Summary: The invitation to follow Christ requires clarity about his lordship, a calculation of what he requires of us and a commitment to follow him. The commitment results in joy.
Jesus knew how to gather a crowd. The Gospel of Luke portrays him as a magnetic presence. Large groups of people were drawn to his teaching. No doubt some scratched their heads when they heard one of his parables -- and then laughed out loud when they understood the point. People with physical and emotional needs leaned forward to experience his healing touch. When their lives were changed, they told others about it. The word spread quickly.
Jesus was extremely popular. A movement that appealed far and wide formed around this amazing prophet from Galilee. He drew people from every station and strata of life.
No wonder, then, that Luke tells us that crowds traveled with Jesus. They stuck to him. Where he went, they went. The mass of people was enormous. Massive! Gigantic! At times, impossible to estimate.
Perhaps some clung to him because of the parables Jesus told right before today's account. He had been invited for dinner. At the table, the Lord declared that next time the host should expand the guest list. A meal should never be limited to those who might return the invitation. A gracious meal is inclusive. Therefore, invite those who could never return the favor.1
He expanded on this point by imagining a huge dinner offered to many, although those invited shrugged off the invitation with many excuses. So, the host of the banquet directed his servants to invite in all who could never dream of attending such a feast. When he discovered there were empty seats, he commanded the servants to go into the streets and chase inside whoever they could. The host's generosity knew no bounds. Jesus wanted a crowd.
Well, we would think so. For we overhear the banquet host, referring to those originally invited, snarl out of the side of his mouth, "None of those invited will taste my dinner."2
Do you hear that? There's a touch of sarcasm. Or judgment. Or veiled pain. Or pure honesty. Whatever it is, it sets up the story we heard in today's text. Followed by enormous crowds, Jesus spun around to address them all. They had been sticking to him like Velcro. All were welcome to follow him. All were invited by the grace of God's kingdom. All were free to go wherever Jesus went. But that didn't mean everybody who was attracted to Jesus would finish the journey with him. So, he spoke three things that would likely thin the crowd.
The first thing he said is drastic. Want to follow me? Hate your parents, your spouse and children, your extended relations, even your own life. Ouch. That's harsh. It is one of the fiercest sayings he ever uttered (at least among his words as recorded in the Gospels).
If we didn't know better, we would think this was a rejoinder to fuel family tension. A teenager may explode when given a clear curfew. A future bride may despise her father if he rejects her choice of a husband. A household torn asunder by alcohol abuse -- or its intervention -- may never mend. Pain begets pain. Words screamed become scars. Loved ones are despised. Shouldn't the followers of Jesus be concerned about peace in their own families?
Yes, of course.
But this is not that text.
Scholars tell us this is a particular form of speech commonly used in Semitic cultures. It is "either-or" language, just like when Jesus said we cannot worship God and wealth. "No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and love the other or be devoted to the one and despise the other."3 Here, the distinction was between God or family. We cannot give both ultimate honor. As commentator G. B. Caird noted, "For followers of Jesus, to hate their families meant giving the family second place in their affections."4 God's dominion comes first. That is a hard choice. For some, it is the cross they bear.
If we surveyed the sanctuary today, some of us may be struggling with that decision. Some may hear Christ calling them to stand up for a cause that their own brothers and sisters resist. Others may feel a tug to make a life change that family members will not understand. When a person senses God's call to pursue a new direction or a deeper expression of faith, those most resistant to that call may be sitting around the same dinner table. As the preacher Fred Craddock often quipped, "The Holy Spirit rarely calls someone in a voice loud enough for the whole family to hear."5
The point is simply this. The call of Christ comes before everything else. Whether we choose to follow him, or he chooses us, discipleship is a matter of increasing clarity. We follow Jesus first. His invitation precedes our own willful wishes. His values come before our own. Everybody and everything else must line up after him.
Jesus reminded his hearers that this clarity comes with a cost. At various points, the discipleship road is steep. They might be blessed for a season to find the path level, even refreshing. Yet discipleship always demands something from them -- and from us. By putting Christ first, we choose to put other matters aside.
These days, a few excited converts may make a show of this, declaring how much they have sacrificed for their faith and obedience. The fervent college student deletes the hardcore rock-and-roll from his iPod, announcing how sanctified he has become. The modest office worker who never sinned extravagantly convinces herself that a lack of social life is a spiritual discipline. There may be little transformation in these souls. At most they might experience a slight recalibration of the spirit.
Far more stirring are the quiet sacrifices that some make in leading lives of faithfulness. There is the divorced engineer who passes up lucrative opportunities for relocation because she values the stability she provides for her children by staying in their small town. Or there is a dentist who takes two weeks of unpaid personal time to fix smiles in an underserved city. A retired teacher tells her pastor that she won't be in worship most Sundays because the nearby soup kitchen can't find anybody else to prepare meals on that morning. "That's where God wants me to be," she announces, adding, "I meet Jesus in the breadline every week."
This is where discipleship hits the road: in acts of service that benefit other people. Each act requires a calculation of energy and effort. Helping others in the name of Christ is never a quick fix. It takes discipline and perseverance. Not only do we discern the work, we see it through. If we volunteer to work with teenagers, they count on us to keep showing up. If we dedicate our time each week to sit with a lonely friend, it does no good to allow interruptions in that schedule. There is a cost.
When clarity is gained and the cost calculated, we discover one of the secrets of the Christian life. There is a surprising liberation that comes as we follow Christ by offering our lives to others. We can travel lightly, not needing luxuries. God sets us free from our own base desires.
This was the lesson learned by the German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer as he committed his energy to living the Gospel in demanding times. In his extraordinary book, The Cost of Discipleship, he writes of the unfolding journey of following Christ and its ultimate consequence:
Where will the call to discipleship lead those who follow it? What decisions and painful separations will it entail? We must take this question to him who alone knows the answer. Only Jesus Christ, who bids us follow him, knows where the path will lead. But we know that it will be a path full of mercy beyond measure. Discipleship is joy.6
Joy. That's the secret. Not happiness, nor freedom from struggle, but the sense that our lives have aligned with the purposes of God in Jesus Christ. In giving ourselves away for the sake of God's kingdom, we gain a clearer sense of who we are. We see what God is doing and how we can be a part of it. This is the true significance of being Christ's disciple. In the best and deepest sense, we lose ourselves and gain the Savior.
The crowds will not always understand the call of discipleship, nor will they follow through to the end. Jesus knew this. He invites all to live the life of God's dominion, yet the crowd often thins out as its members perceive what that life requires.
But you know what it will take, for his voice is uniquely calling you. With increasing clarity, a counting of the cost and a deepening commitment, each of us is invited to respond to Christ's self-giving love by offering ourselves to him and his purposes. We come to Christ with nothing in our hands. Why? Because it is easier to embrace him when we are longer clinging to anything else.