Key Takeaways
You're already someone's disciple; the only question is whose
Nobody is truly self-made. Comer opens by dismantling the myth of the rugged individual. Slogans like "be true to yourself" and "speak your truth" feel liberating, but they mask how thoroughly we are being shaped by forces with agendas: advertisers, algorithms, influencers, political tribes. Tech philosopher Jaron Lanier calls modern advertising "continuous behavior modification on a titanic scale." To be human is to be formed by something.
So the real question shifts. Not "Am I a disciple?" but "Who or what am I a disciple of?" Not "Am I being formed?" but "Into whom?" If you are not intentionally being shaped by Jesus, you are being unintentionally shaped by whatever captures your attention. Comer argues Jesus has no rival as a teacher of how to actually live.
This reframing echoes James K. A. Smith's cultural liturgies and David Foster Wallace's Kenyon speech: everybody worships something, the only choice is what. It also lands amid mounting evidence on algorithmic influence, from documented social media effects on adolescent anxiety to persuasive-design research. Comer's move is rhetorically shrewd: he disarms the reader's reflexive autonomy before making any religious claim. A skeptic might counter that swapping one formative authority for another is not obviously freedom. Comer's answer is that conscious, chosen formation beats invisible manipulation, which is a defensible position whether or not one accepts his specific candidate.
Trade "Christian" for "apprentice" and everything changes
Discipleship means apprenticeship, not membership. The New Testament calls Jesus "rabbi" repeatedly, and first-century rabbis trained talmidim (apprentices) around three goals: be with the rabbi, become like the rabbi, and do what the rabbi did. Class was not a lecture hall; it was life lived shoulder to shoulder until you were "covered in the dust" of your teacher. Comer notes "disciple" appears 269 times in the New Testament, "Christian" only 3.
Disciple is a noun, not a verb. You cannot be "discipled" by a pastor any more than you can be "Christian-ed." It is an identity you choose, not a service done to you. Comer cites surveys suggesting 63% of Americans call themselves Christian while roughly 4% actually order their lives around following Jesus. He proposes distinguishing Christians from practicing Christians.
The apprenticeship frame recovers something the Enlightenment flattened: knowledge as embodied craft rather than downloaded data. It resonates with cognitive science on skill acquisition (Dreyfus's stages of expertise) and with the medieval guild model, where mastery came through imitation and repetition, not testing. The 4% figure is provocative but methodologically slippery, since measuring interior devotion via survey is notoriously unreliable. Still, the noun-versus-verb distinction is genuinely clarifying. It relocates responsibility from institutions to the individual, which is both empowering and, some pastors might argue, potentially isolating if it downplays the church's formative role that Comer himself insists on elsewhere.
Salvation is getting heaven into you, not you into heaven
The reduced gospel produces reduced disciples. Comer critiques a common presentation: you are a sinner, God loves you, Jesus died, believe and go to heaven when you die. Everything in it is biblical, he says, yet it creates "salvation by minimum entrance requirements" with no call to actually follow Jesus now. It makes discipleship an optional second track.
Jesus preached a different headline. His gospel was that the kingdom of God has arrived and is available to everyone right now. Salvation is less transaction, more transformation: union with God, healing of the soul, becoming a person pervaded by love. Comer even notes the Greek sozo means both "saved" and "healed," blurring the line intentionally. His acid test for any gospel: would hearing it make apprenticeship to Jesus the obvious response?
Comer stands in a lineage running through Dallas Willard's "gospel of sin management" critique and N. T. Wright's kingdom theology, which recovered first-century Jewish eschatology against a privatized, afterlife-focused evangelicalism. The healing framing (sozo) connects intriguingly to Eastern Orthodox theosis, where salvation is participation in the divine nature rather than mere legal acquittal. A fair challenge: Protestant readers may worry this blurs justification into sanctification and risks works-righteousness. Comer preempts this with the maxim "grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning." The distinction is theologically old (Augustine, Aquinas) but bears repeating in a culture that hears any "do" as legalism.
Abiding is a skill you practice, not a mood you wait for
Everyone abides in something. Goal one is being with Jesus, which Jesus called "abiding" (Greek meno: remain, make your home in). The question is not whether you have an emotional home but where it is. Root yourself in the infinite scroll and you grow anxious and distracted; root yourself in God's love and you grow the fruit of the Spirit. Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century monastery dishwasher, called this "the practice of the presence of God," claiming he felt as close to God amid clattering pots as kneeling at the altar.
