Real Peace. Real People.

Luke 13:22–30 Then Jesus went through the towns and villages, teaching as he made his way to Jerusalem. 23 Someone asked him, “Lord, are only a few people going to be saved?” He said to them, 24 “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to. 25 Once the owner of the house gets up and closes the door, you will stand outside knocking and pleading, ‘Sir, open the door for us.’ “But he will answer, ‘I don’t know you or where you come from.’ 26 “Then you will say, ‘We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.’ 27 “But he will reply, ‘I don’t know you or where you come from. Away from me, all you evildoers!’ 28 “There will be weeping there, and gnashing of teeth, when you see Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but you yourselves thrown out. 29 People will come from east and west and north and south, and will take their places at the feast in the kingdom of God. 30 Indeed there are those who are last who will be first, and first who will be last.”

It wasn’t all that long ago when I sat down to breakfast with a friend. We hit up that Aiken favorite called Autens. I took a few sips of their unusually strong coffee and prayed that it would flick on my brain like a light switch. I was thankful the coffee was strong coffee. It was just the ticket. I’m not a great morning person, but my friend was. There we sat. Me waiting for the coffee to take effect. Him already rip roaring on his day. How rip roaring was he? He asked me the same question that’s here. Literally the same question word for word. The only difference? He didn’t call me, “Lord.” But he did ask, “Are only a few going to be saved?” I’m not sure he really wanted my answer though. I think he asked the question so he could answer it himself. Because that’s what he did. His complaints piled up fast. “Nobody acts saved. Nobody behaves like Jesus tells them to,” he said. “Nobody this,” he went on. “Nobody that,” he continued. I don’t know if it was that the coffee hadn’t dug in quite yet, but he was someplace I wasn’t. I was trying to get what he was saying, but I was struggling.

It wasn’t that I totally disagreed with him. I actually think he was right with all his complaints. I mean he totally talking about me. If you had to decide if I was saved by my actions. And if you only knew my heart. It’s just like Jesus says. Even the outside of tombs can get whitewashed. But if you knew what was underneath? If you knew what was under that incredibly thin layer of nice looking paint? Then you’d know. It’s not all ok in here. And I think that’s what was really getting me as my friend talked on. For me none of it was hypothetical. He was painting that picture of the few who are saved. The good ones. The spiritual elites. The always praying ones. The never straying ones. That picture. He painted it and when he did I didn’t think I was in the portrait. But he didn’t seem concerned. To give him the benefit of the doubt, I’m not sure why that was. Was it because he enjoyed theological sparring? Was it because he was so secure in his own pure heart that he could ask the question without any introspection, without any fear and without any trembling? Or was it because he had long ago convinced himself by his elite behavior that he was one of the few, the proud, and the saved?

But Jesus didn’t have to wait for the caffeine to kick to answer. He immediately replied to the question, “Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able to.” (v. 24) For Jesus there are no hypothetical questions. No idle theological musings. No endless finger pointing. There is only you. There is your salvation. Your eternity. And your soul. That’s what Jesus is immediately pointing out in the strongest of terms. Not for a second does Jesus say, “Yeah. Look at the masses. Consider them. Who of them do you think will make it?” There is only you. And the imperative that you with your eternity on the line understand how you’re trying to enter eternity. It is, after all, only a narrow door. You know what that means? Amongst other things it means that people don’t go through it in a crowd or as a group. They go in individual by individual and person by person. And that’s Jesus point. When it comes to salvation you can make pointer finger judgments about the people around you but there are always more fingers pointing back at yourself. And we need to deal with that. There are no hypotheticals when it comes to eternity. There is only you.

So says Jesus. Over and over and over again. You know how many times Jesus uses the pronoun, “you,” in this section? Twelve. Twelves times. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. Point taken? 12 you’s. This is personal, personal, personal. No hypotheticals. This is your story. My story. Jesus wants you to picture yourself knocking on Jesus’ door. There’s just one door into heaven and he’s in charge of it. You knock. You ask to come in. He says, “No. I don’t know you.” So you keep trying and you mount your defense. You desperately try to change his mind. “‘We ate and drank with you, and you taught in our streets.’” (v. 26) You basically say, “But Jesus we hung out with you. We should be able to again. Jesus, you remember. We were well acquainted with you and we did your stuff. We prayed Jesusy prayers. We did Jesusy things like feeding the poor and working hard at our jobs, and Jesus, that should count for something. We’re confused. You taught in our streets. We hung out with people who seemed to like you. We even hung out most Sundays at one of your churches. Jesus, what’s the deal? You need to let us in. You know us.”

And the voice calls back tragically and unmistakably. “I don’t know you or where you come from. Away from me, all you evildoers!’” (v. 27) And you find yourself stunned. Confused. And in the ultimate despair because you – you! – are on the outside looking in. The door’s shut. Locked tight. And it’s never getting opened again. And you – nobody else – you are on the outside looking in. And it’s just like Jesus always threatened. There is, “weeping there, and gnashing of teeth.” (v. 29) Your tears keep coming. Your despair never leaves. Your hope cannot be found. The only relief – if you want to call it that –  from your inner turmoil and pain is a kind of bodily distraction. You gnash your teeth. You grind them hard to be distracted from the deep despair you feel at your unchanging outsider status. “When you see Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God, but you yourselves thrown out.” (v. 29) All because you thought you were better than you are. That you were spiritual enough. Elite enough. Good enough. And you weren’t. Jesus evaluated you and gave even your best characteristics and most blessed virtues a failing grade and an eternal label, “worker of unrighteousness.” (v. 27) That’s what happens when you mistakenly believe that you need only an acquaintance with Jesus, but not a salvation.

If that story gets under your skin, it’s supposed to. It’s supposed to light a fire in your soul, rouse you out of your security, and send you searching for the truth that will stop that quickly coming future. To stop it in its tracks before it can ever happen. And there’s no waiting. No lolly gagging. Not a second to lose. There is only seeking and finding and knowing what truth will allow us to avoid that fate, walk through that narrow door, and be on the inside looking out. This story is to convince you that’s necessary and important and worthwhile no matter what it takes. Because it won’t always be easy. Sometimes it’ll be agonizing. Receiving Jesus’ grace can be like that. I know that sounds strange. Receiving grace sounds like something that’s light and easy. Something that we’ll enjoy. I mean isn’t Amazing Grace one of our favorite hymns? And isn’t grace still one of Christianity’s concepts that everybody loves to love? I mean who doesn’t like God’s undeserved favor? God’s un-won faithfulness. God’s unmerited kindness. Who doesn’t like that? Maybe you’ve never thought about this before, but the truth is that deep down we’re all fundamentally opposed to grace.

I sat with an older gentleman a while back explaining that exact thing. Even though he had had a pretty good life he was angry and sad and he wondered outloud to me, “Why hasn’t God been better to me?” And I tried to help him. “We don’t deserve anything,” I said. “We need grace.” He didn’t like that and he let me know it. “I paid my debts. People ripped me off in my business. I always tried to do what’s right.” And on he went. I wanted him to get Jesus so I didn’t back down. I asked him, “Are you perfect? Is that what you’re saying?” He got real quiet and I could tell he wanted me to leave. Grace is offensive. It’s offensive to say we’re undeserving. It’s offensive to believe we’re not ok. It’s offensive to think that we don’t just need a teacher or a motivational speaker or a massive hit of Christian bootcamp so we can get our act together. We need total, complete grace. And having to receive grace means admitting we messed up the whole game. That there’s no redeeming or salvaging ourselves. That we need Jesus to forgive what ought never be forgiven. And that’s agonizing.

So says Jesus. He said that from the very outset today. He said, “Make every effort to enter the narrow door.” (v. 24) Make every effort in Greek is actually just one word. It’s “agonizomai.” I’m hoping that sounds a little bit like an English word to you. Agonizomai. Agony. To struggle. To be pained. To make every effort no matter what the cost to believe in grace. That is the Christian’s greatest battle. The most titanic. The most epic. Because grace is offensive, but it’s so worth it. Grace may mean that I have to admit my personal ship is sunk, but it also means I get to believe Jesus pulled me onto his luxury yacht. Grace may mean that I believe that my failure was so complete that I had to get pulled from the game, but it also mean that I believe that Jesus subbed into as the perfect player for me. Grace may mean that I have to stop believing in my own goodness and start believing that even my best self isn’t enough, but it also means that I get to trust that Jesus’ was good for me and that his best self saved me. Life’s greatest struggle is to believe in Jesus and not in ourselves.

That is what Jesus is teaching. How do I know this? It’s what is at the heart of Jesus’ final point. “Indeed there are those who are last who will be first, and first who will be last.” (v. 30) Do you see what he’s saying? He’s saying, “Take everything you think you know about how to enter heaven and reverse it.” The elites who trust their eliteness get shut out. The performers. The good ones. The high achievers who trust themselves will be eternally last. That’s why Jesus said, “The first will be last.” But those who believe his. Those who see past their whitewash to their inner tomb. Those who consider themselves to be low performers. Those who consider themselves bad ones who just trust Jesus. To them Jesus says, “You’re first.” That is the great reversal of grace. The dregs. The worst of the worst. The tax collectors. The prostitutes who get it and see themselves the way they really are, but who trust Jesus for his grace and for his salvation receive it. They don’t just know him. They don’t just hang with him. They trust him. They are the last who will be first. Jesus promises.

And so the last will shout. And the so last will sing. And the so last will waltz right through that narrow door simply because they trust. You know what that means? It’s time for you to be last so you can be first. You. You don’t just need a motivational speaker, a divine teacher or a Christian boot camp. You don’t. What I’m saying is that you need to know Jesus as more than just a personal acquaintance, as more than just someone you’re around or listen to on occasion. What I’m saying is that it’s time to know Jesus as your life, your forgiveness, and your salvation. That’s what Luke is teaching you when he sets up this whole account life this: “Then Jesus went through the towns and villages, teaching as he made his way to Jerusalem.” (v. 22) Jesus was making his way to Jerusalem. For you. Not for the guy in the seat next to you. Not for the lady sitting two rows back. For you. To redeem the life you could not. To salvage the life you never could. To pay for what’s under your whitewash with his righteous work. To make right what you’ve done wrong with his cross. To straighten out what you never could with his salvation. For you.

Trust that. And when you do, you’ll find heaven’s door wide, wide open. You will. You’ll find it the door is exactly as wide as the wood where they nailed his hands and as open as the wounds he received in his body. You’ll find heaven’s door will open to you. You know why? Because Jesus is doorkeeper. And he will never lock it against what he did for us. Never. He will lock it against our best self. He will lock it against our best efforts, but never against his own forgiveness. He cannot and he will not. He will honor it and, therefore, and when you hold it up to his eyes by faith. And when you say, “Jesus, let me in. Jesus, I didn’t just have an acquaintance with you. I didn’t just eat and drink with you and hang out with you. Jesus I trusted you. I trusted your righteousness was mine. I trusted your cross was mine.” That’s when he’ll say, “Enter.” And the party will be on. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will be there. The prophets too. All those who enter the door by faith in Jesus will recline forever at his feast.

That’s our future promised by Jesus’ work. We’ll be those who trust it. We’ll be those who war, who struggle, who agonize, who make every effort to stay right there in the faith. To rob ourselves of ourselves. To fight with every fiber of our being pride that says, “I’m one of the good ones.” And instead to lift our eyes to Jesus and to his cross and say, “I did that to him. And he did that for me.” For me. That’s faith. And then it will be just as Jesus promised. The ultimate reversal will have happened. The last will be first. The one who didn’t achieve here will have achieved a place there. The one who wasn’t all that here, will receive all that there. All because the only truly first and elite one, Jesus Christ, became the last in Jerusalem for me. So this sinner became a saint. And this unlovely one became lovely. And this formerly whitewashed tomb is no longer just whitewashed, but made white all the way through. And this one will walk right through that door as narrow as it may be, directly into arms of his Savior, right behind you. Amen.

Luke 12:49–53 “I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! 50 But I have a baptism to undergo, and what constraint I am under until it is completed! 51 Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division. 52 From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other, three against two and two against three. 53 They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

I grew up like perhaps many of you did. In my Sunday School classroom hung a picture of an effeminate looking Jesus. You can maybe even picture that in your mind’s eye. He’s got those soft facial features. He’s got that perfectly manscaped beard if he has one at all. And he’s always got long brushed out blondish hair and strikingly blue eyes. And for the life of me, I can’t understand why anybody ever thought a middle-eastern Jewish man in his 30’s looked like that. But, then again, I don’t think anybody ever did. No critically thinking person would ever recreate the historical Jesus on canvass like that. They wouldn’t. What they would do is slap onto a canvass a projection of Jesus. What they wished he was like. What they hoped for in him. So he’s a white Jesus. A blue-eyed Jesus. A Jesus with no hard edges. No expectations for his followers. No challenges to belief systems and no declarations of truth that might be different than those already held. A totally benign Jesus who like a chameleon blends into various postures, beliefs, and attitudes that are most convenient to his hearers.

So you’ve got to hand it to the historical Jesus. Like him or not he always manages to defy our expectations of him and to shatter the beliefs we desperately try to project onto him. I mean I don’t think I have to work too hard to show you that here he’s blowing up any projection or hope we have for him to be an ancient Ghandi or the first of a long line of peace-loving Hippies. Just look at the vocabulary here. Fire. Division. This is no tolerance pushing, peace-at-all-costs teacher. This is a fire starting, baptism undergoing, dividing, lightning rod of a spiritual figure. You actually never get away from that with Jesus. Definitely not when he says his more controversial things like, “You have to eat me. You have to drink me. If you don’t you won’t have any real life in you.” And not even when he says comforting things like, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Because he immediately goes on and he says, “No one comes to the Father except through me.” That’s the historical Jesus who’s also here saying, “I came to cast fire on the earth and I can’t wait to get it started.” “I have a baptism to undergo and I’m so pained until it’s done. Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? Because I didn’t.”

