"The Hard Work of Following Jesus" – Luke 14:25-33

Luke 14:25-33

Now large crowds were traveling with [Jesus;] and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.”

---

My guess is you’ve seen or read something like this before. I’ve seen it make its rounds on social media more than once, myself, but it never made me think about the Gospel, or faith, or following Jesus, until this week.

It’s an e-mail, written by a daughter, to her parents, after being away at college for the first time.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I know it’s been three months and that you haven’t heard from me since I left for school. I need to let you know what I’ve been up to, but before you read on, please take a deep breath, sit down, and remember how much you love me. : )

So, things are going pretty well. I got a minor concussion when I jumped out of the window of my dormitory during a fire shortly after I got here, but I’m pretty well over that now. Fortunately, a guy at the gas station next door saw everything and called the fire department and the ambulance. He also visited me at the hospital, and since I had nowhere to live, he was nice enough to let me share his apartment with him and his three buddies. It's really a room in the basement, but it's kind of cute. : )

He is a great guy and we are in love and planning to get married. We haven't set the exact date yet, but it will be before the baby comes. Yes, Mom and Dad, I am pregnant. And, yes, we hope to have the wedding before I start to show, because I already found a dress that I love. I know you will welcome this baby and give it all the love you’ve given me over the years.

And I can’t wait for you to meet Brad, which I promise will happen as soon as his infection clears up – that’s a whole ‘nother story, which I’ll tell you about some other time. Anyway, I know you’re going to love him, too. He’s so kind and super cute. He’s not all that educated, but he’s a really hard worker and he has plans to help run his family business once his dad gets back from some time away.  : )

And I have so much more to tell you, like the fact that there really was no fire, no hospital, no Brad, no baby on the way, and no wedding plans, either.

What you really need to know is that I got a 'D' in my History class. And I totally failed Biology. I just wanted you to get that news with a little bit perspective about how much worse things could be. (Smiley face.)

I (heart) you,
Katie

That's funny, right? And clever, don’t you think? And, it made me think of Jesus and this Gospel, because of what Jesus seems to be up to here. He says all sorts of pretty harsh, surprising things, right out of the gate: “whoever doesn’t hate father and mother, hate wife and children, hate brother and sister, hate, even, life itself, cannot be my disciple.” And then, “whoever doesn’t carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.” Anyone and everyone listening in that crowd would have known what crosses were used for back in Jesus’ day, just as well as we do now.

And then Jesus goes on with all of this stuff about counting the cost, estimating the investment, measuring your resources before deciding – with no small amount of forethought and attention – whether you have what it takes to do this whole discipleship thing well… or seriously… or with some measure of faithfulness.

So, I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s why Jesus doesn’t wrap it all up with his final challenge: “No one can become my disciple unless they give up all of their possessions.”

My point is, I think it’s okay to see this as one of those passages of scripture that is chock-full of hyperbole, something we just talked about a week or so ago in our Breakfast Club Bible study. It’s one of those moments where Jesus is exaggerating things to get our attention; he’s overstating his point, so that we’ll listen; he’s talking in extremes so that that large and growing crowd of wannabes and hangers-on might stop for a minute and consider where he was headed… just where he might be leading them… and what this life of discipleship could really look like, if they were really serious about really following Jesus. It’s one of those moments, I’m pretty sure we’re not meant to take Jesus literally, so much as we are meant to take Jesus seriously.

So part of the point is to see that following Jesus isn’t easy. His lessons are hard. His expectations are high. His teachings are difficult to hear. He challenges us – and expects us to challenge one another – in ways that pretty much promise us we won’t always agree or get along or feel comfortable about what God is calling us to do – as individuals or as the Body of Christ in the world.

We might feel compelled to hate – or at least disagree and argue and take exception with – our friends and relatives, our Pastors and fellow Christians, from time to time. We might find ourselves bearing a cross, depending upon how far we’re willing to take our discipleship. And we might be called to sacrifice a thing or two – our time, our energy, a significant portion of our money and resources and stuff. “None of you can become my disciple, unless you give up all of your possessions.”

Which is where I find a strange connection to that letter the college co-ed wrote to her parents. I wonder if Jesus starts with the hard, harsh, heavy stuff – the hatred and disagreement and struggle we’re likely to face between moms, dads, siblings, spouses, and children; and that bit about carrying a cross, walking ourselves to the suffering and death of crucifixion – so that when he gets to that bit about our money and our things, we can receive it with a different kind of perspective.