The mind can be retrained. Comer marries ancient contemplation with neuroplasticity: Hebb's rule ("neurons that fire together wire together") confirms what Tozer intuited. Through repeated gentle redirection, the mind returns to God "like the needle of a compass constantly returns to the north." It grows easier with practice.
The convergence Comer draws between contemplative tradition and neuroscience is well supported. Studies on long-term meditators (Richard Davidson's work at Wisconsin) show measurable structural brain changes, and attention itself is trainable. His distinction between contemplative prayer and mindfulness is sharp and useful: Buddhist practice aims to empty the self, Christian contemplation empties in order to be filled by a personal Other. This matters because the wellness industry often markets decontextualized mindfulness as spiritually neutral. One tension worth naming: framing prayer as a trainable skill risks the very instrumentalization Comer warns against, turning communion into technique. He seems aware, insisting the reward for following Jesus is Jesus himself.
Ruthlessly eliminate hurry or your soul stays shallow
Hurry is the enemy of formation. Comer relays Dallas Willard's counsel that hurry must be ruthlessly eliminated because it is "the great enemy of spiritual life." Apprenticeship is not addition but subtraction: not habit-stacking Jesus onto an overloaded calendar, but doing less. A psychologist advising Comer's church warned the number one obstacle would be time, since most people are too busy to live emotionally healthy, spiritually vibrant lives.
Retreat and return was Jesus's rhythm. The Gospels show Jesus repeatedly withdrawing to the eremos (solitary place) to pray, then returning to heal and teach, like breathing in and out. Comer prescribes finding your own "secret place," a diversion-free spot, and going there daily. Every yes to Jesus is, in Ronald Rolheiser's phrase, a thousand renunciations. Comer quit his job twice to live slower.
This is the throughline from Comer's earlier bestseller on hurry, and it dovetails with a robust literature on attention scarcity: Johann Hari's reporting on stolen focus, Cal Newport's deep work, and research linking chronic time-pressure to elevated cortisol and impaired empathy. The counterintuitive claim, that spiritual growth requires doing less, cuts against both hustle culture and activist Christianity. A reasonable pushback: subtraction is a luxury unevenly distributed. Single parents, shift workers, and caregivers cannot simply cancel obligations. Comer partially concedes this by scaling practices to seasons of life, but the "quit your job" example reveals a certain class position that not every reader shares.
There are no accidental saints, and no blank slates either
Christlikeness is possible but never automatic. Nobody drifts into holiness by age fifty. Comer observes that most people over eighty are either the most gracious or the most bitter people you know, because they have spent a lifetime being formed. Meanwhile, the elderly reveal what the young mostly hide: character is cumulative. Formation happens to everyone; formation into love must be chosen.
You have already been shaped by three forces:
1. The stories you believe (your mental maps of the good life)
2. Your habits (what you repeatedly do, you become)
3. Your relationships (you become like those you love)
Because powerful cultural machinery is actively deforming you, Comer argues all Christian formation is counter-formation. Paul's command in Romans 12 offers only two options: be conformed to the world or be transformed. There is no neutral, no option C.
The "no blank slate" claim aligns with behavioral genetics and developmental psychology: temperament, attachment style, and early environment shape us long before conscious choice. Comer's three formative forces map neatly onto Charles Taylor's social imaginaries, Charles Duhigg's habit loops, and social contagion research (Christakis and Fowler showed behaviors like obesity and happiness spread through networks). The elderly-people observation is folk wisdom but rings true and echoes Erikson's final stage of integrity versus despair. The strongest move here is "counter-formation," which reframes spiritual discipline not as pious extra credit but as resistance against defaults. It answers the passive Christian who wonders why nothing changes: neutrality was never available.
Willpower, Bible knowledge, and waiting for a zap all fail
Three popular strategies underdeliver. Comer names them from twenty years of pastoring:
1. Willpower: a finite resource, exhausted by noon, easily beaten by ingrained habits, trauma, and addiction. Roughly 80% of New Year's resolutions collapse by February.