This is a Jesus who is apparently so secure in that message that he’s even willing to let it speak to what for most people is their most sacred cow: biological family. I don’t mean for that to sound too brainy. Because it’s definitely not that. For many of us, our family is our heart. It is us. At least, that’s what the Barna polls say. When we’re asked candidly who we identify with, three times more of us choose biological family over Jesus. Barna also says that – again when we’re being our most honest selves –  7 out of ten of us think our relationship with our families is more important than our relationship with Jesus. But Barna isn’t the only thing that’s convinced me of this. My experience as a pastor has too. I’ve preached on this topic on a number of occasions and I can tell you that it is the single topic that always receives the most push-back. Usually it comes sort of passive aggressively. Nobody complements the sermon or if they do it’s a sort of a sideways complement like, “Pastor, I’m going to be out of town again this weekend doing AAU basketball with the kids. Is Jesus good with that?”

But what’s even more convincing is what I find in my own heart. Because I get this. I really get this. Because I love my family. And I’ve got a good one. One of the best. I have so many good memories from growing up – great parents. Awesome siblings. I’ve got six of them. I even like my mother-in-law! I even have what many of you don’t have. I have an identical twin. I’m living proof that the stories about the power of biology and the closeness that that literally breeds are incredible and powerful. I shared a classroom for well over 20 years with my twin. I shared state championships, GPA’s, a crib, and even a womb with my twin. I currently still share a look, a set of DNA, an age, racial, and even a religious demographic with him. I am currently a man who loves his wife and adores his daughter. So if there’s anyone who can understand the power and draw of family, it’s me. Why do I tell you this? So you know I’m not here working out my daddy issues or not really understanding the incredible safety and love and fun that God gives in a great family unit. I get this topic and I’m right there with you on it.

And so I get that it’s tempting. That it’s oh so tempting because family is such a wonderful and safe place to elevate it to a place above Jesus. In fact, most people when they’re candid tell Barna that they do. But you know where that will ultimately leave you? Forever alone. I stream music these days off my Prime Music app. You know what the top song on Prime Music was just last week? A song called Seven Years by a guy named Lukas Graham. He didn’t mean to, but in that song he illustrated how family always has to ultimately leave you. In his song, he goes decade by decade of a human life and shares his greatest hopes for what might happen. So he works through the decades of his life and then gets to the last one he’s willing to sing about. The sixties. Now everyone apparently except him knows that’s when living really starts, but this is what he sings, “Soon I’ll be sixty years old, my daddy got sixty-one. I hope my children come and visit, maybe once or twice a month.” And that’s the highest hope he has for biological family. He wants visits from his kids once or twice a month.

But what’s even more thought provoking is this: he refuses to sing about what happens to family after that. It’s like he can see what’s going to happen to all those relationships and he doesn’t want to wreck his pop song. So he has to drop off so we won’t ever think about it. You know what he is perhaps only subconsciously realizing? They may not even want to, but his family will all have to leave him. They will have to because people die. Such is the way of this world. Having ultimate hopes for earthly families will leave people ultimately alone. Thank God for the Jesus who did not come to make peace with that. Thank God for the Jesus who came, “to bring fire on the earth,” (v. 49) and who wished, “it were already kindled.” (v. 49) Thank God for the Jesus who didn’t come to make peace with our pain, but came to divide us from it. Do you see that that’s what Jesus is saying? He’s saying, “I came to burn away the pain and purge the evil from your midst.” He’s saying, “I came to bring fire on family endings and divide you from sin, from death, and from the hopeless hope that you have here.” Thank God for the Jesus who refuses to accept any of it, who is tough and hard edged in all the right ways. Thank God.

But – oh –  what pain it would cause Jesus to purge and divide people from that sin and from that death. This is something Jesus really wants us to get. In a very rare moment, Jesus is letting us in here on his psychology, his personal stress, and his agonizing pressure. When he looked at what he had to do to destroy death he knew that it would destroy him. That’s why he said, “what constraint  (What pressure!) I am under until it is completed.” (v. 50) He even went so far as to call it a baptism – something that spiritually was going to take him all the way under. Under sin. Under God’s fire. Under God’s judgment. Under God’s wrath. He was going to be God’s lightning rod for the world’s sin. For the sin in our biological families and for the sin given to us by our biological families. He was going to receive it as God’s lightning rod in his biology, his body. That’s, in fact, the heart of the gospel. Jesus went all the way under in a baptism of suffering and death to bring us all the way up to the God of heaven. That coming baptism caused him great psychological stress, pressure, and anguish so much so that it’s already gripping his soul right here and right now.

And Jesus wants you to know that. You know why? He wants you to see him as your ultimate family. Do you see that that’s what he’s up to? When we hear his heart, how can we not get that home is not ultimately where the heart is? That the ultimate heart beats in Jesus. And when we picture his anguish, how can we not get that momma isn’t the one who loves me best? That that’s Jesus. And when we see him struck with God’s wrath, how can we not see that it’s his blood that’s thicker than water. That’s the big New Testament truth that Jesus is teaching here. Handed to you through Jesus’ great agony, suffering, and death is a new family. One we needed because our earthly one will ultimately have to fail us. So Jesus came and handed you one that never will: an eternal Father in God and a perfect brother in himself. And it’s the job of the Spirit to create around you a spiritual family to know, love, and defend the real you. So you’re the most blessed of all. You get two families. An earthly one to enjoy, and a heavenly one to ultimately depend on. A biological one to spend time with, and a spiritual one to spend eternity with. A physical one that you can appreciate as an important connection here, and a spiritual one that is your primary connection even here.

And Jesus does think it needs to be primary. He’s amazingly consistent and stunning on that point. Take this saying, for example. “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26) Let’s be clear. Jesus is not advocating hate. He never advocates hate. What he is doing is being Jesus. He’s being striking and memorable and table turning. He’s being Jesus. He’s always finding ways to get through to us on topics we’d rather him not get through on. What he’s saying is that you cannot possibly understand what he did – his agony, his suffering, his death – what he’s saying is that can’t possibly understand that and not have it impact the way you relate to your family. He’s saying that when you get how much more he’s sacrificed and how much he has given you and how much longer he’s going to stay by your side and how much better he knows the real you then your commitment and your feelings for family will look like hate in comparison to what you have for him. Not that you won’t care for your family, but that you’ll care for Jesus that much more.

And that will have consequences for your immediate family. Vast consequences. “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” (v. 51) See, ‘cause that’s the thing. Jesus wants us to recognize that our commitment to him will have consequences within our biological families. When he’s valued more. When he’s treasured more. When he’s pursued more you will see consequences. Sometimes massively positive. You connect with your cousins in ways you never did before. You won’t expect nearly so much from your kids or your mom or your dad because you already Jesus. Positive stuff. But Jesus thinks what we really to do is brace ourselves for the negative consequences. For division. “Father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.” (v. 53) You see what Jesus is saying? He’s saying that he will always be the most divisive, polarizing figure in history and that will show up in your own house. He’s the world’s lightning rod. Jesus is saying, “Everyone will fall into one of two camps. They will either love me for my love or will despise me for telling them they need it.” And there is no Switzerland. And there are no neutral parties. There are only sides.

So you do your best. You want to share your heart with those who have your heart. And so you pray. And you plan. You want so badly to communicate to your son the beauty and the safety of Jesus’ teaching on sexuality, but your son – shall we say – didn’t end up seeing it that way. Father against son. And you want so desperately to share your faith with your daughter who lost hers. To reconnect with her. To talk to her about what really matters. And no matter what strategy you try she always ends up angry and seemingly more dug in than before. Daughter against mother. Most recently for me, it was my aunt. Super sweet aunt. She traveled through Aiken a few months ago. We did the family thing and in a way it was nice. We joked, told family stories, and cared about each other, but we didn’t truly connect. She got up strategically at the restaurant when we prayed with Elliana. And even though she’s retired and wasn’t even sure how far she wanted to get that day she left my house at the exact same moment I was leaving to preach at the service I had invited her to. Nephew against aunt.

And then I arrived home. 15 minutes later, I arrived home. I left behind my biology, my family stories, my memories of ice skating in my aunt’s backyard – all of it – and came home. To people I hadn’t known nearly as long. To people I didn’t share biology, blood, or history with. But I did come home to family. We may not share history or biology or blood, but because we share Jesus we share everything that matters. We may not have the same last name, but you know what really matters to me better than anybody who does. We may not be able to give each other a kidney transplant, but we can give each other the medicine of immortality called the forgiveness of sins in the gospel. We may not have decades of shared history between us, but we will share our histories forever. Here’s what I’m saying. We have to know the divide exists, but we don’t always have to always stare at it. Sometimes we can just enjoy the family we get to keep. The holy family. And, no, I’m not talking about Mary, Joseph and Jesus right now. I’m talking one Lord, one faith, and one baptism. Family that transcends biology. Family that outlasts time. Family that outlives this earth and is looking forward to the ultimate family reunion. Amen. 

Luke 12:49–53 “I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! 50 But I have a baptism to undergo, and what constraint I am under until it is completed! 51 Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division. 52 From now on there will be five in one family divided against each other, three against two and two against three. 53 They will be divided, father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

I grew up like perhaps many of you did. In my Sunday School classroom hung a picture of an effeminate looking Jesus. You can maybe even picture that in your mind’s eye. He’s got those soft facial features. He’s got that perfectly manscaped beard if he has one at all. And he’s always got long brushed out blondish hair and strikingly blue eyes. And for the life of me, I can’t understand why anybody ever thought a middle-eastern Jewish man in his 30’s looked like that. But, then again, I don’t think anybody ever did. No critically thinking person would ever recreate the historical Jesus on canvass like that. They wouldn’t. What they would do is slap onto a canvass a projection of Jesus. What they wished he was like. What they hoped for in him. So he’s a white Jesus. A blue-eyed Jesus. A Jesus with no hard edges. No expectations for his followers. No challenges to belief systems and no declarations of truth that might be different than those already held. A totally benign Jesus who like a chameleon blends into various postures, beliefs, and attitudes that are most convenient to his hearers.

So you’ve got to hand it to the historical Jesus. Like him or not he always manages to defy our expectations of him and to shatter the beliefs we desperately try to project onto him. I mean I don’t think I have to work too hard to show you that here he’s blowing up any projection or hope we have for him to be an ancient Ghandi or the first of a long line of peace-loving Hippies. Just look at the vocabulary here. Fire. Division. This is no tolerance pushing, peace-at-all-costs teacher. This is a fire starting, baptism undergoing, dividing, lightning rod of a spiritual figure. You actually never get away from that with Jesus. Definitely not when he says his more controversial things like, “You have to eat me. You have to drink me. If you don’t you won’t have any real life in you.” And not even when he says comforting things like, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Because he immediately goes on and he says, “No one comes to the Father except through me.” That’s the historical Jesus who’s also here saying, “I came to cast fire on the earth and I can’t wait to get it started.” “I have a baptism to undergo and I’m so pained until it’s done. Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? Because I didn’t.”

This is a Jesus who is apparently so secure in that message that he’s even willing to let it speak to what for most people is their most sacred cow: biological family. I don’t mean for that to sound too brainy. Because it’s definitely not that. For many of us, our family is our heart. It is us. At least, that’s what the Barna polls say. When we’re asked candidly who we identify with, three times more of us choose biological family over Jesus. Barna also says that – again when we’re being our most honest selves –  7 out of ten of us think our relationship with our families is more important than our relationship with Jesus. But Barna isn’t the only thing that’s convinced me of this. My experience as a pastor has too. I’ve preached on this topic on a number of occasions and I can tell you that it is the single topic that always receives the most push-back. Usually it comes sort of passive aggressively. Nobody complements the sermon or if they do it’s a sort of a sideways complement like, “Pastor, I’m going to be out of town again this weekend doing AAU basketball with the kids. Is Jesus good with that?”

But what’s even more convincing is what I find in my own heart. Because I get this. I really get this. Because I love my family. And I’ve got a good one. One of the best. I have so many good memories from growing up – great parents. Awesome siblings. I’ve got six of them. I even like my mother-in-law! I even have what many of you don’t have. I have an identical twin. I’m living proof that the stories about the power of biology and the closeness that that literally breeds are incredible and powerful. I shared a classroom for well over 20 years with my twin. I shared state championships, GPA’s, a crib, and even a womb with my twin. I currently still share a look, a set of DNA, an age, racial, and even a religious demographic with him. I am currently a man who loves his wife and adores his daughter. So if there’s anyone who can understand the power and draw of family, it’s me. Why do I tell you this? So you know I’m not here working out my daddy issues or not really understanding the incredible safety and love and fun that God gives in a great family unit. I get this topic and I’m right there with you on it.

And so I get that it’s tempting. That it’s oh so tempting because family is such a wonderful and safe place to elevate it to a place above Jesus. In fact, most people when they’re candid tell Barna that they do. But you know where that will ultimately leave you? Forever alone. I stream music these days off my Prime Music app. You know what the top song on Prime Music was just last week? A song called Seven Years by a guy named Lukas Graham. He didn’t mean to, but in that song he illustrated how family always has to ultimately leave you. In his song, he goes decade by decade of a human life and shares his greatest hopes for what might happen. So he works through the decades of his life and then gets to the last one he’s willing to sing about. The sixties. Now everyone apparently except him knows that’s when living really starts, but this is what he sings, “Soon I’ll be sixty years old, my daddy got sixty-one. I hope my children come and visit, maybe once or twice a month.” And that’s the highest hope he has for biological family. He wants visits from his kids once or twice a month.

But what’s even more thought provoking is this: he refuses to sing about what happens to family after that. It’s like he can see what’s going to happen to all those relationships and he doesn’t want to wreck his pop song. So he has to drop off so we won’t ever think about it. You know what he is perhaps only subconsciously realizing? They may not even want to, but his family will all have to leave him. They will have to because people die. Such is the way of this world. Having ultimate hopes for earthly families will leave people ultimately alone. Thank God for the Jesus who did not come to make peace with that. Thank God for the Jesus who came, “to bring fire on the earth,” (v. 49) and who wished, “it were already kindled.” (v. 49) Thank God for the Jesus who didn’t come to make peace with our pain, but came to divide us from it. Do you see that that’s what Jesus is saying? He’s saying, “I came to burn away the pain and purge the evil from your midst.” He’s saying, “I came to bring fire on family endings and divide you from sin, from death, and from the hopeless hope that you have here.” Thank God for the Jesus who refuses to accept any of it, who is tough and hard edged in all the right ways. Thank God.

