Luke 9:51-62
When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival, but they did not receive him because his face was set toward Jerusalem.
When his disciples James and John saw this, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.
As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” And Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” And Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
Jesus would have been a terrible pastor. And I am not the first pastor or preacher to say such a thing. Most pastors, yours included, work very hard to make things comfortable. When you come here, things are orderly and neat, (have you met pastor mark?). We do our best to explain what’s going on, where things are, and how to get involved (if you want to). We hope the worship is satisfying, the music gratifying, and the preaching not a snore. We want people to know this is a place where you are cared for.
So we make sure Christian education is appealing and diverse in it’s offerings; there is plenty of opportunity for fellowship and meals together; and we do some service, but not too much. In all, we try to give people what they want, without too many demands — after all, it’s not like we can compete with sports or packed family calendars.
Jesus is the opposite. I imagine if Jesus were a pastor and greeted you at the door, he wouldn’t say, “I’m so glad you’ve joined us,” but more like, “Are you sure you want to do this?” That’s essentially what he says to the would-be disciples in Luke. Jesus is walking toward Jerusalem when someone says, “Wherever you go, I’ll follow!” You can almost hear Jesus say, “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Creatures of earth and sky have homes — not me. Are you ready to be homeless?” We don’t know how the young man responds. But I know how I would — and I’m guessing you do too.
And so it is with the other two would-be disciples. Jesus tells one not to bury his father. What kind of lunatic says that? Especially in a culture where honoring one’s parents was a sacred obligation. Surely Jesus can’t be saying that following him is greater than the traditions of their culture? Surely he isn’t telling us we can’t attend funerals or grieve those we love.
And is it really a big deal that the third person wants to say goodbye? That doesn’t seem like an unreasonable request? I mean of course he would come rushing back to Jesus, right? A quick hug to mom, maybe one more meal, a good night’s rest, and then he’ll be ready. But Jesus says “you’ll only make crooked furrows and that’s no good in the Kingdom of God”.
You see what I mean that Jesus wouldn’t make a good pastor? Here are people throwing themselves at Jesus and his response is “are you sure? Because this is going to cost you.”
It will cost you your comfort; it will cost you the traditions and obligations you hold so dearly,
it will cost you whatever or whoever it was waiting for you back home.
We don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to preach that! It would be easier to stand up and say we are doing so well. Instead of a discipleship at all cost, we much prefer discipleship at little to no cost. We want Jesus, myself included, to sound like a used car salesman, reaffirming that this life of faith can be ours with little to no money down!
We want discipleship on demand — where we hit pause when something else comes up, and resume when time allows. After all isn’t there grace?! And here among all places, isn’t grace offered with no string attached?
But when grace becomes an excuse to avoid commitment — when it asks nothing of us — it turns into what Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace.
“Cheap grace is that grace which we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is preaching forgiveness without repentance; it is baptism without the disciple of community;
it is the Lord’s Supper without the confession of sin; it is absolution with out personal confession.
Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without the living, incarnate Jesus Christ”.
Rather what Jesus offers to the would-be disciples and to us is a costly grace. It is costly because it will cost us comfort — but it is grace, because we follow Jesus.
It is costly because it will upend our lives — but it is grace, because it offers life to the full, here and now.
It is costly because we will lose relationships — but it is grace, because it leads us into deeper communion with others and with God
I want to be clear. Discipleship is not how much one goes to church. I don’t think Jesus is saying discipleship means you must be homeless, or that you can’t grieve a loved one, or doubt what you’re doing. But I also don’t want to chalk this up to hyperbole and say, “Nice try — at least there’s grace.” Grace isn’t an excuse; it’s a catalyst. Discipleship will cost us.
So what is the cost — for you, in your life, right now? And what might it cost us, together, as a community of faith?
What comfort might this costly grace afflict?
What obligations are you asked to let go of?
What relationships need reordered?
In Winston-Salem, I saw costly grace embodied. The Dwelling is a church made up of — and for — people who live on the margins. Folks who are homeless or have been. People wrestling with addiction. Just out of incarceration. Some from nearby low-income housing.
A few who looked like you and me.
When we got to the dwelling for worship, their sanctuary looked nothing like ours. Think more living room, less cathedral. It was packed with people who walked in from the street, bags and dogs in tow. People would yell, sometimes at no one, sometimes at someone, sometimes playful, sometimes not.
We ate breakfast together. But the smell of the egg casserole was not enough to mask the scent of sweat and smoke that filled the space. Worship began once seconds were finished, around 11ish, but no one sets their watch by it. And if you think our second service is loud…
People held conversations, left, came back in, moved about at their leisure. But they also clapped and danced, and yell affirmations during the sermon and prayers. Did I mention it too is an ELCA church?
After worship, they gathered for another meal, waiting in a long line on the blacktop as the North Carolina sun beat down. With early 2000s pop blasting from a speaker, the servers danced with abandon as they dished up a thoroughly southern lunch for over 200 people.
And that’s what every Sunday is like. [return to screen].
It is uncomfortable, especially for those of us who expect church to look, feel, smell, and sound more like this. It breaks many traditions of worship, programming, and education, especially for a Lutheran congregation.
And it has cost them relationships. People won’t worship there because they think it could be unsafe, or they can’t tolerate the smell, or there’s no Sunday School.
Yet as I sat in worship — clearly the minority in all sorts of ways — I saw costly grace. It was messy and beautiful, hard and joy-filled. But that’s discipleship.
And at our best, I believe we embrace costly grace in faithful ways for our context.
It sounds like raising hard questions and concerns about the dangers of Christian Nationalism.
It looks like showing up at Pride with a booth and a message: that God’s love is for all — especially those who’ve been told it’s not. It means addressing the history and ongoing injustice caused by racism. It feels like giving a significant portion of our money away each and every year to people and places that need it.
These things make us uncomfortable. They reorder our obligations. They challenge our traditions. And yes — they have cost us relationships. But isn’t that what Jesus said discipleship would look like?
Discipleship is costly, Jesus is very honest about that. But he asks nothing of us that he hasn’t already done for us.
Maybe that’s why he would have been a terrible pastor — but the perfect Savior. And thank God for that. Amen.