2. More Bible study: information does not equal transformation. Every Christian knows God calls them to be generous and unafraid, yet knowing is not doing or becoming.
3. The zap from heaven: waiting for an instant download of holiness, which Comer calls the Matrix theory. Jesus healed bodies instantly but never once waved away a disciple's bad character.
Change works differently. You cannot think your way to Christlikeness, because love is embodied, more like learning jiujitsu than chemistry. Genuine transformation requires facing sin honestly (confession, like AA's radical honesty) and recognizing you have already been deeply formed.
The critique of willpower is backed by ego-depletion debates in psychology; even as the original Baumeister findings face replication scrutiny, the practical point holds that self-control alone rarely defeats entrenched patterns. The information-does-not-equal-transformation insight is the book's most damning indictment of intellectualized Western Christianity, and it parallels the knowing-doing gap studied in organizational behavior. Comer's AA comparison is astute: the twelve-step program's blend of confession, surrender to a higher power, and tight community outperforms willpower precisely because it stops relying on it. The embodiment claim (jiujitsu over chemistry) draws on 4E cognition research suggesting the mind is enacted through the body, not housed in a brain on legs.
Transformation runs through six ingredients, not a life hack
Comer's working theory of change counters the three deforming forces with a synthesis of Scripture, psychology, and neurobiology. Counter the false stories with teaching (truth that rewires your mental maps), counter bad habits with the practices (spiritual disciplines that re-habituate the body), and add community, since you cannot follow Jesus alone. Then three catalysts: the Holy Spirit (the actual power source, doing the heavy lifting), time (a long obedience, sometimes decades; his wife estimated his anxiety would ease in his sixties), and suffering (the crucible that forges souls when opened to God).
Marathon, not magic. You do not run 26.2 miles by trying hard; you train one mile at a time until you become the kind of person who can. Training, not trying. Yet Comer insists you are not in control, which is terrible and wonderful news: you cannot self-save, and you do not have to.
The training-versus-trying distinction, borrowed from Willard, is the practical heart of the book and mirrors deliberate-practice research (Ericsson): expertise comes from structured, effortful repetition, not raw effort or talent. Framing suffering as formative aligns with post-traumatic growth literature (Tedeschi and Calhoun), which documents that adversity, when meaningfully integrated, can deepen resilience and relationships. The insistence that God does the heavy lifting while we make ourselves available echoes Augustine's synergism ("without God we cannot, without us God will not"). The honest weakness Comer names, that timelines stretch to decades, is countercultural and commercially risky in a self-help market promising fast results, which lends it credibility.
Jesus won people over dinner tables, not with bullhorns
Hospitality is the first rhythm of doing as Jesus did. Goal three is carrying on Jesus's work, and Comer categorizes it into making space for, preaching, and demonstrating the gospel. The first is hospitality: philoxenia, literally love of the stranger, the opposite of xenophobia. Jesus "came eating and drinking," scandalizing critics by sharing meals with tax collectors and outcasts. One scholar quipped Jesus got himself crucified by the way he ate. Meals were boundary markers; Jesus turned them into invitations.
Witness, not salesmanship. Comer notes 96% of millennial Christians say sharing faith matters, yet 47% think it wrong to try to change someone's beliefs. His fix: everyone is already preaching some gospel (wellness, politics, capitalism). Apprentices simply bear witness through hospitality, joining where God is already working, living a beautiful life, and meeting people in their pain amid an epidemic of loneliness.
The hospitality frame is anthropologically grounded: Mary Douglas showed meals encode social boundaries, and commensality research confirms shared eating builds trust and cooperation across cultures. Comer's reframing of evangelism away from confrontation toward embodied welcome responds shrewdly to post-Christian hostility, and it aligns with sociologist Robert Putnam's findings that face-to-face relational networks, not broadcast messaging, drive belief change. The "everyone preaches a gospel" argument neatly exposes the incoherence of the neutral secular stance. One limitation: hospitality can quietly become a soft-sell technique, instrumentalizing friendship for conversion, which would corrode the very trust it builds. The healthiest reading keeps welcome unconditional, with witness as overflow rather than agenda.
