2022)

“So therefore,” Jesus declares to the adoring crowds, “none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” Jesus sets up that cheery punchline by telling would-be followers to hate their families. Wannabe disciples should get ready to be crucified for their commitment to Jesus. Count the costs, he says. If you’re not all in, you can’t be in at all.

That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I’m not sure it’s the best recruiting strategy. Are you looking for conflict and struggle, pain and persecution, ridicule and rejection? Then, do we have a deal for you! Apparently, following Jesus is like living in Nebraska. “Honestly,” the tourism slogan says, “it’s not for everyone.”

Following Jesus – honestly, it’s not for everyone. Is that today’s message? I don’t think so. Let’s rewind a bit and see if we can get a handle on this.

Following Jesus means real freedom. Will we go along on the ride? That’s the thought I hope you’ll take with you this week.

Let’s look again at verse thirty-three. “So therefore, none of you can become my disciples if you do not give up all your possessions.” Here’s another way to read that verse. “In this way, therefore, each of you who does not say goodbye to control over all of what belongs to them will not be able to be my disciple.”

Jesus doesn’t say that one who doesn’t renounce control over their stuff will not be permitted to be his disciple. Jesus says that one who doesn’t renounce control over their stuff will not be able to be his disciple. This verse is less of a demand and more of a description. The discipleship fail is not a condemnation but rather a consequence. Jesus invites and empowers us to be freed from our bondage to control over life and freed for real living.

That’s why I played “Things We Leave Behind” to warm us up for this worship service. In particular I appreciate these words in the song.

Every heart needs to be set free,
from possessions
that hold it so tight
‘Cause freedom’s not found in the things that we own,
It’s the power
to do what is right
Jesus, our only possession,
giving becomes our delight
We can’t imagine the freedom we find
from the things we leave behind.

In Luke’s gospel, voluntary poverty isn’t a requirement for every would-be disciple. In Luke 19, Zacchaeus is generous, but he doesn’t bankrupt himself. Matthew Levi leaves everything behind in Luke 5, but he has enough left over to give a huge feast for Jesus at his house. In Luke 18, Peter says that he and the others have left everything behind, but he seems to still have a wife, mother-in-law, and a house in Capernaum. In Luke 8 we hear that some well-off women underwrite the costs of Jesus’ mission.

The mission of the church has always relied in part on the generous support of people who have and maintain financial means. Something deeper is at stake in our text.

Following Jesus means real freedom. Will we go along on the ride?

Of course, this text is about removing obstacles in our lives to faithful Jesus following. That’s the “Law” part of the text. But the “Gospel” part is that we are released from our addiction to power over others. That addiction to control makes us hostages to our stuff. That addiction makes us less than fully human. That addiction leads us to treat others as means to our ends rather than as ends in themselves.

That’s how we should understand Jesus’ demand that we “hate” our loved ones. To “hate” family or life itself is not to emotionally reject those loved ones. We modern folks understand “hate” always as an emotion. And our parents told us it’s wrong to “hate” anyone or anything.

When Jesus uses the verb “hate” here, Jesus means saying goodbye to, moving away from, giving up allegiance to someone or something. Disciples say goodbye to the security and power we get from things (and people) we control. Disciples say goodbye to “power over” others as the means to abundant life.

Whenever we are freed from our addiction to power over others, we become more fully human as bearers of the Divine Image. This freedom will come with a cost because we are so deeply committed to our addiction to power over others. “Hold everything in your hands lightly,” Corrie Ten Boom once said, “otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.” Dying to self is the path to life. Saying goodbye to god-like control is real freedom.

Following Jesus means real freedom. Will we go along on the ride?

None of this would make any sense if God were not faithful. Yet, that is precisely the Good News we proclaim in the life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus. Letting go of our illusion of god-like control may feel like falling sometimes. But it’s really resting in God’s faithful care.

Let me illustrate. Last weekend we took family members to a local high ropes course. It was a series of cables, footbridges, ladders, and platforms about thirty feet off the ground. We were well harnessed and supervised. Each person had two secure connections to the main cable. One was a steel “trolley” that never left that cable. The other was a heavy-duty carabiner that served as a backup. The system was reliable and resilient.