But – oh –  what pain it would cause Jesus to purge and divide people from that sin and from that death. This is something Jesus really wants us to get. In a very rare moment, Jesus is letting us in here on his psychology, his personal stress, and his agonizing pressure. When he looked at what he had to do to destroy death he knew that it would destroy him. That’s why he said, “what constraint  (What pressure!) I am under until it is completed.” (v. 50) He even went so far as to call it a baptism – something that spiritually was going to take him all the way under. Under sin. Under God’s fire. Under God’s judgment. Under God’s wrath. He was going to be God’s lightning rod for the world’s sin. For the sin in our biological families and for the sin given to us by our biological families. He was going to receive it as God’s lightning rod in his biology, his body. That’s, in fact, the heart of the gospel. Jesus went all the way under in a baptism of suffering and death to bring us all the way up to the God of heaven. That coming baptism caused him great psychological stress, pressure, and anguish so much so that it’s already gripping his soul right here and right now.

And Jesus wants you to know that. You know why? He wants you to see him as your ultimate family. Do you see that that’s what he’s up to? When we hear his heart, how can we not get that home is not ultimately where the heart is? That the ultimate heart beats in Jesus. And when we picture his anguish, how can we not get that momma isn’t the one who loves me best? That that’s Jesus. And when we see him struck with God’s wrath, how can we not see that it’s his blood that’s thicker than water. That’s the big New Testament truth that Jesus is teaching here. Handed to you through Jesus’ great agony, suffering, and death is a new family. One we needed because our earthly one will ultimately have to fail us. So Jesus came and handed you one that never will: an eternal Father in God and a perfect brother in himself. And it’s the job of the Spirit to create around you a spiritual family to know, love, and defend the real you. So you’re the most blessed of all. You get two families. An earthly one to enjoy, and a heavenly one to ultimately depend on. A biological one to spend time with, and a spiritual one to spend eternity with. A physical one that you can appreciate as an important connection here, and a spiritual one that is your primary connection even here.

And Jesus does think it needs to be primary. He’s amazingly consistent and stunning on that point. Take this saying, for example. “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26) Let’s be clear. Jesus is not advocating hate. He never advocates hate. What he is doing is being Jesus. He’s being striking and memorable and table turning. He’s being Jesus. He’s always finding ways to get through to us on topics we’d rather him not get through on. What he’s saying is that you cannot possibly understand what he did – his agony, his suffering, his death – what he’s saying is that can’t possibly understand that and not have it impact the way you relate to your family. He’s saying that when you get how much more he’s sacrificed and how much he has given you and how much longer he’s going to stay by your side and how much better he knows the real you then your commitment and your feelings for family will look like hate in comparison to what you have for him. Not that you won’t care for your family, but that you’ll care for Jesus that much more.

And that will have consequences for your immediate family. Vast consequences. “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” (v. 51) See, ‘cause that’s the thing. Jesus wants us to recognize that our commitment to him will have consequences within our biological families. When he’s valued more. When he’s treasured more. When he’s pursued more you will see consequences. Sometimes massively positive. You connect with your cousins in ways you never did before. You won’t expect nearly so much from your kids or your mom or your dad because you already Jesus. Positive stuff. But Jesus thinks what we really to do is brace ourselves for the negative consequences. For division. “Father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.” (v. 53) You see what Jesus is saying? He’s saying that he will always be the most divisive, polarizing figure in history and that will show up in your own house. He’s the world’s lightning rod. Jesus is saying, “Everyone will fall into one of two camps. They will either love me for my love or will despise me for telling them they need it.” And there is no Switzerland. And there are no neutral parties. There are only sides.

So you do your best. You want to share your heart with those who have your heart. And so you pray. And you plan. You want so badly to communicate to your son the beauty and the safety of Jesus’ teaching on sexuality, but your son – shall we say – didn’t end up seeing it that way. Father against son. And you want so desperately to share your faith with your daughter who lost hers. To reconnect with her. To talk to her about what really matters. And no matter what strategy you try she always ends up angry and seemingly more dug in than before. Daughter against mother. Most recently for me, it was my aunt. Super sweet aunt. She traveled through Aiken a few months ago. We did the family thing and in a way it was nice. We joked, told family stories, and cared about each other, but we didn’t truly connect. She got up strategically at the restaurant when we prayed with Elliana. And even though she’s retired and wasn’t even sure how far she wanted to get that day she left my house at the exact same moment I was leaving to preach at the service I had invited her to. Nephew against aunt.

And then I arrived home. 15 minutes later, I arrived home. I left behind my biology, my family stories, my memories of ice skating in my aunt’s backyard – all of it – and came home. To people I hadn’t known nearly as long. To people I didn’t share biology, blood, or history with. But I did come home to family. We may not share history or biology or blood, but because we share Jesus we share everything that matters. We may not have the same last name, but you know what really matters to me better than anybody who does. We may not be able to give each other a kidney transplant, but we can give each other the medicine of immortality called the forgiveness of sins in the gospel. We may not have decades of shared history between us, but we will share our histories forever. Here’s what I’m saying. We have to know the divide exists, but we don’t always have to always stare at it. Sometimes we can just enjoy the family we get to keep. The holy family. And, no, I’m not talking about Mary, Joseph and Jesus right now. I’m talking one Lord, one faith, and one baptism. Family that transcends biology. Family that outlasts time. Family that outlives this earth and is looking forward to the ultimate family reunion. Amen. 

Luke 12:13–21 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” 14 Jesus replied, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” 15 Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” 16 And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. 17 He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’ 18 “Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. 19 And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”’ 20 “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’ 21 “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”

Can we have it all? What do you think?

I bring that up because I’ve got one of those red-letter Bibles. You know what I’m talking about? One of those Bibles that puts all the words of Jesus in red to highlight them. Why do I tell you that? To make you jealous? No. Then why? Because here in Luke 12 you have an almost unbroken sea of red. I opened up my red letter Bible saw red as far as my eye could see. With one little island of black type. Just one. Why do I point that out? Because I want you to sense how abrupt this all was. Jesus seems to have really been in rare form in the moment – really getting into his sermon on the persecution. There he was getting all into the details of how we’d get hauled in front of authorities for teaching his words and how the Holy Spirit was going to be there to help us in that moment and then –  boom! – that’s when it happens. The black type. Some guy pipes up. And it’s not an, “Amen!” or a, “Come on, Jesus, preach on!” either. Not even close.

What does this guy break in so rudely to do? Offer up an abrupt and bizarre and totally inappropriately timed request. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” (v. 13) I mean how poorly timed could you be. I’m not saying you can’t ask Jesus for help. You definitely can, but timed like this? “Jesus, stop the flow of your preach to focus on me and my nasty, withholding brother.” Yeah, that doesn’t exactly qualify as a well-timed and appropriate request. It was selfish and rude, but not totally unrelated. Not like you might think. You know how the mind makes connections? That’s what this guy had just done. Jesus had been saying, “There will be threats to your body.” And, “you are even going to be hauled in to testify before very powerful people.” And this guy made a connection in his mind and thought to himself, “When that happens what’s going to happen to my money?” Would Jesus back him? Would Jesus let him have it all? Jesus would send the Holy Spirit to help testify when on trial. Jesus would ultimately protect his body, but what about his money? Could he have that too? Could he have it all? Can we?

Jesus’ immediate response? “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” (v. 14) Not exactly warm, right? “Get yourself a lawyer. Take it to someone whose job it is to deal with these cases.” And not exactly an answer to his ultimate question. Could he have it all? Not sure. Jesus didn’t say it was wrong to look at a legal solution nor did he actually recommend one. He simply refused to weigh in. His teaching to the crowd was in a way similar. “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (v. 15) This wasn’t exactly, “Wealth is awesome. I’m good with it. Enjoy it. Pursue it. Work for it. Litigate for it. Whatever.” Nor was it strictly a condemnation either. “Abundance will destroy your spiritual life. Those who have it are disqualified from God.” In fact, Jesus doesn’t seem to target abundance with his comments at all. He targets those think their life comes from it. He does that twice and even labels it as greed. He says, “Watch out! Be on your guard! Greed kills. Life doesn’t come from stuff.” Could he have it all? Can we? Maybe.

Then again, that wasn’t Jesus’ final word on the subject, was it? He did keep on teaching. And as he did he taught a most devastating parable. A rich guy was further enriched. For the record, I think it’s important to notice that Jesus very strategically says that the land made the guy rich. He didn’t make himself rich. He was enriched. So this already rich guy was further enriched with an abundant harvest. He talks to himself about it, “What am I going to do with all this stuff?” Thinking it was his to do with as he pleases, he goes to absolutely incredible lengths to avoid sharing his enrichment with anybody. Notice the planning. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones.” Notice the vision he has for himself. “I’ll say to myself, ‘Self, you’ve got it made for many years. Take it easy. Rest. Eat. Drink. Be merry.’” Sounds uncomfortably close to American ideal of retirement. At any rate, God then breaks into his extended envisioning and says, “Your life is demanded from you this night. I’m going to have you stroke out (or have a heart attacked.). I’ve taking back your soul.” Implication? Money had it. Not God.

And no one else did either. That’s brilliantly taught in the parable. I don’t think it’s just a fun fact that there is only one character in it. Just one. That is rare for Jesus. The Good Samaritan, for example, has people running around in it all over place. Almost all Jesus’ parables do. But this rich guy? He’s all alone. That’s not accidental. That’s what the love of money very obviously does. It destroys relationships and isolates them from what really matters. This guy doesn’t plan to bless his church or give to the poor. He doesn’t even think to mention the easier and more self-interested kind of giving that can happen within a family unit. I mean where are the grandkids? Where are they? Had this guy blown up his marriage by the way he was constantly controlling the family checkbook? Had he alienated himself from all his kids with all those hours he had been out in the fields? Wouldn’t surprise me for a second. That’s what the love of money does. It isolates. Just think of what it must’ve done to this guy who had just outed his brother in front of Jesus and a whole crowd of people. Can you imagine the estrangement and pain that caused in that family?

But then again, that’s not the worst of it. The pursuit of abundance also separates people from God. I don’t have to go any farther to prove than that what prompted this parable. What did that guy want from Jesus? Did he want Jesus’ arbitration between him and God? Did he want Jesus for who Jesus was? Did he? No, He wanted Jesus for money. “Tell my brother to split the inheritance.” You know what’s just as disturbing as noticing that? It’s noticing the guy in the parable. Did you notice his dialogue in it? It’s all self-talk. Not once does he talk to God. Didn’t he make you squirm a bit? It’s so eerily close to what you should be finding in the Psalms. “O soul, you have plenty of grain laid up. Rest. Eat, drink, and be merry.” (v. 20) So eerily close to what you find in the Psalms. Multiple psalms say, “O soul, you plenty of everything in God. Relax in him.” So many beautiful prayers of trust and enjoyment of God. But here? This guy’s composed a psalm to plenty and wealth. That’s how far from God he really was. The point is this: the pursuit of wealth destroys one’s relationships with oneself, others, and especially God.

Why do I point this out to you? Because I want to terrorize you? Not for a second. Jim Carrey was recently asked to speak a commencement address. You know what he said? He said, “I wish everybody could get rich and could have everything they ever dreamed of, so they know it’s not the answer.” Even Jim Carrey teaches this. It’s not just me. It’s not just Jesus. It’s so very important. And why? Because money demands your life, but it can never give you life. Jesus wants you to believe that. He even called us names to make his point. Did you catch that? He said in the parable, “You fool!” You know who he’s talking to? The fool in us. We all have one. The fool that doesn’t understand even the most basic ways of how the world works. The fool that thinks material can minister to the immaterial part of you. The fool that thinks money is what provides a truly restful retirement. The fool that functionally believes that abundance is what satisfies the soul. That its vacations. Its restaurants. Its clothes. Its status will do it for the human soul. The fool that will only come to know its foolery way too late when its life is demanded from it by the God it refused to acknowledge, thank, or pursue.

Can we have it all? You tell me.

But, then again, that’s not the end of Jesus’ teaching. Close, but not quite. This is: “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.” (v. 21) That is the end of Jesus’ teaching. And that is clear. Storing up things isn’t necessarily wrong or bad. Doing it for yourself is. And riches aren’t wrong. In fact, riches are the goal. The goal is to be rich toward God. And we are those who are. Luke thinks its key that this teaching wasn’t spoken to the disciples. He makes a big deal of that fact through the chapter. This was spoken in the hearing of the disciples. This was spoken for them to consider as those who also have an inner fool, but it wasn’t spoken to them as those who are controlled by that fool. I actually think that’s fairly obvious in the moment. Why’s it obvious? You didn’t show up asking me or hoping for Jesus to mediate a family money dispute. Nor did you come this morning – I don’t think! – because you thought I was going to pull an Oprah church style and start tossing money into the audience. In fact, the only kind of money exchange that’s going to happen this morning that I know of is only in one direction: to God.

No, this group came together for an entirely different kind of arbitration than what happens after mom and dad die. This group came together for the arbitration that Jesus came to give, with a request Jesus will never pass off to the local lawyer, with the case that Jesus always takes himself. The mediation between you and God. In fact, that’s why he came. For the fool in us. For the times we built bigger barns for ourselves. For the times we sat scrooge-like counting our money too gleefully. You realize that? Jesus is the final answer to the parable. Because one day his life was demanded by God. That life demanded should’ve been ours, but it was Jesus’. And that’s how he arbitrated. He paid off the spiritual debts we racked up ironically in pursuit of money. That’s what he came to do. That’s the job He never passes off to the local lawyer. That’s the job he always just does himself. We come to him the fool. He becomes the fool for us. We come to him with our debts to God. He pays them off for us. We come to him in danger of having our lives taken from us. Jesus gives us his. That’s what always happens when we come to him in faith.

Do you know what the makes us? We are filthy rich toward God in Jesus. Filthy rich. Have you thought about how rich you are in him? You are so filthy rich that when he had to tear down our spiritual barns and build us bigger ones. That’s how rich we are. He filled our barns with so much spiritual treasure that we will never run out of his forgiveness. And you have life. Not life that consists in the abundance of possessions. That’s never how it works. You have life for that immaterial part of you from that ultimate immaterial being: God. That’s true life. That’s real living. That’s truly having it all. Do you see it? Resting in God makes every moment a real vacation. Enjoying his faithfulness is the true retirement. And toasting his love is life’s joy and crown and abundance. I so want you to see that. I want you to see that so clearly that self-talk gets replaced with prayer. And the psalms of your heart change. They change. They change over from enjoyment of your stuff and your doings and your goings into little snippets that sound like something ripped right out the Psalms, “O soul, you have plenty in God. Relax in his love and faithfulness.”