You already have a Rule of Life; the question is whether it works
A Rule of Life is a trellis for the vine. The Latin regula meant a support structure in a vineyard, lifting the plant toward light so it bears fruit. A Rule is a schedule, set of practices, and relational rhythms that create space to be with, become like, and do as Jesus did. Comer stresses it is rule (singular, a guiding structure) not rules (a legalist checklist). You already have one in your morning routine, budget, and habits; the only question is whether it is giving you the life you want.
A good Rule does four things: turns vision into reality, brings peace by aligning schedule with values, sets a sustainable pace between burnout and sloth, and balances freedom with discipline. Comer's own includes odd anti-habits: his phone "goes to bed" at 8:30, a full digital Sabbath, and media capped at four hours weekly.
The trellis metaphor elegantly solves the freedom-versus-structure tension that trips up modern spirituality. Behavioral science backs it: BJ Fogg's tiny habits and James Clear's environment design both show that sustainable change comes from architecture, not motivation. Comer's decision-making upgrade, from "is this sinful?" to "does this move me toward Jesus or away?", is a subtle but powerful shift from a prohibition ethic to a formation ethic, echoing virtue theory's focus on telos over rules. His phone-parenting anti-habits are the most immediately actionable content, and they concede something honest: even a pastor needs guardrails against attention-capture technology deliberately engineered to be addictive. The Rule democratizes monastic wisdom for laypeople.
Nine practices form the time-tested trellis of apprenticeship
Comer's recommended nine core practices, drawn from Jesus's own lifestyle, are habits that create space for the Spirit to transform you. They are means, not merit, and love (not discipline) remains the true metric of maturity:
1. Sabbath (a full day to stop, rest, delight, worship)
2. Solitude (silence, the eremos, foundational to all the rest)
3. Prayer (talking to, with, listening to, and being with God)
4. Fasting (praying with the body, the most neglected discipline)
5. Scripture (renewing the mind toward the mind of Christ)
6. Community (we sin alone but heal together)
7. Generosity (participating in God's self-giving outflow)
8. Service (foot-washing that frees the server from ego)
9. Witness (hospitality in a culture of hostility)
A discipline is any activity you can do by direct effort that enables what you currently cannot do by direct effort. Like basketball drills producing a player, practices produce a person of love.
This list synthesizes Richard Foster's Celebration of Discipline and Willard's Spirit of the Disciplines, curated for a smartphone age. Two features distinguish it. First, the insistence that discipline is not the barometer of maturity (love is) guards against the Pharisaism that plagues rigorous spirituality, a psychologically shrewd caveat given how easily practices become performance. Second, the balanced-quadrant design (alone versus community, abstinence versus engagement) prevents the introvert-friendly reduction of spirituality to private quiet time. The definition of discipline borrowed from Willard is genuinely portable to any domain, from athletics to music to sobriety. The main risk, which Comer names, is treating the trellis as the fruit, mistaking the scaffolding for the building.
Count the cost of NOT following Jesus, then begin again
Weigh both ledgers. Comer insists there is a cost of discipleship (leaving something behind, dying to self-will, which Bonhoeffer summarized as Christ bidding a man come and die) but also a steeper cost of non-discipleship: missing life with God, freedom from sin, and the peace you were made for. Jesus's paradox is that whoever tries to save their life loses it. The man who finds treasure in a field and sells everything to buy it is not heroic, just doing the math. As Jim Elliot wrote, no fool gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.
Then, the whole path in three words. A monk, asked what they do in the monastery, replied: "We fall and get up, fall and get up, fall and get up again." You will fail hourly at first. That does not make you a bad apprentice; it makes you human. Repent without shame, fall back on mercy, begin again.
The cost-benefit framing is rhetorically clever, borrowing the language of rational self-interest to sell radical surrender, and it echoes Pascal's wager recast as a formation calculus rather than a bet on the afterlife. The "begin again" ethic is where the book is most pastorally generous, and it aligns with self-compassion research (Kristin Neff), which finds that shame-free self-forgiveness predicts behavior change far better than harsh self-criticism, which tends to trigger the very failures it condemns. The Elliot quote reframes sacrifice as shrewd investment, defusing the martyrdom anxiety the cross-language provokes. What lingers is the anti-perfectionism: a spirituality built on repetition and recovery, not flawless performance, is both more humane and more sustainable than most striving.