Because I think, for the likes of you and me – white, middle class, safe, suburban, mainline Christian people, I mean – giving away our money and giving up our possessions, is as faithful and as tangible and as meaningful a thing as we can do to express and to experience our desire to follow Jesus.

I’ll say that again: For the likes of you and me, giving away our money and giving up our possessions, is as faithful and tangible and meaningful a thing as we can do to express and to experience our desire to follow Jesus.

See, I think we’ve convinced ourselves – thanks to a lot of hard work by the culture we live in – that to give up, to do without, to fore-go our financial possessions is more sacrifice than it was ever meant to be, or that it really is, when we’re looking at life in this world from the proper perspective. Not many of us risk hatred or alienation from our friends and family because of what we believe as far as I know. And most of us don’t have plans to carry or climb onto a cross come Friday, I suspect. But possessions and money?, that’s something we can do something about, if we’re honest. And God knows it.

Any of you who have been through our CrossRoads class know about the question I ask when we talk about financial stewardship: to share with the group the most meaningful gift you’ve ever given or received. I ask that question because, without fail, the gifts people talk about have very little, if anything, to do with their financial value. They could very well be worth a lot of money, but what matters most about the gifts that mean the most is who gave them, the occasion they commemorate, and the thoughtfulness, preparation, and sacrifice that went into the giving, in the first place.

And that’s what God asks of us as we consider the gift of discipleship we’re called to offer as followers of Jesus. It involves our money, yes. We are called to be generous and to do with less – to do without, even – so that the Church can flourish and so that God’s good news can be shared in ways we can’t accomplish on our own. More importantly, I think, we are called to be generous and to do with less – to do without, even – because it changes us for the better and helps us to love and care for others in more faithful ways.

But the gift of discipleship – be it financial or faithful following and sacrifice in any other way – is meant to be the gift of ourselves, the fullness of our lives as much as we’re able to offer it. There’s no promise that it will be easy. There’s no assurance that the world around us – or even those closest to us – will always understand or agree with what we’re up to. But there is the promise that through the living of our lives, following in the footsteps of Jesus, we will know eternal life, we will experience the Kingdom of God, we will find and share God’s heaven – in this life and in the next, by grace in Jesus’ name.

Amen

"I Am a Racist" – Luke 14:1, 7-14

Luke 14:1, 7-14

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

---

Today’s gospel lesson from Luke about respect, honor, poverty, and power comes at a time in our nation when issues of respect, honor, poverty, and power seem to be as tense as ever. And on Thursday, this gospel lesson and the tense political and social realities of our nation intersected in a way that I hope has forever changed me.

On Thursday I attended the “Symposium on Race, Faith, & Power” hosted by the Indianapolis Congregation Action Network – a community organizing committee of Indy-area clergy who work to create connections in neighborhoods, register voters, and advocate for city and state-wide legislation that would benefit those who otherwise have little or no influence over such matters.  

The keynote speaker was Rev. Dr. Cassandra Gould – a pastor from Missouri. She told us about how her mother had played an active role in the Civil Rights Movement in and around Selma, Alabama; how her mother proudly bore a gash on her leg from an encounter with armed police during a protest. Pastor Gould was raised believing that because of the valiant and sacrificial efforts of those on the front lines of the Civil Rights Movement, including her mother, that black people in America had, in fact, overcome – as their anthem “We Shall Overcome” so beautifully guided them through the struggle.

Living in an integrated society, she went on to earn considerable education, an adequate income, and, by virtue of her role as pastor, a degree of status in her St. Louis suburb. She had pictures in her office of her with significant political leaders including the Governor of Missouri. She thought she had power.

On August 9, 2014, in Ferguson (another St. Louis suburb) an 18-year old unarmed black young man named Michael Brown was murdered* by a police officer and his body was left uncovered in the middle of a street for four hours. Outrage and protests ensued. Rev. Gould put on her clergy stole and high heels and spent her evenings literally pulling young black men and women away from police lines. The young people saying, “The police are going to kill us anyways, what does it matter whether it happens tonight or tomorrow?” One by one she would grab them and tell them, “You’re not dying tonight. God loves you and together we’re going to make this right.”  

She told one story of a young man who told her with desperation in his voice, “My car is over there” and pointed to an area behind the police with their assault rifles, riot gear, and tanks. He said he had arrived to join the protest earlier in the day, but the police line had moved forward since his arrival. Rev. Gould, in her clergy stole and high heels walked toward the police line with the young man and tried to explain the situation. She was met with an explicative-laden tirade from the officers who repeatedly told her to “get the F*#@ back" while viewing her over the barrel of assault rifles.