That’s where Jesus wants you. That’s where he’s always wanted you. Because here’s the deal: Christian teaching has never condemned wealth. It condemns the pursuit of it. And Christian teaching has never looked askance at the enjoyment of abundance. It looks askance at doing that selfishly. And it’s never said you can’t plan financially for the future. It simply teaches you the give back to the God who enriched you first. And it always teaches that way so that money is never ultimate in your life. It always remains a means. It’s a means to thank God. It’s a means to care for family. It’s a means to bless the poor. It’s even a means to enjoy a moment, but it’s always and only a means. Never an end. Only God is that. And let me tell you this. When we believe that deeply and we functionally act that way, you know what Jesus goes to promise right here in Luke 12? God won’t be able to help himself – such is his heart – he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll not only give you himself through Jesus, he’ll give you everything else as well.

That is the new interior world of trust that Jesus came to recreate in us. To make us people who possess possessions. Not those who are possessed by them. To make us people who have wealth. Not those whose wealth has them. To make us people who have abundance. Not those whose abundance has them. Jesus came that we may be people who aren’t possessed by money, but rather are people who simply possess it. Do you see the freedom in that? We can use money to bless God’s church. Not leave it impoverished. We can use abundance to help the poor. Not leave them down and out. We can make wealth enhance our family life not ironically impoverish it when it controls us. Do you see that? Jesus is saving us for real living even now. Living that was so important to him that he allowed that guy to break in on his teaching even as he was revving up. So he could break in on us and hand us back everything new: new relationships with each other, a new relationship with God, even a new relationship with our stuff. Everything new. Do you see that? Jesus is literally handing us back everything new in this teaching.

Can a Christian have it all? Yes! In fact, we’re the only ones who can. Strike that. We’re those with plenty no barn can contain, with a rest that will never ever end, and with a merriness to which nothing can compare. Can a Christian have it all? We not only can. We actually do. Amen.  

Luke 12:13–21 Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” 14 Jesus replied, “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” 15 Then he said to them, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.” 16 And he told them this parable: “The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. 17 He thought to himself, ‘What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.’ 18 “Then he said, ‘This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. 19 And I’ll say to myself, “You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.”’ 20 “But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?’ 21 “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.”

Can we have it all? What do you think?

I bring that up because I’ve got one of those red-letter Bibles. You know what I’m talking about? One of those Bibles that puts all the words of Jesus in red to highlight them. Why do I tell you that? To make you jealous? No. Then why? Because here in Luke 12 you have an almost unbroken sea of red. I opened up my red letter Bible saw red as far as my eye could see. With one little island of black type. Just one. Why do I point that out? Because I want you to sense how abrupt this all was. Jesus seems to have really been in rare form in the moment – really getting into his sermon on the persecution. There he was getting all into the details of how we’d get hauled in front of authorities for teaching his words and how the Holy Spirit was going to be there to help us in that moment and then –  boom! – that’s when it happens. The black type. Some guy pipes up. And it’s not an, “Amen!” or a, “Come on, Jesus, preach on!” either. Not even close.

What does this guy break in so rudely to do? Offer up an abrupt and bizarre and totally inappropriately timed request. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.” (v. 13) I mean how poorly timed could you be. I’m not saying you can’t ask Jesus for help. You definitely can, but timed like this? “Jesus, stop the flow of your preach to focus on me and my nasty, withholding brother.” Yeah, that doesn’t exactly qualify as a well-timed and appropriate request. It was selfish and rude, but not totally unrelated. Not like you might think. You know how the mind makes connections? That’s what this guy had just done. Jesus had been saying, “There will be threats to your body.” And, “you are even going to be hauled in to testify before very powerful people.” And this guy made a connection in his mind and thought to himself, “When that happens what’s going to happen to my money?” Would Jesus back him? Would Jesus let him have it all? Jesus would send the Holy Spirit to help testify when on trial. Jesus would ultimately protect his body, but what about his money? Could he have that too? Could he have it all? Can we?

Jesus’ immediate response? “Man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?” (v. 14) Not exactly warm, right? “Get yourself a lawyer. Take it to someone whose job it is to deal with these cases.” And not exactly an answer to his ultimate question. Could he have it all? Not sure. Jesus didn’t say it was wrong to look at a legal solution nor did he actually recommend one. He simply refused to weigh in. His teaching to the crowd was in a way similar. “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (v. 15) This wasn’t exactly, “Wealth is awesome. I’m good with it. Enjoy it. Pursue it. Work for it. Litigate for it. Whatever.” Nor was it strictly a condemnation either. “Abundance will destroy your spiritual life. Those who have it are disqualified from God.” In fact, Jesus doesn’t seem to target abundance with his comments at all. He targets those think their life comes from it. He does that twice and even labels it as greed. He says, “Watch out! Be on your guard! Greed kills. Life doesn’t come from stuff.” Could he have it all? Can we? Maybe.

Then again, that wasn’t Jesus’ final word on the subject, was it? He did keep on teaching. And as he did he taught a most devastating parable. A rich guy was further enriched. For the record, I think it’s important to notice that Jesus very strategically says that the land made the guy rich. He didn’t make himself rich. He was enriched. So this already rich guy was further enriched with an abundant harvest. He talks to himself about it, “What am I going to do with all this stuff?” Thinking it was his to do with as he pleases, he goes to absolutely incredible lengths to avoid sharing his enrichment with anybody. Notice the planning. “I know what I’ll do. I’ll tear down my barns and build bigger ones.” Notice the vision he has for himself. “I’ll say to myself, ‘Self, you’ve got it made for many years. Take it easy. Rest. Eat. Drink. Be merry.’” Sounds uncomfortably close to American ideal of retirement. At any rate, God then breaks into his extended envisioning and says, “Your life is demanded from you this night. I’m going to have you stroke out (or have a heart attacked.). I’ve taking back your soul.” Implication? Money had it. Not God.

And no one else did either. That’s brilliantly taught in the parable. I don’t think it’s just a fun fact that there is only one character in it. Just one. That is rare for Jesus. The Good Samaritan, for example, has people running around in it all over place. Almost all Jesus’ parables do. But this rich guy? He’s all alone. That’s not accidental. That’s what the love of money very obviously does. It destroys relationships and isolates them from what really matters. This guy doesn’t plan to bless his church or give to the poor. He doesn’t even think to mention the easier and more self-interested kind of giving that can happen within a family unit. I mean where are the grandkids? Where are they? Had this guy blown up his marriage by the way he was constantly controlling the family checkbook? Had he alienated himself from all his kids with all those hours he had been out in the fields? Wouldn’t surprise me for a second. That’s what the love of money does. It isolates. Just think of what it must’ve done to this guy who had just outed his brother in front of Jesus and a whole crowd of people. Can you imagine the estrangement and pain that caused in that family?

But then again, that’s not the worst of it. The pursuit of abundance also separates people from God. I don’t have to go any farther to prove than that what prompted this parable. What did that guy want from Jesus? Did he want Jesus’ arbitration between him and God? Did he want Jesus for who Jesus was? Did he? No, He wanted Jesus for money. “Tell my brother to split the inheritance.” You know what’s just as disturbing as noticing that? It’s noticing the guy in the parable. Did you notice his dialogue in it? It’s all self-talk. Not once does he talk to God. Didn’t he make you squirm a bit? It’s so eerily close to what you should be finding in the Psalms. “O soul, you have plenty of grain laid up. Rest. Eat, drink, and be merry.” (v. 20) So eerily close to what you find in the Psalms. Multiple psalms say, “O soul, you plenty of everything in God. Relax in him.” So many beautiful prayers of trust and enjoyment of God. But here? This guy’s composed a psalm to plenty and wealth. That’s how far from God he really was. The point is this: the pursuit of wealth destroys one’s relationships with oneself, others, and especially God.

Why do I point this out to you? Because I want to terrorize you? Not for a second. Jim Carrey was recently asked to speak a commencement address. You know what he said? He said, “I wish everybody could get rich and could have everything they ever dreamed of, so they know it’s not the answer.” Even Jim Carrey teaches this. It’s not just me. It’s not just Jesus. It’s so very important. And why? Because money demands your life, but it can never give you life. Jesus wants you to believe that. He even called us names to make his point. Did you catch that? He said in the parable, “You fool!” You know who he’s talking to? The fool in us. We all have one. The fool that doesn’t understand even the most basic ways of how the world works. The fool that thinks material can minister to the immaterial part of you. The fool that thinks money is what provides a truly restful retirement. The fool that functionally believes that abundance is what satisfies the soul. That its vacations. Its restaurants. Its clothes. Its status will do it for the human soul. The fool that will only come to know its foolery way too late when its life is demanded from it by the God it refused to acknowledge, thank, or pursue.

Can we have it all? You tell me.

But, then again, that’s not the end of Jesus’ teaching. Close, but not quite. This is: “This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.” (v. 21) That is the end of Jesus’ teaching. And that is clear. Storing up things isn’t necessarily wrong or bad. Doing it for yourself is. And riches aren’t wrong. In fact, riches are the goal. The goal is to be rich toward God. And we are those who are. Luke thinks its key that this teaching wasn’t spoken to the disciples. He makes a big deal of that fact through the chapter. This was spoken in the hearing of the disciples. This was spoken for them to consider as those who also have an inner fool, but it wasn’t spoken to them as those who are controlled by that fool. I actually think that’s fairly obvious in the moment. Why’s it obvious? You didn’t show up asking me or hoping for Jesus to mediate a family money dispute. Nor did you come this morning – I don’t think! – because you thought I was going to pull an Oprah church style and start tossing money into the audience. In fact, the only kind of money exchange that’s going to happen this morning that I know of is only in one direction: to God.

No, this group came together for an entirely different kind of arbitration than what happens after mom and dad die. This group came together for the arbitration that Jesus came to give, with a request Jesus will never pass off to the local lawyer, with the case that Jesus always takes himself. The mediation between you and God. In fact, that’s why he came. For the fool in us. For the times we built bigger barns for ourselves. For the times we sat scrooge-like counting our money too gleefully. You realize that? Jesus is the final answer to the parable. Because one day his life was demanded by God. That life demanded should’ve been ours, but it was Jesus’. And that’s how he arbitrated. He paid off the spiritual debts we racked up ironically in pursuit of money. That’s what he came to do. That’s the job He never passes off to the local lawyer. That’s the job he always just does himself. We come to him the fool. He becomes the fool for us. We come to him with our debts to God. He pays them off for us. We come to him in danger of having our lives taken from us. Jesus gives us his. That’s what always happens when we come to him in faith.

Do you know what the makes us? We are filthy rich toward God in Jesus. Filthy rich. Have you thought about how rich you are in him? You are so filthy rich that when he had to tear down our spiritual barns and build us bigger ones. That’s how rich we are. He filled our barns with so much spiritual treasure that we will never run out of his forgiveness. And you have life. Not life that consists in the abundance of possessions. That’s never how it works. You have life for that immaterial part of you from that ultimate immaterial being: God. That’s true life. That’s real living. That’s truly having it all. Do you see it? Resting in God makes every moment a real vacation. Enjoying his faithfulness is the true retirement. And toasting his love is life’s joy and crown and abundance. I so want you to see that. I want you to see that so clearly that self-talk gets replaced with prayer. And the psalms of your heart change. They change. They change over from enjoyment of your stuff and your doings and your goings into little snippets that sound like something ripped right out the Psalms, “O soul, you have plenty in God. Relax in his love and faithfulness.”

That’s where Jesus wants you. That’s where he’s always wanted you. Because here’s the deal: Christian teaching has never condemned wealth. It condemns the pursuit of it. And Christian teaching has never looked askance at the enjoyment of abundance. It looks askance at doing that selfishly. And it’s never said you can’t plan financially for the future. It simply teaches you the give back to the God who enriched you first. And it always teaches that way so that money is never ultimate in your life. It always remains a means. It’s a means to thank God. It’s a means to care for family. It’s a means to bless the poor. It’s even a means to enjoy a moment, but it’s always and only a means. Never an end. Only God is that. And let me tell you this. When we believe that deeply and we functionally act that way, you know what Jesus goes to promise right here in Luke 12? God won’t be able to help himself – such is his heart – he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll not only give you himself through Jesus, he’ll give you everything else as well.

That is the new interior world of trust that Jesus came to recreate in us. To make us people who possess possessions. Not those who are possessed by them. To make us people who have wealth. Not those whose wealth has them. To make us people who have abundance. Not those whose abundance has them. Jesus came that we may be people who aren’t possessed by money, but rather are people who simply possess it. Do you see the freedom in that? We can use money to bless God’s church. Not leave it impoverished. We can use abundance to help the poor. Not leave them down and out. We can make wealth enhance our family life not ironically impoverish it when it controls us. Do you see that? Jesus is saving us for real living even now. Living that was so important to him that he allowed that guy to break in on his teaching even as he was revving up. So he could break in on us and hand us back everything new: new relationships with each other, a new relationship with God, even a new relationship with our stuff. Everything new. Do you see that? Jesus is literally handing us back everything new in this teaching.

Can a Christian have it all? Yes! In fact, we’re the only ones who can. Strike that. We’re those with plenty no barn can contain, with a rest that will never ever end, and with a merriness to which nothing can compare. Can a Christian have it all? We not only can. We actually do. Amen.  

Luke 11:1–13 One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.” 2 He said to them, “When you pray, say: “‘Father, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come. 3 Give us each day our daily bread. 4 Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead us not into temptation.’” 5 Then Jesus said to them, “Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; 6 a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have no food to offer him.’ 7 And suppose the one inside answers, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’ 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need. 9 “So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 10 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? 12 Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? 13 If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

I had to rewrite my sermon this week. Lester Holt concluded his newscast on Friday night with his best attempt at encouraging the nation saying, “I think all of us can agree that we’re not there yet, but that enough tears have been shed to keep trying.” Enough tears have been shed to keep trying. A valiant attempt through editorializing to provide some leadership to the moment. I give him credit. He was to borrow his words trying. And it made all the words that I had thought of earlier in the week seem rather – well – weak. I was going to mumble some needed critiques about our prayer lives. I was going to mention some statistics about how we pray way too much for our favorite sports teams. And then I was going on to talk about how a stunning one out of five of us pray to win the lottery and how even seminary students – Christian varsity players! – have prayer lives where only 6% of them pray more than five minutes/day. But honestly all those kind of critiques seemed sort of small and empty in the face of the back end of this week.

