Just
when we thought it was safe to come back into the sanctuary, up pops this passage
in the Lectionary. Just when we thought
Jesus s\was all about healing and dinner
invitations, shepherds and celestial choirs of angels, he comes out with
this: “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.” And
all of a sudden, we’re cast into the black pit of despair—or at least the
pothole of rationalization—‘cause how many of us hate our children? How many hate our parents and brothers and
sisters? How many of us hate life
itself?
Yet, here it is in black and white. And we shouldn't be surprised, exactly,
because he's been leading up to it . . . After all, isn't Jesus the one who,
when his mother and brothers wanted to see him, refused, saying that those who
do the will of God are his mother and brothers?
And isn’t he the one who asked “Do you think that I have come to bring
peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division,” and then proceeded to
say just what he is gong to divide: father against son, and son against father,
mother against daughter and daughter against mother?
And
when I hear these things, especially in an election year, I can't help but
think that all the politicians who go on and on about “Christian family values”
haven't read the gospels . .. Thankfully, neither of the presidential
candidates are running on them. But plenty of down-ballot candidates are. And here in today's passage, Jesus puts it as
starkly as he can: whoever doesn't hate
dear ol’ ma and pa, spouse and kiddies, and your bratty little brother, can't
be his disciple. And further, whoever
does not carry the cross can’t be his disciple, either, and this may be even
more disturbing, cause we know how that
ended, we know what carrying the cross
got him.
So
what gives here? What’s Jesus trying to
say? And if he’s saying what it looks like he's saying, how much does it
apply to us? Hate is such a strong word . . . Is it really necessary for his
disciples to hate their fathers and
mothers, wives and children et cetera, et
cetera? Well . . . I think yes and no. On the one hand, Jesus was not above a little hyperbole to
make a point. Remember what he said
about those who'd cause a “little one” to stumble, that it would be better for
Sodom and Gomorrah? And he called
Pharisees snakes, vipers and whitewashed tombs . . . it’s clear Jesus wasn't
above a little hyperbole to make a point.
On
the other hand, it's possible that “hate” is a little too strong a translation
of the Greek verb miseo in this
context.
According to one authority, here it means “prefer less” or “love
less” . . . prefer one’s family less, on this case, than serving the
gospel. Thus, if this reading is right,
to be a disciple one must prioritize one’s life around the work of the gospel.
It's
important to notice that Jesus is talking to a crowd here, not simply those who
are already his followers . . . he's telling them what it takes to be one of
his disciples . . . And it looks like not everyone is cut out to be one. Just like builders must count nails and
boards before they build, and kings must count the enemy before they go to war, so must potential followers count the
cost of discipleship before they sign on the dotted line. Was there a constant stream of disciple
wannabes, stars in their eyes, heads full of feasts and miracles? Was Jesus telling them “not so fast . . . There's
a cost involved. You must put me first,
you must put the Good News first. Not
first after your children or
grandchildren, not after your poor sick mama, but first.”
Not
only that, he says, whoever doesn't carry the cross and follow him cannot be
his disciples, and though our translation doesn't catch it, it actually says whoever
doesn't carry their cross and follow
him. This brings up the question of each
person's cross perhaps being different . . . Is the cross of those who would be
his disciples precisely reordering their priorities, putting Jesus first, along
with all the pain and anguish that might
follow?
We
who are on the other side of the crucifixion see that phrase and think “martyrdom,” but it could be that he
was referring to suffering in general . . . You must bear your cross, you must suffer for to be a disciple. That’s kind of how John Calvin saw it . . . For
him, bearing our cross meant to obey God even in our pain and loss, in facing
the tragedies, trials, and griefs of life. To Calvin, the image of the cross of
Christ appeals to the Christian imagination to help us better bear suffering
and pain.
Well. As kind of a topper, Jesus lays it all out: “none
of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” And I can see all the wannabes screeching to
a halt and back-pedaling, or maybe strolling on by, whistling, as if they were really going somewhere else all along .
. . its one thing to hate all your people, to diss your In-laws—honey, we can't
go see your folks, Jesus says not to—but to give up all your stuff . . . But
Jesus knows that possessions just drag you down, just get in the way. For him, disciples should be lean and mean gospel
preaching machines, and this shouldn't be a big surprise, either, because
earlier in Luke's gospel he tells those he sends to wear only the clothes on
their back, and be dependent on the kindness of strangers wherever they go. And
over the years, various folks have taken these commands very seriously,
including St. Francis and his followers and all monastic orders that I know of. The Rule of Benedict, in fact, is designed to facilitate living out the
gospel, perhaps especially the giving
up of our worldly possessions part.
Once
again, Calvin weighed in on this issue, interpreting these teachings moderately,
as calling for proper use of the gifts of God in daily life, both things of
necessity, or needs, and things of delight, aka pleasures. Calvin recommended a simplicity of life in
which we understand ourselves to be on an earthly pilgrimage toward home. We
become free from both undue privation and from excessive indulgence. According to Calvin, Jesus’ commands, especially
in light of the entire gospel, free his followers from the ills brought on by
too much stuff, which not only weighs us down, but can come to own us as we worry about theft, repair,
maintenance . . . Like the guy with large barns, if he didn't have all that
stuff he wouldn't have to build the barns.
But,
Calvin believed, we aren't called to asceticism, either, nor are we called to
starve. Indeed, it would be unreasonable
these days to give away all we have, putting a burden on others to support us
when we have the means of supporting ourselves. As in all things, it's a balancing act: theres
a middle way between being held back by our stuff and being a burden on
others. At the very least, Christians
should think through these issues from time to time, checking in with ourselves
to see whether or not the balance has become weighted too heavily one way or
another.
And
what about the priorities thing? How are
we to handle the sheer complexity of modern life, with so many things competing
for our time, so many loyalties to juggle?
Scholar Ronald Byars puts it like this: “"When loyalties compete,
they need to be sorted out according to some priority. For those who hear a
call to discipleship, Jesus himself becomes the sorting principle. The
embodiment of self-offering love, of mercy and compassion, is our “true
north.”"
What
this means to each one of us is likely to look different. Does our biological family take precedence
over our “church” family, or does’ Jesus redefinition of family as everyone who
does God’s work hold sway? Do we
schedule vacations or other activities around our church duties or the other
way around? Again, the balance will vary
with each individual, but I think as followers of Jesus the Christ we should
give it deep consideration and prayer.
Amen.
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