April — The Art of Becoming
Day 114 — 24 April
Sent
“And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits.” — Mark 6:7 (ESV)
What changes when you realise that the art of becoming is something you were commissioned to practise rather than something you invented on your own?
There is a difference, and it reaches deeper than most people initially perceive, between a person who decides to engage with the world on their own initiative and a person who understands that their engagement flows from a sending that preceded their decision, a commissioning that carries with it an authority they did not generate and a purpose they did not design. The first person carries good intentions. The second carries a mandate, and that mandate changes everything about how they enter a room, sustain their presence within it, and persevere when the room proves more difficult than they expected.
The Verb That Changed Twelve Ordinary Men
Mark’s account of the sending of the Twelve is deliberately structured to communicate something that transforms the art of becoming from personal ambition into divine vocation. The Greek verb ἀποστέλλω (apostellō, meaning “to send out,” “to commission,” or “to dispatch with authority”) is the root from which the English word “apostle” derives, and its meaning extends far beyond the simple act of sending someone on an errand. In first-century usage, ἀποστέλλω (apostellō, “to send with authority”) described the commissioning of an envoy who carried the full authority of the person who sent them, whose words bore the weight of the sender’s reputation, and whose actions were understood to represent the sender’s intentions as faithfully as if the sender were personally present.
When Mark tells us that Jesus ἀποστέλλω (apostellō, “sent out”) the Twelve, he is telling us that these twelve ordinary men, fishermen, tax collectors, political zealots, people whose qualifications for the task were invisible to everyone except the One who chose them, were now operating under a commission that carried the authority of the One who issued it. Their words would be received as His words. Their presence in a village would carry the weight of His presence. Their engagement with the sick, the oppressed, and the spiritually hungry would be understood as an extension of His own ministry, because the verb ἀποστέλλω (apostellō, “to send with authority”) transferred the sender’s authority to the one who was sent.
Mark adds two further details that enrich the picture significantly. The first is the phrase δύο δύο (duo duo, meaning “two by two” or “in pairs”), which tells us that becoming was never designed to be practised in isolation, that the art we have been exploring across this entire month is inherently communal, requiring companionship, mutual accountability, and the kind of shared presence that protects both the sender’s message and the messenger’s integrity. The second is the word ἐξουσία (exousia, meaning “authority,” “power,” or “the right to act”) which Jesus gave to the Twelve alongside the commission, telling us that the art of becoming is sustained by a resource that originates beyond the person who practises it.
Representing Someone Larger Than Yourself
Think of the colleague in your workplace who has been chosen to represent their team at a critical meeting with senior leadership, a meeting in which the team’s work, its values, its priorities, and its vision will be communicated through the voice of a single individual. The colleague walks into that room carrying more than their own opinions, because every word they speak will be heard as the team’s word, every impression they create will shape how the entire team is perceived, and every commitment they make will bind the people who sent them to a course of action they may never have chosen on their own.
This changes how the representative speaks. They choose their words with greater care, because the words belong to more than themselves. They listen with greater attention, because the questions they hear may affect people who are absent from the room. They carry themselves with a particular kind of confidence that combines personal humility with delegated authority, a confidence that says: I am here because I was sent, and the people who sent me trust me to represent them faithfully.
This is the posture of sent becoming, and it is the posture that sustains the art through its most demanding seasons, because the person who knows they were sent carries a resilience that self-appointed engagement cannot replicate. When the room turns hostile, the self-appointed person wonders whether they chose the wrong room and considers leaving. The sent person remains, because the commission that placed them there is stronger than the resistance they encounter within it. When the cost of engagement exceeds what they anticipated, the self-appointed person recalculates the investment and considers withdrawing. The sent person absorbs the cost, because the authority behind their sending is sufficient to sustain whatever the room demands.
The Teaching That Follows the Sending
Mark tells us in the verses that follow that the Twelve went out and proclaimed that people should repent, and their message was received with a force that their personal credentials could never have generated on their own. The Greek noun διδαχή (didachē, meaning “teaching,” “instruction,” or “doctrine”) that appears later in Mark’s Gospel to describe the impact of Jesus’ words (Mark 1:22, 1:27) is the same quality that attended the disciples’ own ministry, because the ἐξουσία (exousia, “authority”) they carried was delegated from the same source.
This is the truth that elevates the art of becoming from admirable personal practice to participation in something infinitely larger than yourself. When you enter a room as someone who has been sent, you carry within you the ἐξουσία (exousia, “authority”) of the One whose commission rests upon you, and that authority sustains your words, undergirds your presence, and provides a foundation for your engagement that your own resources could never supply.
Every dimension of becoming we have explored across this month finds its ultimate grounding here. You were given settled identity so that you could be sent. You were equipped with initiative so that you could move where the sending directs you. You were taught to descend, to observe, to feel, to speak the language, to serve with your hands, to guard the treasure, to count the cost, to trust the timeline, to sustain the weary, and to grow perpetually, all because the One who sent you knew that the rooms you would enter would require every one of these capacities, and He equipped you for each of them before you arrived.
You are an ἀπόστολος (apostolos, meaning “one who is sent,” “a commissioned representative,” or “an envoy”), carrying the ἐξουσία (exousia, “authority”) of the One who sent you into every conversation, every relationship, and every act of becoming you will ever perform. You were chosen for this, equipped for this, and commissioned for this. And the sending itself is the deepest source of confidence the art of becoming will ever provide.
Declaration
I am sent. The art of becoming that I carry is sustained by a commission that originated beyond myself, and the ἐξουσία (exousia, “authority”) I bear in every room I enter belongs to the One who sent me rather than to anything I generated on my own. I represent something larger than myself in every conversation I begin, every relationship I invest in, and every act of service I perform, and I carry that representation with the particular confidence of someone who knows that the sending preceded the going, and the equipping preceded the sending. I walk in the strength of delegated authority, the companionship of those who walk alongside me δύο δύο (duo duo, “two by two”), and the assurance that the God whose commission rests upon me is the same God whose presence fills every room I enter. I am chosen, equipped, and sent. Today, I go where the sending directs me, and I trust that the authority I carry is sufficient for whatever the room requires.
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