We all intrinsically know there’s more than just keep trying. We all do. We ALL do. That there is prayer. Did you know that? Did you know that this is the only time we know of where the disciples ever asked Jesus to teach them anything? The only time. Jesus taught and taught and taught and taught, but never from a request from the disciples. What does that tell you that they came up to Jesus with the only request for teaching ever: “One of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.’” (v. 1) We sense the need for prayer. There’s something else here too. Jesus’ teaching here on prayer is an answer to prayer. The disciples prayed to Jesus for a teaching on prayer and he very generously and I might add instantaneously answered. That’s an important teaching on prayer all by itself, but I digress. The point here is that we sense a need for prayer. And more than that. We feel insufficient at it. Uncertain with it. Perhaps even lackadaisical at it. And so much so that word spreads like wildfire when anybody teaches on prayer, “Lord, we need help with this. Teach us to pray. John taught his disciples!”

So teach Jesus does. “When you pray, say: “‘Father…” (v. 2) It’s interesting, isn’t it? There’s no posture talk. No, “When you pray, lift up your hands.” No, “When you pray, close your eyes, fold your hands, and bow your heads out of respect.” None of that. In fact, in a certain sense Jesus says the exact opposite of all this humble, quiet prayer posture stuff. Jesus says, “When you pray, say, ‘Father.’” You just blurt it out. Boldly. Confidently. You just run up to him. Grab his lapels and get into it with him. “Father.” And for the record, this isn’t a cold, technical term of address. This isn’t Jesus saying, “Let’s not make God mad. Let’s make sure we get the right language here.” Not for a second. This is Jesus as a matter of first importance helping us understand our relational position to the high God. He’s our Father. Our Father. Now depending on your experience of your father that may or may not help you get God, but Jesus’ point is clear. This Father protects. This Father cares. This Father will only father you in the perfect and the ultimate sense. You know what that makes you? Not to go all IRS on you, but that makes you God’s loved dependent.

You know what’s fascinating about this truth? Nobody out rightly denies that. Nobody. It wasn’t all that long ago when an indie-pop artist by the name of Regina Spektor sang about that exact truth in her usual off kilter and memorable way. She sang, “No one laughs at God in a hospital. No one laughs at God in a war. No one’s laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor. No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests.” Her point? No one laughs at God when it counts. No, that’s when they feel their dependency and they pray. That’s when we all pray no matter what religious box we fall into. Skeptics, atheists, Christians – it doesn’t matter the box, we all pray when life comes for us. I supposed I could prove that to you with that old, catty, Christian saying, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” But I don’t need to. Just check out Twitter. The feed predictably fills every time something bad happens. #prayfordallas. #prayforparis. #prayforsanbernardino. #prayfororlando. #prayfordallas. Everyone does it. Religious. Irreligious. Skeptic. Christian. It doesn’t matter.

And why? Pressure, futility, and pain help us see our dependency – a truth we almost never grasp well. It’s easy to understand why we don’t too. We never have – well – almost never. There was a time – oh so long ago! – when we did. In Eden, Adam and Eve knew they were loved dependents. God showered his loved dependents with gifts in one long, eternal unbroken stream. He was their Father. They were his loved dependents. And it was good. Until hook line and sinker they swallowed Satan’s suggestion that they actually weren’t that loved. “He’s no a Good Giver. He’s a withholder. He’s no perfect Father. He’s trying to keep you down. Climb up and out of dependency and you’ll have it all.” “Be like God.” (Genesis 3:5) And it worked, we traded places with God. Pressure, futility, and pain make us only occasionally aware of how well that first declaration of independence has gone for us. But – honestly? – we live a lot of the time with that original independence day imprinted on us. Prayer hashtags don’t trend most days. Not on Twitter. Not even in our hearts. To whatever extent we don’t pray, we’re failing to realize we’re loved dependents.

We need to relearn that we’re loved dependents. To return to Eden. Or face the ready alternative. We can throw off our dependency by throwing off prayer. Maybe even a little like the New York Daily News did with after San Bernardino with the astonishing headline God Isn’t Fixing This. You decide to just act. You go out into life bearing the weight of your world. You wear the grief. You wear the questions. You wear the problems. You strive and you push and you do. And you know what always finally happens when you do that? The God-sized load you carry crushes you emotionally, spiritually, even physically. Independence never ends well. Or if we don’t want to throw off our dependency. We can throw off the loved part. That crushes us too. Maybe you get what I’m talking about. You know God is God. You’re just not so sure he’s your Father and that you’re loved. No, your world seems like this chaotic, massive place where you’re this itsy, bitsy bit of human phlegm tossed in the ocean of humanity. Nobody has your back or cares about your interests so you go about life anxious, probably depressed, and almost always hopeless. And prayer? It’s pretending. Not action. It’s babble. Not the world’s most powerful change agent.

But Jesus? He teaches both. Both. Both that we’re loved and that we’re dependents and he does it brilliantly all in one word. He said, “Say, ‘Father.’” (v. 2) And then he takes that point and drives it home. It’s the brilliant point of the story he tells. “It’s midnight,” he starts out. A friend comes to you on a journey and you’ve got no bread. Yeah, you’ve got no bread. Not for yourself or for your friend either. We’re not talking first world problems here. We’re talking third world problems. He says, “Imagine yourself being so needy in the middle of the night that you have to go banging on a friend’s door for bread in the middle of the night.” That’s dependency. The worst sort. It doesn’t get worse than midnight begging. But thankfully dependency isn’t the main point of the story. Not a by a long shot. It’s a story about how we’re dependents loved by a Good Giver and a wonderful Father. Well, that’s where it lands at least. That’s not where it starts, but that’s where it ends up.

It starts with a bad, selfish, callous giver. I mean it’s bad. Jesus has us imagine this midnight beggar pounding on a friend’s door for bread and the response comes back incredibly mean and callous. It’s like the guy’s got no heart or conscience at all. Listen to the words Jesus points in his mouth. “Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’” (v. 7) Shockingly mean. Shockingly heartless. Shockingly callous. And yet. And yet. Here comes the punch line: “I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need.” (v. 8) Do you see Jesus’ point? This guy’s no friend at all. There’s no heart. No conscience. No feeling at all. But because a midnight beggar knocked and asked – bad as he was – he’ll still cough up the bread. He will. “Surely, he will,” Jesus says. And that’s the story. Do you see Jesus’ point? He’s arguing from the lesser to the greater to make one huge, smashing point. Here’s what he saying: “Even unloving, selfish givers will still give when you ask.” Even callous, unfeeling people will. Now just imagine. Just imagine what’s going to happen when you bring your requests to God who’s actually the exact opposite.

Just imagine. Just imagine what happens when you bang on the door of the God who’s always only wanted to give and bestow and pour out. And lavishly at that. Just imagine. If someone who’s shockingly bad and callous will still cough up what’s needed, then what’s going to happen when you ask God who is shockingly good and generous? How quickly will your Father hop to it and get it done? You know what the answer to those questions is? The gospel. And that is what Jesus here is teaching. The gospel. You have a Father who loves to give perfect and even eternal gifts. That’s what Jesus is teaching here. You know what else he’s doing? Living it. He was his Father’s mission. Not his own. And what was he doing? In Eden, we climbed up on God’s throne. So he got off God’s throne. In Eden, we traded places with God. So Jesus traded places with us. We sought our independence from God. So he made himself the human dependent we were not. And why would he do that? Because his Father would gift us. He would. He wanted to reestablish the stream of unbroken gifts. So he sent Jesus.

This is the Jesus who knew his Father’s heart unlike any other. And it’s this Jesus who gets emphatic and clear and even drastic so we’ll get this point. Check out how Jesus goes on to argue once again from the lesser to the greater. “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (v. 12–13) Interesting pairing, huh? Make you cringe a bit? Can you imagine? “So, son, you want a fish? Here’s a snake.” Or, “So, child of mine, you want an egg? Why don’t you munch on this here scorpion?” Yeah. Not going to happen. Even bad dads end up loving and giving good gifts to their children. That’s Jesus’ point. And it’s not unlike the point Jesus already made once. Even bad friends will answer petitions when you bang on their doors and even bad dads manage to give good gifts. Now just imagine God who loves answering the door. Now just imagine this Father who’s always and only good and how he might give gifts when asked. Just imagine.  

Actually you don’t have to. Really you don’t. It’s interesting to me that Jesus makes his point so forcefully here that when the NIV punctuates Jesus’ wrap up question it punctuates it with an exclamation point. And this even though it’s actually a question! “How much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (v. 12–13) I think that was the right call because in a way there’s no question about it. In fact, isn’t that the whole point. Jesus wants us filled with confidence thinking, “My Father does intend to give me great gifts. Even the ultimate one.” The ultimate one. Think of it. Your Father is so good at gift giving that he promises here the ultimate one. Not just a bit of bread. Not just a better job. Not just a little something something to help you meet a life goal or weather some life crisis. Way more. The Father gives the Spirit. Do you see what that means? The Father doesn’t just answer our petitions with answered petitions. He’s so eager, so joyful, and so powerfully good at answering prayers that he goes ahead and answers them not only with gifts from God, but also with the gift of God. God himself. The Joy-filled One. The Peace-filled one. The Love-filled one. Filling you. What could be better?! God doesn’t just give the gifts of God, he gives himself.

And prayer? Well – pray is acting on that truth. If you think about it, it’s literally speaking the gospel truth out loud, “Father.” You do have one again. He is the most powerful being in the cosmos – the one who changes the hearts of kings like water and makes the earth tremble with the just one small breath. You have his heart. You have his intimate attention so much so that he sent his Son to die just so he could hear your prayers again and shower you with his gifts. Prayer is simply recognizing and acting on that. Do you see what that makes prayer? Pray is not merely asking God for gifts. It’s way more. Prayer is a gift itself. It’s the way your Father takes the weight of your world of your shoulders and returns you to who he created you to be: a loved dependent. Do you see that? It’s good to stop wearing the weight of your world. It’s good. It always was. It always will be. So let prayer pulse in your heart. Say, “Father,” and then keep right on going. And when you do, he will be. He promises. And, frankly, at a time like this I can think of no policy response or political activism or show of grief more practical, more concrete, or more saving than that. Amen.

Luke 11:1–13 One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.” 2 He said to them, “When you pray, say: “‘Father, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come. 3 Give us each day our daily bread. 4 Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us. And lead us not into temptation.’” 5 Then Jesus said to them, “Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; 6 a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have no food to offer him.’ 7 And suppose the one inside answers, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’ 8 I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need. 9 “So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. 10 For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. 11 “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? 12 Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? 13 If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

I had to rewrite my sermon this week. Lester Holt concluded his newscast on Friday night with his best attempt at encouraging the nation saying, “I think all of us can agree that we’re not there yet, but that enough tears have been shed to keep trying.” Enough tears have been shed to keep trying. A valiant attempt through editorializing to provide some leadership to the moment. I give him credit. He was to borrow his words trying. And it made all the words that I had thought of earlier in the week seem rather – well – weak. I was going to mumble some needed critiques about our prayer lives. I was going to mention some statistics about how we pray way too much for our favorite sports teams. And then I was going on to talk about how a stunning one out of five of us pray to win the lottery and how even seminary students – Christian varsity players! – have prayer lives where only 6% of them pray more than five minutes/day. But honestly all those kind of critiques seemed sort of small and empty in the face of the back end of this week.

We all intrinsically know there’s more than just keep trying. We all do. We ALL do. That there is prayer. Did you know that? Did you know that this is the only time we know of where the disciples ever asked Jesus to teach them anything? The only time. Jesus taught and taught and taught and taught, but never from a request from the disciples. What does that tell you that they came up to Jesus with the only request for teaching ever: “One of his disciples said to him, ‘Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.’” (v. 1) We sense the need for prayer. There’s something else here too. Jesus’ teaching here on prayer is an answer to prayer. The disciples prayed to Jesus for a teaching on prayer and he very generously and I might add instantaneously answered. That’s an important teaching on prayer all by itself, but I digress. The point here is that we sense a need for prayer. And more than that. We feel insufficient at it. Uncertain with it. Perhaps even lackadaisical at it. And so much so that word spreads like wildfire when anybody teaches on prayer, “Lord, we need help with this. Teach us to pray. John taught his disciples!”

So teach Jesus does. “When you pray, say: “‘Father…” (v. 2) It’s interesting, isn’t it? There’s no posture talk. No, “When you pray, lift up your hands.” No, “When you pray, close your eyes, fold your hands, and bow your heads out of respect.” None of that. In fact, in a certain sense Jesus says the exact opposite of all this humble, quiet prayer posture stuff. Jesus says, “When you pray, say, ‘Father.’” You just blurt it out. Boldly. Confidently. You just run up to him. Grab his lapels and get into it with him. “Father.” And for the record, this isn’t a cold, technical term of address. This isn’t Jesus saying, “Let’s not make God mad. Let’s make sure we get the right language here.” Not for a second. This is Jesus as a matter of first importance helping us understand our relational position to the high God. He’s our Father. Our Father. Now depending on your experience of your father that may or may not help you get God, but Jesus’ point is clear. This Father protects. This Father cares. This Father will only father you in the perfect and the ultimate sense. You know what that makes you? Not to go all IRS on you, but that makes you God’s loved dependent.

You know what’s fascinating about this truth? Nobody out rightly denies that. Nobody. It wasn’t all that long ago when an indie-pop artist by the name of Regina Spektor sang about that exact truth in her usual off kilter and memorable way. She sang, “No one laughs at God in a hospital. No one laughs at God in a war. No one’s laughing at God when they’re starving or freezing or so very poor. No one laughs at God when the doctor calls after some routine tests.” Her point? No one laughs at God when it counts. No, that’s when they feel their dependency and they pray. That’s when we all pray no matter what religious box we fall into. Skeptics, atheists, Christians – it doesn’t matter the box, we all pray when life comes for us. I supposed I could prove that to you with that old, catty, Christian saying, “There are no atheists in foxholes.” But I don’t need to. Just check out Twitter. The feed predictably fills every time something bad happens. #prayfordallas. #prayforparis. #prayforsanbernardino. #prayfororlando. #prayfordallas. Everyone does it. Religious. Irreligious. Skeptic. Christian. It doesn’t matter.