Analysis
Practicing the Way is a thesis-driven work of Christian spiritual formation that repackages Dallas Willard's discipleship theology for a post-Christian, smartphone-saturated audience. Comer's structural spine is the first-century rabbinic apprenticeship model condensed into three goals: be with Jesus, become like him, do as he did, capped by a practical framework (a Rule of Life with nine practices). The book's genius is less originality than synthesis and accessibility. Comer functions as a translator, distilling Willard, Foster, Nouwen, and the desert fathers into prose that a distracted millennial can absorb.
The strongest intellectual move is diagnostic: reframing formation as inevitable rather than optional. By arguing that everyone is already being discipled by something, Comer sidesteps the defensiveness of a secular reader and repositions Christianity as one deliberate option among many unconscious ones. This is culturally shrewd and philosophically defensible, resonating with Charles Taylor's account of the buffered self and James K. A. Smith's cultural liturgies.
The book's most valuable practical contribution is the training-versus-trying distinction and the insistence that information does not produce transformation. This indicts a data-obsessed evangelicalism that mistook Bible knowledge for maturity, and it aligns with deliberate-practice and embodied-cognition research.
The limitations are worth naming. The prescription to eliminate hurry and do less carries an unacknowledged class assumption; margin is unevenly available. The 4% apprentice statistic is rhetorically potent but methodologically thin. And the individualized Rule of Life, despite Comer's communal caveats, risks the boutique-spirituality consumerism he critiques.
Still, the work succeeds on its own terms. It offers not inspiration but architecture, a concrete pathway rather than vague encouragement. Its honesty about decade-long timelines, inevitable failure, and the necessity of grace over effort lends it a credibility that faster-promising self-help lacks. For its intended reader, it is a genuinely useful map.
Review Summary
Practicing the Way receives high praise for its accessible approach to spiritual formation and discipleship. Readers appreciate Comer's synthesis of theological concepts, practical advice, and personal narratives. Many find the book inspiring and transformative, highlighting its emphasis on becoming like Jesus through intentional practices. Some reviewers note repetition from Comer's previous works, while a few express concerns about theological nuances. Overall, the book is widely recommended for Christians seeking to deepen their faith and live more intentionally as apprentices of Jesus.
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FAQ
What's "Practicing the Way" by John Mark Comer about?
- Core Focus: The book explores Christian discipleship as a journey of becoming an apprentice of Jesus, focusing on being with Him, becoming like Him, and doing as He did.
- Practical Approach: It emphasizes organizing one's life around Jesus through daily practices, routines, and study to embody His teachings in contemporary culture.
- Author's Experience: John Mark Comer shares insights from his own life as a pastor and apprentice, offering guidance for readers to deepen their spiritual journey.
- Invitation to Transformation: The book invites readers to a life of intentional spiritual formation, aiming to transform individuals into people who reflect Jesus in today's world.
Why should I read "Practicing the Way"?
- Guidance for Spiritual Growth: It provides a structured approach to deepening one's relationship with Jesus and living out His teachings.
- Practical Application: The book offers actionable steps and practices that can be integrated into daily life, making spiritual growth accessible and achievable.
- Cultural Relevance: Comer addresses the challenges of modern life, such as hurry and distraction, and offers solutions grounded in ancient Christian practices.
- Inspiration and Encouragement: Through personal stories and biblical insights, the book inspires readers to pursue a life of purpose and transformation.
What are the key takeaways of "Practicing the Way"?
- Apprenticeship to Jesus: The essence of discipleship is to be with Jesus, become like Him, and do as He did, requiring intentional life organization.
- Rule of Life: A structured plan, or Rule of Life, is essential for spiritual growth, helping individuals align their daily habits with their deepest desires.
- Counter-Formation: Spiritual formation involves countering cultural influences with practices that foster transformation into Christlikeness.
- Community and Practice: Engaging in community and practicing spiritual disciplines are vital for sustaining growth and embodying Jesus' teachings.
How does John Mark Comer define "Apprenticeship to Jesus"?
- Three Goals: Apprenticeship involves three main goals: being with Jesus, becoming like Him, and doing as He did.
- Whole-Life Process: It is a lifelong journey that requires organizing one's entire life around these goals, integrating them into daily routines and decisions.
- Intentional Formation: The process is intentional and requires a commitment to spiritual practices that open individuals to God's transformative power.
