Joel D. Kline
September 12, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost
This morning’s Gospel lesson from Luke, chapter fourteen, stands at the heart of Jesus’ teachings about the nature of discipleship. In an age when many churches rightly struggle with issues of church growth and how we might more effectively live and proclaim our faith and our deepest values, Jesus’ words are, to say the least, intriguing. While surrounded by crowds, with many apparently looking for a quick fix to their problems, Jesus seems more intent upon reducing rather than increasing the number of followers. In effect Jesus says,
If you’re going to continue on this journey of faith, be prepared for difficulty. Discipleship is far from easy. Indeed, following me demands every ounce of loyalty you can summon. Discipleship requires clear-eyed calculation and commitment; discipleship involves counting the cost.
From the early days of the Church of the Brethren, when we have been at our best, we have held firm to this theme of counting the cost. In fact, throughout our history this is the text most frequently read at the time of baptism, serving as a reminder that the act of Christian baptism is not the completion, but rather the beginning point of a new life journey with Christ at the center. Baptism is a time for putting on a new way of looking at life, a new way of living and relating in the world around us, a new set of values and priorities for our daily living.
At the heart of the new perspective we receive from Christ is an alternative understanding of power. While you and I live in a world lusting for power over others, Jesus calls us to become servants of one another. In a world of unbridled competition setting us at odds with each other, Jesus speaks of compassion and grace that unite us, tearing down barriers of division. In a world quick to wound one another, assuming violence as the answer to human conflict, Jesus urges us to pursue the hard work of reconciliation, healing, and forgiveness. In a world of resentment and suspicion, Jesus prods us to think beyond our own needs and perspective, adopting the path of self-giving love. And in a world bound by fear, Jesus proclaims that gratitude for the gift of life and its promise is the fundamental perspective for persons of faith.
In the midst of the spiraling political campaign that captivates the media’s attention, we repeatedly hear the language of power, with power being defined as might making right. Politicians from both parties try to prove they are the toughest, that their might will more likely create greater right! As a result, we have become mired in arguments over the Vietnam War—a war most long ago deemed to be a tragic mistake, with its heartrending loss of life and its diverting of resources away from constructive and healing endeavors.
In a book entitled Finding My Way Home Henri Nouwen asserts that God’s answer to the human lusting for power over others mystifies us. For the very God we speak of as almighty and as powerful chooses a path of powerlessness, a path that, on first glance, seems anything but powerful. The mystery of the incarnation is that God enters human life, not as a warrior king, not as an influential politician, but as a baby. And as that infant grows and becomes the adult Jesus, living and proclaiming the new reality of life in the kingdom of God, he calls into question—and indeed turns upside down—many of the fundamental ways human life has long been organized. And where does the story lead, but to the seeming powerlessness of the cross, with Jesus experiencing the rejection of friends and the abuse of enemies as he willingly pours out his life for the sake of all humanity. Yet what appears a weak, even spineless action, we later discover, demonstrates a very different kind of power—the power of God’s gracious love.
It is this alternative understanding of power that Jesus has in mind when speaking words so discomforting to us. “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (14:26-27). The people of ancient Palestine often spoke in extremes, with few shades of gray in between. That’s precisely what Jesus is doing here—reminding us that in the life of discipleship there is no middle ground. Elsewhere Jesus makes it clear that faithful living centers in love, not only of family, but even of one’s enemies, but here he is announcing that there is a task so urgent that it may well set us at odds with those who have been closest to us. And what is that task, but following in the very footsteps of Jesus; letting go of self-centeredness and putting on the way of the cross; living lives of service, compassion, and peace; embracing a new understanding of power—the power of God’s gracious love.
All of this raises key questions for us. How do we live in this world as witnesses to a God who appears powerless, a God who calls us to join in the business of building a kingdom of love and peace? Does this alternative power made visible through powerlessness mean that we are doomed to being doormats in a power-lusting society? Does it mean that it is good to be passive, subservient, soft? Certainly not! What it does mean is that you and I are called to take the risk of being misunderstood; that we are to point, by the manner of our living, to new possibilities for life; that we are called to place our trust in the God who displays a very different understanding of power than that to which the world is accustomed.
Earlier in our worship service, in my time with the children, I spoke of the tradition of the Brethren service cup. We may no longer have Brethren service cups to place on our tables, but perhaps we need fresh reminders of this call to model Christ’s remarkable pattern of self-giving love and servanthood, to go the extra mile in relationships, to express compassion for the poor and broken among us, to love our enemies, and to confront the evil and violence among us, not with greater evil, but with gracious love.
Henri Nouwen reminds us that this “movement from power through strength to power through powerlessness is our call…. It is this power that engenders leaders for our communities, women and men who dare to take risks and take new initiatives.” Is it any wonder that Jesus urges us to first count the cost, before embarking upon the journey of discipleship? “Which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost … Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand?” (14:28-31).
Perhaps Jesus has in mind the greatest building project of his day—Herod the Great undertaking the rebuilding and beautifying of the Temple in Jerusalem. But Jesus is far more concerned with the rebuilding of the inner temple, with the remaking of the human heart and the re-creating of structures that build hope. And likewise, the planning for battle, which in those days meant plotting rebellion against Rome. Jesus instead calls for peace—not peace through intimidation, but the peace that comes as we affirm the sanctity of all life, the peace that comes as we adopt a new understanding of power. It is the power that comes through powerlessness, the power that challenges a world hell-bent on violence and destruction to consider new initiatives, new possibilities, new directions for life. It is the power of Jesus Christ.
May you and I hear the call, count the cost, and take the risk of living for the glory of God and for the good of our neighbors. Amen.
O God our God, how excellent is your name in all the earth! How marvelous is your grace—the gift of your love that accepts us as we are and empowers us to become the persons you created us to be. Praise be to you, holy God, as you lead us through times of struggle, times of trial and uncertainty, times of danger and fear, that we might emerge fit for service in your kingdom of compassion, peace, and self-giving love.
O God, how blessed we are that you call us to be the church, a body committed to being your hands and feet, your heart and grace, in the world around us. Strengthen our resolve, holy God; lift our sagging spirits, and empower us as we work and pray for your peace.
God of all creation, we recall three years later the horrific events of 9/11/2001. We seek your wisdom and guidance as we endeavor to be peacemakers and reconcilers in the Spirit of Jesus. We lament those who treat your gift of life lightly; we lament the loss of life in Iraq, the now more than 1000 American soldiers killed, and the many thousands of Iraqis who have lost life and home. God, guide our nation, our world—and each one of us, in paths of peace. Grant us courage for the living of these days. Form us into a living peace church, not just an historic peace church. May we hold fast to your light—the light of Christ Jesus
Hear us now, gracious God, as we turn our thoughts to those among us in need of your healing touch. We pray for …
God of all peoples, source of amazing grace, may your kingdom come among us here and now; may your will be done, in us and through us and—yes—even in spite of us—here on earth as it is in heaven. In the name and Spirit of Jesus we pray. Amen.