And why? Pressure, futility, and pain help us see our dependency – a truth we almost never grasp well. It’s easy to understand why we don’t too. We never have – well – almost never. There was a time – oh so long ago! – when we did. In Eden, Adam and Eve knew they were loved dependents. God showered his loved dependents with gifts in one long, eternal unbroken stream. He was their Father. They were his loved dependents. And it was good. Until hook line and sinker they swallowed Satan’s suggestion that they actually weren’t that loved. “He’s no a Good Giver. He’s a withholder. He’s no perfect Father. He’s trying to keep you down. Climb up and out of dependency and you’ll have it all.” “Be like God.” (Genesis 3:5) And it worked, we traded places with God. Pressure, futility, and pain make us only occasionally aware of how well that first declaration of independence has gone for us. But – honestly? – we live a lot of the time with that original independence day imprinted on us. Prayer hashtags don’t trend most days. Not on Twitter. Not even in our hearts. To whatever extent we don’t pray, we’re failing to realize we’re loved dependents.

We need to relearn that we’re loved dependents. To return to Eden. Or face the ready alternative. We can throw off our dependency by throwing off prayer. Maybe even a little like the New York Daily News did with after San Bernardino with the astonishing headline God Isn’t Fixing This. You decide to just act. You go out into life bearing the weight of your world. You wear the grief. You wear the questions. You wear the problems. You strive and you push and you do. And you know what always finally happens when you do that? The God-sized load you carry crushes you emotionally, spiritually, even physically. Independence never ends well. Or if we don’t want to throw off our dependency. We can throw off the loved part. That crushes us too. Maybe you get what I’m talking about. You know God is God. You’re just not so sure he’s your Father and that you’re loved. No, your world seems like this chaotic, massive place where you’re this itsy, bitsy bit of human phlegm tossed in the ocean of humanity. Nobody has your back or cares about your interests so you go about life anxious, probably depressed, and almost always hopeless. And prayer? It’s pretending. Not action. It’s babble. Not the world’s most powerful change agent.

But Jesus? He teaches both. Both. Both that we’re loved and that we’re dependents and he does it brilliantly all in one word. He said, “Say, ‘Father.’” (v. 2) And then he takes that point and drives it home. It’s the brilliant point of the story he tells. “It’s midnight,” he starts out. A friend comes to you on a journey and you’ve got no bread. Yeah, you’ve got no bread. Not for yourself or for your friend either. We’re not talking first world problems here. We’re talking third world problems. He says, “Imagine yourself being so needy in the middle of the night that you have to go banging on a friend’s door for bread in the middle of the night.” That’s dependency. The worst sort. It doesn’t get worse than midnight begging. But thankfully dependency isn’t the main point of the story. Not a by a long shot. It’s a story about how we’re dependents loved by a Good Giver and a wonderful Father. Well, that’s where it lands at least. That’s not where it starts, but that’s where it ends up.

It starts with a bad, selfish, callous giver. I mean it’s bad. Jesus has us imagine this midnight beggar pounding on a friend’s door for bread and the response comes back incredibly mean and callous. It’s like the guy’s got no heart or conscience at all. Listen to the words Jesus points in his mouth. “Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’” (v. 7) Shockingly mean. Shockingly heartless. Shockingly callous. And yet. And yet. Here comes the punch line: “I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need.” (v. 8) Do you see Jesus’ point? This guy’s no friend at all. There’s no heart. No conscience. No feeling at all. But because a midnight beggar knocked and asked – bad as he was – he’ll still cough up the bread. He will. “Surely, he will,” Jesus says. And that’s the story. Do you see Jesus’ point? He’s arguing from the lesser to the greater to make one huge, smashing point. Here’s what he saying: “Even unloving, selfish givers will still give when you ask.” Even callous, unfeeling people will. Now just imagine. Just imagine what’s going to happen when you bring your requests to God who’s actually the exact opposite.

Just imagine. Just imagine what happens when you bang on the door of the God who’s always only wanted to give and bestow and pour out. And lavishly at that. Just imagine. If someone who’s shockingly bad and callous will still cough up what’s needed, then what’s going to happen when you ask God who is shockingly good and generous? How quickly will your Father hop to it and get it done? You know what the answer to those questions is? The gospel. And that is what Jesus here is teaching. The gospel. You have a Father who loves to give perfect and even eternal gifts. That’s what Jesus is teaching here. You know what else he’s doing? Living it. He was his Father’s mission. Not his own. And what was he doing? In Eden, we climbed up on God’s throne. So he got off God’s throne. In Eden, we traded places with God. So Jesus traded places with us. We sought our independence from God. So he made himself the human dependent we were not. And why would he do that? Because his Father would gift us. He would. He wanted to reestablish the stream of unbroken gifts. So he sent Jesus.

This is the Jesus who knew his Father’s heart unlike any other. And it’s this Jesus who gets emphatic and clear and even drastic so we’ll get this point. Check out how Jesus goes on to argue once again from the lesser to the greater. “Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (v. 12–13) Interesting pairing, huh? Make you cringe a bit? Can you imagine? “So, son, you want a fish? Here’s a snake.” Or, “So, child of mine, you want an egg? Why don’t you munch on this here scorpion?” Yeah. Not going to happen. Even bad dads end up loving and giving good gifts to their children. That’s Jesus’ point. And it’s not unlike the point Jesus already made once. Even bad friends will answer petitions when you bang on their doors and even bad dads manage to give good gifts. Now just imagine God who loves answering the door. Now just imagine this Father who’s always and only good and how he might give gifts when asked. Just imagine.  

Actually you don’t have to. Really you don’t. It’s interesting to me that Jesus makes his point so forcefully here that when the NIV punctuates Jesus’ wrap up question it punctuates it with an exclamation point. And this even though it’s actually a question! “How much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (v. 12–13) I think that was the right call because in a way there’s no question about it. In fact, isn’t that the whole point. Jesus wants us filled with confidence thinking, “My Father does intend to give me great gifts. Even the ultimate one.” The ultimate one. Think of it. Your Father is so good at gift giving that he promises here the ultimate one. Not just a bit of bread. Not just a better job. Not just a little something something to help you meet a life goal or weather some life crisis. Way more. The Father gives the Spirit. Do you see what that means? The Father doesn’t just answer our petitions with answered petitions. He’s so eager, so joyful, and so powerfully good at answering prayers that he goes ahead and answers them not only with gifts from God, but also with the gift of God. God himself. The Joy-filled One. The Peace-filled one. The Love-filled one. Filling you. What could be better?! God doesn’t just give the gifts of God, he gives himself.

And prayer? Well – pray is acting on that truth. If you think about it, it’s literally speaking the gospel truth out loud, “Father.” You do have one again. He is the most powerful being in the cosmos – the one who changes the hearts of kings like water and makes the earth tremble with the just one small breath. You have his heart. You have his intimate attention so much so that he sent his Son to die just so he could hear your prayers again and shower you with his gifts. Prayer is simply recognizing and acting on that. Do you see what that makes prayer? Pray is not merely asking God for gifts. It’s way more. Prayer is a gift itself. It’s the way your Father takes the weight of your world of your shoulders and returns you to who he created you to be: a loved dependent. Do you see that? It’s good to stop wearing the weight of your world. It’s good. It always was. It always will be. So let prayer pulse in your heart. Say, “Father,” and then keep right on going. And when you do, he will be. He promises. And, frankly, at a time like this I can think of no policy response or political activism or show of grief more practical, more concrete, or more saving than that. Amen.

Luke 9:51–62 As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. 52 And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; 53 but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. 54 When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” 55 But Jesus turned and rebuked them. 56 Then he and his disciples went to another village. 57 As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” 58 Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” 59 He said to another man, “Follow me.” But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” 60 Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” 61 Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.” 62 Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is useful for service in the kingdom of God.”

Are you just a fan of Jesus or are you a follower of him? I read a sermon like that based on this Scripture. Not a bad thing to consider. Are you a fan or a follower? Perhaps you’ve even heard that sermon before. You know what I’m talking about. You’re told there are really two kind of disciples. The awesome one. And the horrible one. There is that delightful disciple that is determined, is of iron will, and always perseveres. And then there is that other kind. You know what I mean. The one that likes Jesus, cheers him on, but then turns on him when the going gets tough. She bucks some of his teachings. He doesn’t read his Bible enough. She has a sex life not yet lined up with Jesus. He has a wallet that he hasn’t yet given to the Lord. Fans. Not followers. It was interesting to me as I studied this Scripture to notice that this view of discipleship is so common in American today that even the titles in our Bibles give credence to it. I saw one translation that titled this story, “The would be followers of Jesus.” The wanna be’s. The fans. Not the followers.

I don’t buy it. You know why I don’t? If you look at this Scripture carefully, there aren’t two categories for the disciples. Look for it all you want, but you won’t find the super disciple or the one who has totally surrendered all for him or the one who’s committed beyond belief. You just can’t find that disciple here. You can find disciples here, but not that disciple. Did you notice what kind of disciple you find here? Not two categories. Just one. Disciples who aren’t all that great at discipleship. Disciples who always need to repent. In fact, I think it’s right to notice that Luke sets up this section on discipleship not with three examples of unnamed disciples who were pretty miserable followers, but with two named disciples who weren’t just bad at discipleship. No. Worse. James and John weren’t being his disciples AT ALL in the moment. They were being what we’d call today terrorists. They were praying to Jesus to call down fire on those infidel Samaritans. Obviously, that’s not positive discipleship. So Jesus rebukes them.

Jesus then goes on to more or less rebuke everybody there. Everybody. Everybody’s discipleship here gets eviscerated. James, John, and three unnamed guys – they all get eviscerated. One guy all eager beaver comes up to him and says, “I will follow you wherever you go.” (v. 57) And instead of Jesus saying, “Wow! I love your commitment. You’ll go anywhere. That’s so rare. Let’s get going.” Instead of encouraging his good intentions and nurturing that young spiritual fire Jesus seems to douse it. “Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’” (v. 58) In other words, Jesus is saying, “You say you’ll follow me wherever I go, huh? Not so sure about that. I’m not exactly bouncing from Ritz Carlton to Ritz Carlton here. Why don’t you just quit before you start? You’re not going to like following me.”

Then Jesus makes it worse. He picks out one of his followers who was there. Just some random disciple. And Jesus doesn’t give him a chance to think or consider the request. He just picks him out of the crowd and makes an example of him. He said to this random disciple, “Follow me.” (v. 59) And the poor guy replies with his daddy on his soul. He very sweetly and I might add respectfully asks, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” (v. 59) Now keep in mind that his father probably wasn’t gone yet. Maybe close, but not yet gone. He probably wouldn’t have been hanging out with Jesus if his father was, in fact, in that moment dead. What he probably meant was, “Jesus, I’m totally in, but first let me take care of my dad through the funeral.” Reasonable, right? Not to Jesus. “Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’” (v. 60) He was saying, “First you’re going to make the dead comfortable? First? That’s not what I do. I don’t make dying people comfortable. I make dead people live. Let’s get after that.”

“Still another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord’ but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.’” (v. 61) Should be good with Jesus, right? “Let me just get a proper goodbye in. Let me just do some hugs, shed a couple of tears, and I’ll be on my way to a missionary life for you, Jesus.” Sounds good, right? Not to Jesus. For this guy who just wants to say goodbye is reserved the most astonishing statement of all. “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is useful for service in the kingdom of God.” (v. 62) Jesus was saying, “You want to follow, but only later? Forget it. If you want to work for me, you can’t do it looking back. You’re not useful like that. You have to line up your sights straight ahead.”

And lickety-split the discipleship of three in a row is eviscerated. One is over enthusiastic not understanding that following Jesus probably isn’t going to get him a silver spoon in his mouth and a posh hotel at night. Another is willing, but only after he has already laid his dad to rest. And still another is willing, but only after he has said his proper goodbyes. Call them priorities. Call them wants. Notice it’s so often our families. Notice it can be our comfort. But above all notice this: every single one of these people had something that trumped Jesus. Every single one of them. They liked Jesus. They recognized his importance at some level. Two of them even came up to him of their own volition and volunteered to be drafted into his service. You did notice that – didn’t you? – not a single potential follower said, “no.” They all said, “yes.” Every single one of them. It’s just that he wasn’t first. First, one had to see to his own comfort. “First,” another had to, “go and bury,” his father. “First,” still another had to, “go back and say goodbye,” to the fam. First.

Boom. Three down. And three is enough. If three in the Scriptures take the stand and testify to a truth, then it’s true. And now three have. What truth is Jesus giving us? We’re all failed disciples. James, John, three unnamed guys. We’re all failed disciples. Jesus wants us to know that. He’s not here comparing and contrasting fans and followers; the committed and the wobbly. He’s just not. He’s pointing out that he’s got no one who’s following him unflinchingly, whole-heartedly, totally willingly. Perfect disciples of Jesus went extinct in the Garden of Eden. Some of us chase our careers more than him. Some of us are into our kids or our grandkids more than him. Some of us read more political stories than Bible stories. Some of us stay in the Ritz Carlton before donating to church or worry more about getting in to the seeing the doctor about the heart before getting in to seeing the pastor about your heart. What I’m trying to say is that this isn’t Jesus preaching to the choir. There is no choir. There’s just us.

