed a lot of peeling.

Take a look at their record. They dared to instruct Jesus when they felt his teaching about dying was off the wall. They kept trying to keep people (children, disabled people, women) from getting near the Lord if they didn’t think they were worthy. They nearly lost it in the Galilean storm and turned on him as if he were to blame. They promised to stick with Jesus through thick or thin, and then ran at the first sign of provocation. From time to time they revealed an instinct for meanness such as the day they proposed prayer (prayer of all things!) to send fire down on an inhospitable Samaritan village. In their original condition, these are not guys with whom I’d care to spend an evening at Fenway Park.

Still, Jesus stuck with them working in their lives not unlike the peeler of potatoes. He skinned them, cut out the “eyes” and did away with the parts that were spoiled. And when he was finished, there were peelings all over the floor.

The “peeling” process was consistent, sometimes painful, full of tough love.

He peeled by setting an example in the little and the large things of life. Every aspect of his life became open, “copyable” for them.

Abraham Joshua Heshel once wrote that what the world needs is not text-books as much as it needs text-people. This seems a very Jewish idea: that we learn the most from following the mentor or rabbi and replicating his or her life. Unfortunately, most churches today are structured and program-prioritized so that this is close to impossible.

The Lord peeled away at the disciples by challenging them and holding them accountable to obedience. I hear him saying, “Don’t tell me that you love me … those are just words. If you love me, keep my commandments.” In other words, insert into real time living what you’ve heard in my gospel.

Jesus never protected the disciples from failure. He was no “helicopter mentor,” to borrow a rather recent term. If the 12 chose to make fools of themselves, Jesus mostly let them do it. If they thought they had a better idea, the Lord seemed to say, see if it flies. And failure became a great tool in the hands of the “peeler” as long as he could engage in what my military friends call an after-action review, a time of reflection as to what went wrong and how it could be done better the next time. Usually, this resulted in more peelings on the floor.

Not a small part of the ongoing dialogue between the Lord and his disciples consisted of questions that went both ways: Jesus to the 12 and the 12 to Jesus. More and more I have come to believe that the quality of any relationship depends on the quality of questions. And when you get a group of question-askers together, watch out! There’s going to be some fresh thinking and change, usually for the better. Which leads me to ask: why do so few people know how to ask questions? Questions produce more peelings on the floor.

Suffering had a lot to do with the formation of the disciples. One almost becomes tempted to say, If there is no suffering, there probably will not be any growth worth talking about. The Lord taught the disciples in the midst of human suffering. There was no withdrawal into protected campuses or church properties where the real world and its pain was a distance away. The Lord never protected the disciples (and later as apostles) from suffering themselves. And, of course, the Lord himself did not avoid his own suffering—whether physical suffering, social suffering, or any other kind. It was clear: there would always be moments that one would rather have avoided. But in such moments the disciples learned lessons that would remain with them for the rest of life. Still more peelings on the floor.

Let’s add that the peeling of the disciples also involved teaching them how to seize opportunities where the power of God was necessary if anything good was to happen. Feeding hungry people, healing a deranged child, even raising a man from the dead. In each of these experiences, Jesus taught his followers to seize the opportunity that was right in front of them. And that meant being prepared, being bold, taking risks. Not being fearful about dying: that sort of thing.

The men we see in the book of Acts seem light years away from the men we first met in the Gospels. What happened?

Simple. Jesus worked them over like one who peels potatoes. Nothing “powdery” about the Twelve after they grew up. But if you look around them, you’ll see peelings all over the floor.

Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership Journal and chancellor of Denver Seminary. He lives with his wife, Gail, in New Hampshire.