- Beyond Conversion: Comer emphasizes that Jesus' call is not just to convert but to apprentice under Him, leading to a transformed life.
What is a "Rule of Life" according to "Practicing the Way"?
- Definition: A Rule of Life is a schedule and set of practices that create space for spiritual growth, helping individuals be with Jesus, become like Him, and do as He did.
- Support Structure: It acts as a trellis, supporting spiritual growth by providing structure and guidance for daily living.
- Personalized Plan: Each person's Rule of Life should be tailored to their unique circumstances, personality, and stage of life.
- Dynamic and Flexible: It is not rigid but adaptable, allowing for regular review and adjustment as one's life and spiritual journey evolve.
How does "Practicing the Way" address modern challenges like hurry and distraction?
- Unhurrying Life: Comer emphasizes the need to ruthlessly eliminate hurry from life, as it is a major barrier to spiritual growth and presence with God.
- Digital Detox: The book suggests practices like digital Sabbath and limiting media consumption to counteract the distractions of modern technology.
- Intentional Living: Readers are encouraged to live with intentionality, focusing on practices that foster peace, presence, and connection with God.
- Cultural Critique: Comer critiques the cultural norms of busyness and distraction, offering a counter-cultural path of simplicity and focus.
What are the spiritual practices highlighted in "Practicing the Way"?
- Core Practices: The book highlights nine core practices, including Sabbath, solitude, prayer, fasting, Scripture, community, generosity, service, and witness.
- Integration into Life: These practices are meant to be integrated into daily life, forming a trellis that supports spiritual growth and transformation.
- Path to Transformation: Each practice is a means to access God's power and presence, facilitating the transformation into a person of love.
- Balance and Flexibility: Comer emphasizes the need for a balanced approach, tailoring practices to individual needs and life stages.
What does John Mark Comer say about the cost of discipleship in "Practicing the Way"?
- High Bar of Entry: Discipleship requires leaving something behind, as following Jesus involves a cost, often requiring significant life changes.
- Surrender and Obedience: The foundation of discipleship is surrender to Jesus, involving a willingness to obey His teachings and align one's will with God's.
- Cost of Non-Discipleship: Comer argues that not following Jesus also has a cost, leading to a life devoid of the peace, joy, and purpose found in Him.
- Paradox of Gain: The book highlights the paradox that in losing one's life for Jesus, one gains true life, emphasizing the ultimate reward of discipleship.
How does "Practicing the Way" suggest handling failure in spiritual growth?
- Falling and Rising: Comer acknowledges that failure is a part of the spiritual journey, encouraging readers to view it as an opportunity to begin again.
- Grace and Mercy: The book emphasizes relying on God's grace and mercy, rather than self-recrimination, when facing setbacks in spiritual growth.
- Continuous Conversion: Spiritual growth is seen as a lifelong process of conversion, involving ongoing repentance and renewal.
- Encouragement to Persevere: Readers are encouraged to persevere in their practices, trusting that transformation is possible through God's power.
What role does community play in "Practicing the Way"?
- Essential for Growth: Community is seen as vital for spiritual growth, providing support, accountability, and encouragement on the journey of discipleship.
- Shared Practices: Engaging in shared practices with others helps sustain individual commitment and fosters a sense of belonging and purpose.
- Healing and Formation: Community is where individuals are re-parented into the family of God, experiencing healing and formation through relationships.
- Counter to Individualism: Comer critiques the individualism of Western culture, advocating for a communal approach to spiritual formation.
What are the best quotes from "Practicing the Way" and what do they mean?
- "You must arrange your days so that you are experiencing deep contentment, joy, and confidence in your everyday life with God." This quote emphasizes the importance of intentional living, structuring one's life to prioritize spiritual growth and connection with God.
- "There are no accidental saints." This highlights the need for intentionality in spiritual formation, as becoming like Jesus requires deliberate effort and commitment.
- "The greatest issue facing the world today...is whether those who are identified as 'Christians' will become disciples." Comer stresses the importance of moving beyond mere belief to active discipleship, embodying Jesus' teachings in daily life.
- "The reward for following Jesus is Jesus." This underscores the ultimate goal of discipleship: a deep, abiding relationship with Jesus, which is the source of true joy and fulfillment.
About the Author
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