You know why Jesus teaches this way? To save us from our own discipleship. Really that’s it. He has to machete our overconfidence, our iron wills, our gripping commitment. He has to reveal us to ourselves. That’s his purpose in the moment. You know why? Because in a very real way the first step to following Jesus is knowing you’re kind of bad at it. In fact, that’s why you’ll follow at all. Really. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it’s true. Only once we know that will we follow more confidently and surely and committedly. We will follow him that way once we know how badly we need his grace. We follow Jesus because we must. We need his grace. Discipleship is always about that. Always. Following him for his grace. Obeying him because we love his grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. This has been Luke’s point the whole time. It’s not just an afterthought. It’s not just a coincidence. And it’s not just some kind of literary piece of luck the starting place for this section is Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. Luke very tactically wrote, “As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (v. 51)

Why? Because that is Jesus. That is who he is. That is what he does. He is The Committed One. He is the Perfectly in Pursuit One. He is always and only the Properly Prioritized One. He is the one who is always on schedule and right on point. He’s not off seeking the Ritz Carltons in life. He’s off seeking the lost. He’s not off saying goodbye to his mom, his brothers, and sisters. He’s heading off to die for them. He’s not holding out on his mission waiting until his step-dad who he loved is buried. He’s instead seeking heaven for all. And nothing would stop him. Nothing. No discouragement. No pain. None of the people in his future who would fail to follow would stop him. Nothing and no one. He, “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (v. 51) The intention of his heart got carved into face like it was flint. Jesus’ face was written in stone way before Mount Rushmore ever happened. Do you see Luke’s point? Jesus is the Savior of iron will. He would go to Jerusalem to be take all the way up. First on a cross. Then in the grave. Then all the way to heaven. He would go to Jerusalem for that. Nothing would sidetrack him. Nothing would get in his way. Nothing would else but you ever would come first.

You can be sure of it. Because nothing did. Jesus didn’t even get through the first leg of his journey before his resolve was tested. Luke did show you that. The Samaritans said to him in essence, “Hey Jesus, take a hike.” They don’t come to him. They don’t prioritize him. Not even secondarily. The Samaritans? They tossed him out of their city on his ear. “The people there did not welcome him, because he was heading to Jerusalem.” (v. 53) And so what does Jesus do with their stunning denial of discipleship? He protects them. He protects them. He doesn’t drop them. He doesn’t harm them. He doesn’t even holler at them. He does none of that. He protects them from his overconfident, judgmental disciples with terrorist impulses. James and John asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven and destroy them? But Jesus turned and rebuked them.” (v. 54–55) He doesn’t harangue the Samaritans or holler at them or drop them like flies. He protects them. And why? Jesus didn’t come to condemn. He came to seek and to save. He didn’t come to rain down fire. He came to rain down grace on everyone even those who lack commitment and will to follow him.

And that included James and John. You know what they didn’t realize? They didn’t realize that in calling down fire on the Samaritans. They were also calling down fire on themselves. They weren’t nearly so different from the Samaritans as they believe. Not nearly so committed. Not nearly so perfectly prioritized as they imagined. It would take only a little while longer for them to prove that when they also fled him. So Jesus refused to send fire not only on the Samaritans, but also on them. He sought them when they didn’t seek him. He found them when they too were lost. And so he did. He walked all the way to Jerusalem to rain down grace on his half-hearted disciples. And nothing and no one stopped him. While James and John left him in Gethsemane for the comfort of sleep, Jesus prayed alone. While the rest of the disciples fled to the hills, Jesus jumped up and went with his betrayer. While Peter denied him and Judas betrayed him, Jesus kept on to Jerusalem. The Committed One. The One with Iron Will to Save. The Perfect Follower of God.

Discipleship of Jesus claims that life as its own. First and foremost. First and foremost it says, “That’s for me.” Really, it does. Before discipleship ever says, “I’m for him.” It always says, “He’s for me.” Understand that. The discipleship of Jesus Christ is not first a more intense religious commitment or some kind of Christianized version of jihad. In fact, if there’s anything Jesus is showing us here is that his disciples are never to be confident in their iron will or reliant on their overwhelming commitment to him. Not that. Not ever. They are those reliant on him. They are those who follow him because they are those who need his grace. And that’s it. They see in Jesus this God who refuses to rain down fire on their times of non-commitment. They see in Jesus this God who instead of abandoning pushes on for them with a face like flint all alone if he must. To die. To rise. To forgive us. These are the disciples of Jesus Christ – those who have been captured by his unfaltering steps and his totally committed life. Those who say, “He’s for me.”

And they are us. We are those drawn to follow. As our faith in his commitment to us grows, we commit to him more. As our trust in grace rises, we rise to follow more. That’s how Christian discipleship works. The better you see his resolve to save you, the more resolve you’ll have to follow. Seriously. You lose interest in today’s Ritz Carltons when you’re promised a forever one there. You lose your obsession to proper goodbyes here when you know he’ll make sure you won’t have to say goodbye there. You loosen your grip on making sure the family dies well here when you realize Jesus came to give life forever there. That’s how Christian discipleship works. As you grow more deeply into how central he made you in his life, the more central you’ll want to make him in yours. So watch him today set his face to Jerusalem. To unbury the dead. To make goodbyes obsolete. To prep you your eternal Ritz Carlton. And then when you hear him pick you out of the crowd and say, “Follow me,” you’ll feel pulled. Not to ask him to go do and be with whatever is really on your heart. Because there he is unrivaled and first in your heart. The Committed One. The One with Iron Will to Save. Your Jesus. Follow on, Peace family. Amen.  

Luke 9:51–62 As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus resolutely set out for Jerusalem. 52 And he sent messengers on ahead, who went into a Samaritan village to get things ready for him; 53 but the people there did not welcome him, because he was heading for Jerusalem. 54 When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?” 55 But Jesus turned and rebuked them. 56 Then he and his disciples went to another village. 57 As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” 58 Jesus replied, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” 59 He said to another man, “Follow me.” But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” 60 Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” 61 Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.” 62 Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is useful for service in the kingdom of God.”

Are you just a fan of Jesus or are you a follower of him? I read a sermon like that based on this Scripture. Not a bad thing to consider. Are you a fan or a follower? Perhaps you’ve even heard that sermon before. You know what I’m talking about. You’re told there are really two kind of disciples. The awesome one. And the horrible one. There is that delightful disciple that is determined, is of iron will, and always perseveres. And then there is that other kind. You know what I mean. The one that likes Jesus, cheers him on, but then turns on him when the going gets tough. She bucks some of his teachings. He doesn’t read his Bible enough. She has a sex life not yet lined up with Jesus. He has a wallet that he hasn’t yet given to the Lord. Fans. Not followers. It was interesting to me as I studied this Scripture to notice that this view of discipleship is so common in American today that even the titles in our Bibles give credence to it. I saw one translation that titled this story, “The would be followers of Jesus.” The wanna be’s. The fans. Not the followers.

I don’t buy it. You know why I don’t? If you look at this Scripture carefully, there aren’t two categories for the disciples. Look for it all you want, but you won’t find the super disciple or the one who has totally surrendered all for him or the one who’s committed beyond belief. You just can’t find that disciple here. You can find disciples here, but not that disciple. Did you notice what kind of disciple you find here? Not two categories. Just one. Disciples who aren’t all that great at discipleship. Disciples who always need to repent. In fact, I think it’s right to notice that Luke sets up this section on discipleship not with three examples of unnamed disciples who were pretty miserable followers, but with two named disciples who weren’t just bad at discipleship. No. Worse. James and John weren’t being his disciples AT ALL in the moment. They were being what we’d call today terrorists. They were praying to Jesus to call down fire on those infidel Samaritans. Obviously, that’s not positive discipleship. So Jesus rebukes them.

Jesus then goes on to more or less rebuke everybody there. Everybody. Everybody’s discipleship here gets eviscerated. James, John, and three unnamed guys – they all get eviscerated. One guy all eager beaver comes up to him and says, “I will follow you wherever you go.” (v. 57) And instead of Jesus saying, “Wow! I love your commitment. You’ll go anywhere. That’s so rare. Let’s get going.” Instead of encouraging his good intentions and nurturing that young spiritual fire Jesus seems to douse it. “Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’” (v. 58) In other words, Jesus is saying, “You say you’ll follow me wherever I go, huh? Not so sure about that. I’m not exactly bouncing from Ritz Carlton to Ritz Carlton here. Why don’t you just quit before you start? You’re not going to like following me.”

Then Jesus makes it worse. He picks out one of his followers who was there. Just some random disciple. And Jesus doesn’t give him a chance to think or consider the request. He just picks him out of the crowd and makes an example of him. He said to this random disciple, “Follow me.” (v. 59) And the poor guy replies with his daddy on his soul. He very sweetly and I might add respectfully asks, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” (v. 59) Now keep in mind that his father probably wasn’t gone yet. Maybe close, but not yet gone. He probably wouldn’t have been hanging out with Jesus if his father was, in fact, in that moment dead. What he probably meant was, “Jesus, I’m totally in, but first let me take care of my dad through the funeral.” Reasonable, right? Not to Jesus. “Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’” (v. 60) He was saying, “First you’re going to make the dead comfortable? First? That’s not what I do. I don’t make dying people comfortable. I make dead people live. Let’s get after that.”

“Still another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord’ but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.’” (v. 61) Should be good with Jesus, right? “Let me just get a proper goodbye in. Let me just do some hugs, shed a couple of tears, and I’ll be on my way to a missionary life for you, Jesus.” Sounds good, right? Not to Jesus. For this guy who just wants to say goodbye is reserved the most astonishing statement of all. “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is useful for service in the kingdom of God.” (v. 62) Jesus was saying, “You want to follow, but only later? Forget it. If you want to work for me, you can’t do it looking back. You’re not useful like that. You have to line up your sights straight ahead.”

And lickety-split the discipleship of three in a row is eviscerated. One is over enthusiastic not understanding that following Jesus probably isn’t going to get him a silver spoon in his mouth and a posh hotel at night. Another is willing, but only after he has already laid his dad to rest. And still another is willing, but only after he has said his proper goodbyes. Call them priorities. Call them wants. Notice it’s so often our families. Notice it can be our comfort. But above all notice this: every single one of these people had something that trumped Jesus. Every single one of them. They liked Jesus. They recognized his importance at some level. Two of them even came up to him of their own volition and volunteered to be drafted into his service. You did notice that – didn’t you? – not a single potential follower said, “no.” They all said, “yes.” Every single one of them. It’s just that he wasn’t first. First, one had to see to his own comfort. “First,” another had to, “go and bury,” his father. “First,” still another had to, “go back and say goodbye,” to the fam. First.

Boom. Three down. And three is enough. If three in the Scriptures take the stand and testify to a truth, then it’s true. And now three have. What truth is Jesus giving us? We’re all failed disciples. James, John, three unnamed guys. We’re all failed disciples. Jesus wants us to know that. He’s not here comparing and contrasting fans and followers; the committed and the wobbly. He’s just not. He’s pointing out that he’s got no one who’s following him unflinchingly, whole-heartedly, totally willingly. Perfect disciples of Jesus went extinct in the Garden of Eden. Some of us chase our careers more than him. Some of us are into our kids or our grandkids more than him. Some of us read more political stories than Bible stories. Some of us stay in the Ritz Carlton before donating to church or worry more about getting in to the seeing the doctor about the heart before getting in to seeing the pastor about your heart. What I’m trying to say is that this isn’t Jesus preaching to the choir. There is no choir. There’s just us.

You know why Jesus teaches this way? To save us from our own discipleship. Really that’s it. He has to machete our overconfidence, our iron wills, our gripping commitment. He has to reveal us to ourselves. That’s his purpose in the moment. You know why? Because in a very real way the first step to following Jesus is knowing you’re kind of bad at it. In fact, that’s why you’ll follow at all. Really. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but it’s true. Only once we know that will we follow more confidently and surely and committedly. We will follow him that way once we know how badly we need his grace. We follow Jesus because we must. We need his grace. Discipleship is always about that. Always. Following him for his grace. Obeying him because we love his grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. This has been Luke’s point the whole time. It’s not just an afterthought. It’s not just a coincidence. And it’s not just some kind of literary piece of luck the starting place for this section is Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. Luke very tactically wrote, “As the time approached for him to be taken up to heaven, Jesus set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (v. 51)

Why? Because that is Jesus. That is who he is. That is what he does. He is The Committed One. He is the Perfectly in Pursuit One. He is always and only the Properly Prioritized One. He is the one who is always on schedule and right on point. He’s not off seeking the Ritz Carltons in life. He’s off seeking the lost. He’s not off saying goodbye to his mom, his brothers, and sisters. He’s heading off to die for them. He’s not holding out on his mission waiting until his step-dad who he loved is buried. He’s instead seeking heaven for all. And nothing would stop him. Nothing. No discouragement. No pain. None of the people in his future who would fail to follow would stop him. Nothing and no one. He, “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” (v. 51) The intention of his heart got carved into face like it was flint. Jesus’ face was written in stone way before Mount Rushmore ever happened. Do you see Luke’s point? Jesus is the Savior of iron will. He would go to Jerusalem to be take all the way up. First on a cross. Then in the grave. Then all the way to heaven. He would go to Jerusalem for that. Nothing would sidetrack him. Nothing would get in his way. Nothing would else but you ever would come first.

You can be sure of it. Because nothing did. Jesus didn’t even get through the first leg of his journey before his resolve was tested. Luke did show you that. The Samaritans said to him in essence, “Hey Jesus, take a hike.” They don’t come to him. They don’t prioritize him. Not even secondarily. The Samaritans? They tossed him out of their city on his ear. “The people there did not welcome him, because he was heading to Jerusalem.” (v. 53) And so what does Jesus do with their stunning denial of discipleship? He protects them. He protects them. He doesn’t drop them. He doesn’t harm them. He doesn’t even holler at them. He does none of that. He protects them from his overconfident, judgmental disciples with terrorist impulses. James and John asked, “Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven and destroy them? But Jesus turned and rebuked them.” (v. 54–55) He doesn’t harangue the Samaritans or holler at them or drop them like flies. He protects them. And why? Jesus didn’t come to condemn. He came to seek and to save. He didn’t come to rain down fire. He came to rain down grace on everyone even those who lack commitment and will to follow him.

And that included James and John. You know what they didn’t realize? They didn’t realize that in calling down fire on the Samaritans. They were also calling down fire on themselves. They weren’t nearly so different from the Samaritans as they believe. Not nearly so committed. Not nearly so perfectly prioritized as they imagined. It would take only a little while longer for them to prove that when they also fled him. So Jesus refused to send fire not only on the Samaritans, but also on them. He sought them when they didn’t seek him. He found them when they too were lost. And so he did. He walked all the way to Jerusalem to rain down grace on his half-hearted disciples. And nothing and no one stopped him. While James and John left him in Gethsemane for the comfort of sleep, Jesus prayed alone. While the rest of the disciples fled to the hills, Jesus jumped up and went with his betrayer. While Peter denied him and Judas betrayed him, Jesus kept on to Jerusalem. The Committed One. The One with Iron Will to Save. The Perfect Follower of God.