It was in that moment that she realized she was, and always had been, powerless. She had grown up thinking that the key to obtaining power in a racially-integrated society was to be respectable – to look and behave the right way (that is, in accordance with the dominate white culture) so that nothing bad would happen to her. But in reality, her education, her clergy stole, her income, her political photo-ops, and her high heels merely masked the reality that as a person of color she had no real power against the institutionalized structures of racism.

After telling this story, she asked the clergy at the symposium to gather around the small tables and share stories of when our struggle against systemic racism was ignited. I was surrounded by three older African-American pastors. Pastor Leroy talked about how as a young boy in 1950 he witnessed violent protests when the University of Missouri enrolled its first African-American student. Pastor Daniel talked about the shotgun blasts from the guns of white supremacists hat would periodically cut through his home. Pastor Abe laughed and said that because he’s 87 years old he couldn’t even begin to recount his experiences with racism, much less remember when and how it started. Then he turned to me and said, “I’d rather hear from this young man.”

I made the mistake of looking Pastor Abe in the eyes, which nearly prevented me from getting the words out of my mouth. I said, “This right here. This is when it became real. I’m a white 35 year-old man, a religious leader, and I have never done anything to address racism. I'm sorry.”

It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. 

I knew it was odd that I never had a black classmate until I entered college. I also knew it was odd that I attended a college in a town next to Gary, Indiana but could go weeks at a time without encountering a black student. 

While living in Pasadena, California my wife and I were setting up an evening out with a couple that Lindsey had befriended from her work. The husband, who is black, told me he’d prefer not to meet in Pasadena because he would often get pulled over by police in the city. “For what?” I asked. He gave me the look like, “Wow, you really don’t know?” 

I remember conversing over dinner with two clergy colleagues from my Wabash Pastoral Leadership program who are both female African-American pastors. The conversation touched on issues of racial realities in Indiana and I got to the point where I said, “Just tell me what you expect me to do about it.” They responded, “Just listen to our stories.”

I’ve been following closely the social media postings of a friend and college in ministry, Jason Chesnut, who has been involved in the work for racial justice in Baltimore, particularly in light of the lack of justice for Freddie Grey. I even hit the “like” button on most of his posts. 

I know Pastor Mark has preached on the topic of race and I've thought they were great sermons. 

I recall the conversation with Dr. Leah Gunning Francis at Christian Theological Seminary, who spoke to our Wabash group last month around the topic of criminal justice. The tears welled up in her eyes when she spoke about how terrified she is for her two black sons who are almost old enough to earn their driver’s license. One of her sons has an Autism-Spectrum diagnosis and often waves his hands excitedly in the air – a motion that an anxious police officer could see as a threat if their car with two young black men inside would be pulled over for any reason…or no reason whatsoever.

I notice the casual and unchallenged references in conversations and social media referring to Cumberland and East Washington as “the hood.” I lament the lack of diversity in our schools. The presence of so many Confederate flags in and around town. 

I’ve thought about all of this before. But I didn’t get it until I realized Dr. Gould is a pastor who is literally saving lives by telling young disillusioned black men and women that they have something to live for. I've never told a black person they have something to live for. I didn’t get it until I was given a seat at the table, in the presence of African-American pastors bearing the presence of Christ in the poorest parts of Indianapolis. I didn’t get it until one of these pastors invited me into the conversation.

This past Thursday was not the first time that I realized that I am part of the problem. I am a racist. I know this. It was, however, the first time I truly realized I am called to be part of the solution.

This is what it means to make a place at the table, to exalt the humble and humble the exalted. This is what it means to give a banquet and invite those who cannot repay you.

Jesus’ words are not Martha Stewart-like directions for proper etiquette. Jesus’ words are a recipe for changed hearts and holy conversation. 

This isn’t a sermon that will end with me telling you to go and do anything any differently than when you came in this morning. It’s just my story about deciding to take Jesus’ words seriously and being open to understanding that I’ve been a part of a very big problem and I’m tired of ignoring it. 

If I truly believe in a God who loves unconditionally – a God who created everything in the world and calls it “good” – a God who by definition of the Trinity is a relationship of united differences…then it’s time to make that faith manifest in my actions in the presence of evil in the world today.

Amen.

* the word "murdered" is a controversial label given that the police officers were exonerated of any wrongdoing; and yet, Michael Brown's death is perceived by many as a murder, nonetheless. My reflection on the topic is rooted in the context of this gathering of clergy and this is the word that was used, which is one reason why I include it here.