Discipleship of Jesus claims that life as its own. First and foremost. First and foremost it says, “That’s for me.” Really, it does. Before discipleship ever says, “I’m for him.” It always says, “He’s for me.” Understand that. The discipleship of Jesus Christ is not first a more intense religious commitment or some kind of Christianized version of jihad. In fact, if there’s anything Jesus is showing us here is that his disciples are never to be confident in their iron will or reliant on their overwhelming commitment to him. Not that. Not ever. They are those reliant on him. They are those who follow him because they are those who need his grace. And that’s it. They see in Jesus this God who refuses to rain down fire on their times of non-commitment. They see in Jesus this God who instead of abandoning pushes on for them with a face like flint all alone if he must. To die. To rise. To forgive us. These are the disciples of Jesus Christ – those who have been captured by his unfaltering steps and his totally committed life. Those who say, “He’s for me.”

And they are us. We are those drawn to follow. As our faith in his commitment to us grows, we commit to him more. As our trust in grace rises, we rise to follow more. That’s how Christian discipleship works. The better you see his resolve to save you, the more resolve you’ll have to follow. Seriously. You lose interest in today’s Ritz Carltons when you’re promised a forever one there. You lose your obsession to proper goodbyes here when you know he’ll make sure you won’t have to say goodbye there. You loosen your grip on making sure the family dies well here when you realize Jesus came to give life forever there. That’s how Christian discipleship works. As you grow more deeply into how central he made you in his life, the more central you’ll want to make him in yours. So watch him today set his face to Jerusalem. To unbury the dead. To make goodbyes obsolete. To prep you your eternal Ritz Carlton. And then when you hear him pick you out of the crowd and say, “Follow me,” you’ll feel pulled. Not to ask him to go do and be with whatever is really on your heart. Because there he is unrivaled and first in your heart. The Committed One. The One with Iron Will to Save. Your Jesus. Follow on, Peace family. Amen.  

Jonah 4:1–11 But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. 2 He prayed to the LORD, “Isn’t this what I said, LORD, when I was still at home? That is what I tried to forestall by fleeing to Tarshish. I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity. 3 Now, LORD, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live.” 4 But the LORD replied, “Is it right for you to be angry?” 5 Jonah had gone out and sat down at a place east of the city. There he made himself a shelter, sat in its shade and waited to see what would happen to the city. 6 Then the LORD God provided a leafy plant and made it grow up over Jonah to give shade for his head to ease his discomfort, and Jonah was very happy about the plant. 7 But at dawn the next day God provided a worm, which chewed the plant so that it withered. 8 When the sun rose, God provided a scorching east wind, and the sun blazed on Jonah’s head so that he grew faint. He wanted to die, and said, “It would be better for me to die than to live.” 9 But God said to Jonah, “Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?” “It is,” he said. “And I’m so angry I wish I were dead.” 10 But the LORD said, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. It sprang up overnight and died overnight. 11 And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals?”

Yes, that ending just happened. And, yes, it totally leaves you hanging. I mean how can it not? Jonah’s outside Nineveh getting cooked on the frying pan of the Middle East. It’s so bad he’s saying, “I wish I were dead,” (v. 9) already for the second time in the chapter. This time though he’s not saying it in prayer. He’s apparently so disillusioned with the Lord by this point that he seems to mumbling this death wish to himself. So the Lord comes to him and asks this devastatingly depressed and disillusioned Jonah a profound question. And after it’s asked the question just hangs there. It just hangs there. We never find out how Jonah answers the question or if he gets turned around or anything. The question just hangs there. You know why I point this out to you? That should bug you. It should bug you worse than the TV series Nashville getting so suddenly yanked off the air that it has no ending at all. It should bug you worse than the way people experienced the ending of HBO’s Sopranoes serious a few years ago. This cliff hanger should bug you.

How do I know this? Because Jonah four is far too well-crafted for the author to just have run out of ink. There are many literary features here I could point out to make that case, but let me just point to the pure mathematical precision in it. In a chapter that is basically an extended talk between the Lord and Jonah, they each get identical air time. Identical. Jonah speaks 47 Hebrew words. The Lord does too. In verse four the Lord asks a question of Jonah in three Hebrew words. In verse eight Jonah answers the question in three Hebrew words. In verse nine the Lord re-asks the question with five Hebrew words. In verse nine Jonah re-answers the question with five Hebrew words. Jonah opens the chapter with what amounts to a question that’s that’s 39 words long. The Lord closes the chapter with a question that’s – you guessed it – 39 words long. That’s incredible precision, planning, and structure. And so it is no accident – no coincidence – that Jonah four ends with a question mark.

It’s no accident either that the chapter doesn’t just end with a question. It is a chapter of questions. Troubling ones. Did you squirm a bit at the first one? The Ninevites get into a faith relationship with the Lord. Awesome, right? Not to Jonah. “But to Jonah this seemed very wrong, and he became angry. He prayed to the LORD, ‘Isn’t this what I said, LORD, when I was still at home?’” (v. 1–2) Jonah was angry. Angry that the Ninevites were off death row. That they got a reprieve. He was so angry that he started acting out. He got down to prayer immediately and said, “I knew this was going to happen. It’s why I originally tried to go to Tarshish. I knew, Lord, you’d do this.” And that’s when he really starts to make us uncomfortable with this outrageous comments. Did you happen to hear what he basically said? “Lord, I don’t really like who you are.” And he really digs in by listing the Lord’s true attributes. It’s stunning especially because of how he just nails the Lord’s essence. He doesn’t mischaracterize him at all saying, “Lord, I don’t like that you are an unrelenting eye in the sky.” Or, “Lord, I’m enraged because you are so judging and demanding and harsh.”

No. None of that. He’s not mad because of how he’s misperceived the Lord or mischaracterized him in his head. He truly dislikes who God really is. “I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.” (v. 2) These, by the way, are not primarily Jonah’s words. Jonah’s quoting here what some call the John 3:16 of the Old Testament – words that keep popping up in the Old Testament over and over and over again. They’re a kind of creed that describes who God is. God is gracious and compassionate. He is slow to anger. He is abounding in love and a God who relents from sending calamity. That’s who God is. And that upset Jonah. Think of that. The essence of God rubbed Jonah so badly the wrong way that he wanted no part of what God was up to. He wanted in on no world where a God like this could forgive even Ninevites and restore them to himself. So he prayed, “Now, LORD, take away my life, for it is better for me to die than to live.” (v. 3)

Unusual, right? I mean I think we all get that there are tons of people who are dechurched or unchurched because they have a caricature of God in their heads. They’ve been told God’s not gracious and compassionate. He’s judgmental and mean. They’ve been told he’s not slow to anger and abounding in love. He’s quick to send you to you know where. They’ve been told he’s not a God who relents. He’s a God who brings full force condemnation. I think we get that there are tons of people who don’t like the God they’ve been told exists (but who doesn’t), but we also understand why. He’s been mischaracterized and misrepresented. We get that. But this? This isn’t a man reacting to a caricature or misrepresentation of God. This is a man reacting to who God truly is. Essentially. At the core of his being. This is human nature spiting God for who he is and what animates him at his core. I don’t think I have to tell you how scary rebellious that is. This isn’t just, “God, I’m over here trying to pull a fast one on you by breaking a rule. This is: “God, I don’t like you.” That reaction has got to be an outlier in history, right? No one ever fights the God of grace and mercy, do they? They just celebrate him, right?

Wrong. My 8th anniversary of pastoral ministry is coming up. I couldn’t be more thankful. I love being a pastor. I love being your pastor. In eight years, the Lord’s given me now probably hundreds of chances to take people into the faith for the first time or to take neophyte Christians and show them the heart of God like they’ve never been seen it before. I want to tell you something I’ve learned through the years in dealing with lots and lots and lots of people. We all react in some way to the God of pure, unmerited, un-won grace. There’s always some point on which we fight it. In fact, sometimes I can almost guess when it’s coming. When I begin to insist that Jesus died for the forgiveness of the world and that everyone who receive that in faith is forgiven? You know what happens so often when I teach that and it begins to sink in? You know what I hope for? I hope that everyone I’m teaching begins to weep tears of sweet relief that even they the worst of sinners have been forgiven. That their rebellious college years; their lack of reverence for the Word they’ve seen in their on and off church attendance; their fill-in-the-blank sins are all forgiven and so they say with joyful tears, “Sweet Jesus. There is finally relief.”

That’s what I hope for, but that’s almost never the whole story. By the grace of God people grow into that, but you know where they often start? Someone inevitably asks, “Can even murderers and such be forgiven too?” Why is that? What’s happening there? I’ll tell you what’s happening there. We like to check up on God. We don’t naturally want to receive him the way he is and just celebrate his massive heart of grace. We prone to checking up on him. We want to make sure he’s being equitable and fair. That he’s doing this salvation thing right. We think, “There can be forgiveness for all as long as they aren’t any worse than me.” Because that’s equitable. And that’s fair. And that’s right. But if they’re worse, God should ban them from his presence. They shouldn’t get to receive the gospel too. Let me tell you something. We really don’t want a fair God. I promise you. We don’t. We don’t want an equitable God. I promise you. We don’t. If there is any part of you that thinks you do you’ve got two huge problems. 1. You’re totally underestimating how much sin you’ve got. And 2. you’re totally underestimating what sin deserves.

But you know what’s great about this story? You don’t have to trust me on that. You can just see how it goes for a person who takes the opposing position. Jonah wanted a fair, equitable God. That’s why he was outside Nineveh. He couldn’t be inside celebrating with the newly, unfairly, inequitably saved trying to deepen them in faith. He had to position himself outside the city. He was saying, “I will protest this magnificent grace. I’m staying outside the city. I will have no part in the celebration of it.” He was so determined with his protest that he even fashioned for himself a hut to survive in the heat and the sun out there. And then grace comes for him. I mean think of it. Jonah was hating and dissing God’s very essence. Worse yet, he was being just plain foolish. There were well over a 100,000 people that his preaching had saved. I’m pretty sure he could’ve gone in, celebrated, and someone would’ve given him a great place to stay. But, no, he had to be a lonely hut building protester.

So what’s the Lord do? He gives him undeserved love. “Then the LORD God provided a leafy plant and made it grow up over Jonah to give shade for his head to ease his discomfort, and Jonah was very happy about the plant.” (v. 6) Something must’ve happened to Jonah’s hut (Preacher’s aren’t good builders!) so all he’s got is this plant and the Lord condemns it. A worm comes and chews it through. In the Scriptures, worms are often pictured as a part of judgment. Hell, for example, is a place where the worm doesn’t die. So a worm comes with God’s judgment on the plant and chews it through. And the plant dies in the judgment. And sure enough Jonah didn’t really like this judging, condemning God. He didn’t like this equitable, fair-with-people God especially as he personally begins to experience what that kind of God would be like for him. “God provided a scorching east wind, and the sun blazed on Jonah’s head so he grew faint. He wanted to die, and said, ‘It would be better for me to die than to live.’” (v. 8) And then the Lord asked the key question: “Is it right for you to be angry about the plant?” (v. 9)

His response? Disappointing. Disillusioned. And angry. He said, “It is. I’m so angry I wish I were dead.” (v. 9) And so the Lord went after his hypocrisy. “Jonah, you didn’t tend this plant. Jonah, you didn’t make it grow. Jonah, you had a relationship with this plant for less than 24 hours. And, Jonah, it’s only a plant. And yet you’re so opposed to my judgment and my condemnation that you want to die. Jonah, do you see how I can feel the same way about Nineveh? I’ve got this great city of 120,000 men. Spiritually, they don’t know “their right hand from their left.” (v. 11) “Should I not have concern (for them)?” (v. 11) Should I not have concern for them? Bam. Done. That is the end of the book. Unanswered question. Unfinished book. And one powerful cliffhanger. So incredibly powerful. The Lord goes going toe to toe with his prophet in defense of the gospel. “I don’t want the Ninevites eternally super-heated. I want them eternally chilling with me. I don’t want them suffering forever worm. I want them hanging with me in my forever garden.” Here’s what’s happening here: with the closing question of Jonah, the Lord is challenging this entire world to tell him he’s wrong to give grace. Should I not have concern for the worst of sinners?

And the question still hangs. It has for centuries now. In a way, it’s the eternal question. Do you realize that’s what’s so brilliant about this ending? You’re not supposed to ever know how Jonah responded to it. The only response you ever get to know is yours. Will you spend your time outside the city protesting, “Lord, be more fair. Be equitable with your salvation?” Will you stay outside the city and be critical of the Lord’s unfair, overly generous salvation to all the sinners? Or will you see that personally you’re worse than you ever dared deem, and more forgiven than you ever before conceived? Will you see the fight against grace as dissing God for who he is? Or will you celebrate that you too through faith in Jesus have sweet relief? Will you see yourself as unworthy and just as bad as everyone else (That’s why it has to be grace!) and join the mission of this church to bring everyone the Word so they can join the party? That is the eternal question that Jonah has hung in the air before our eyes today.

But you know what? I honestly don’t think that the Lord was fishing so much for your answer to the question. You know why I think he asked it? So he could answer it himself. Should the Lord not have concern for this Nineveh? For the world? For the worst of sinners? For you? For centuries these critical questions just hung in the air as a massive spiritual cliffhanger. Not so that you could finally answer them, but so that he could. The question hung in the air outside that city until God’s answer hung in the air outside another city. On a cross. The crucifixion of Jesus Christ is God’s answer. The Lord could be concerned. The Lord would be concerned. The Lord would die before he would allow a worm to chew a sinner. The Lord would give his life before he would allow his judgment to blast. And as inequitable and as unfair as it was, the crucifixion of Jesus Christ satisfied God’s justice so that through faith every sinner is square with God. Nineveh. Aiken. You. Answered question. And finished book. You know how? The Spirit’s letting you write the ending with the ink and pen of your life. He’s even suggesting how you might. Do what you hope Jonah did. Head back into Nineveh and celebrate with and deepen the other sinners in God’s eternal answer, Jesus Christ. What do you say? Are you in? Amen.