The payoff for all the rope work was a zip line ride at the end of each loop of the course. The zip line platform was an angled ramp, and with good reason. No matter how intellectually certain I was that my connections were secure, I wasn’t really ready to leap into the air and trust the system. Fortunately, once I got on the ramp, I began to slide toward the edge. In seconds I was zipping down the cable toward a rather unceremonious dump on my rump (not the hoped for outcome — but any landing is a good one, right?).

The cable was strong. The connections were secure. But it still felt a lot like falling. And it felt a lot like freedom. The only way I could experience that freedom was to let go of control, trust the system, and risk the falling. I imagine that with a certain amount of practice I could learn to fully embrace and enjoy the experience.

It’s not a perfect analogy, but it’s not a bad one either. What belongs to me that I must renounce in order to be a faithful Jesus follower? Perhaps we can flip the question on its head for a moment. What has such a hold on me that I am not free to follow Jesus? Do my possessions possess me? Does my anxiety about my own life keep me in bondage to sin, death, and evil? Yes and yes.

If it had been just up to me to leap into the air, I’m not sure I would have done that. Instead, I was pushed and led, by the structure of the platform and the firm encouragement of one of the staff. I’m not willing on my own to say farewell to my addiction to power and control either. Especially in the Lukan account, this renouncing of my dependence on stuff is always first and foremost the work of the Holy Spirit within me and us. I can resist and be miserable. Or I can relax and enjoy it.

Following Jesus means real freedom. Will we go along on the ride? Let’s pray…

Text Study for Luke 14:25-35 (Part Four)

“In this way, therefore,” Jesus says to the large crowds who were going about with him, “each of you who does not renounce control over all of what belongs to them will not be able to be my disciple” (Luke 14:33, my translation). I’ve come to the point in my preparations where I must ask the most important question of the text. Is there any good news here? Is there any Gospel in this gospel reading? When I finish reading the text and declare, “The Gospel of the Lord,” will that be a statement or a question?

“Jesus’ point, however,” writes Robert Farrar Capon, “is not simply that discipleship in the way of death-resurrection is expensive; more important, it’s that it is liberating once the price is paid” (Kindle Locations 3738-3739). This is where I find the Gospel in this gospel. Jesus comes to free us from bondage and for loving service. That’s always the baseline from which we begin our interpretation, especially in the Lukan account.

Photo by u00c1lvaro Arcelus on Pexels.com

I want to pay close attention to the words used in Luke 14:33. Jesus doesn’t say that one who doesn’t renounce control over their stuff will not be permitted to be his disciple. Jesus says that one who doesn’t renounce control over their stuff will not be able to be his disciple. This verse is less of a demand and more of a description. The discipleship fail is not a condemnation but rather a consequence. Jesus invites and empowers us to be freed from our bondage to control over life and freed for real living.

I think I will play the song “Things We Leave Behind” as a warm-up to worship this week. By the way, I’m beginning a part-time interim assignment, so my preparations have a bit more of a practical edge to them. That will continue, I hope, for some months into the future. Anyway, Scott Roley, Phil Madeira, and Michael Card wrote this song in 1994. I want to quote some of the lyrics as part of our reflection today.

I’m grateful to Tim Kelley for pointing out this song in his 1998 article on Luke 14:33. Kelley reminds us of the connection between Luke 14:33 and the story of the Rich Ruler in Luke 18:18-30. This story doesn’t make it into the Year C readings of the Revised Common Lectionary. Therefore, I think it’s fair game as an illustration in our proclamation on this text.

“Most of us are familiar with the words of Jesus to the rich ruler,” Kelley writes, “and we have insulated ourselves from them by the reassurance that Jesus said them because the ruler loved his possessions and that we, of course, are not like that.” Indeed, the phrase Jesus uses in Luke 18:23 describes the man as immensely wealthy, not merely having lots of stuff. “Yet these other, equally disturbing words [in Luke 14:33] are given not to a rich, materialistic young man,” Kelley continues, “but to all who would be disciples, and it is far more difficult to insulate ourselves from them” (page 1).

Kelley notes that in the Lukan account, divestment from all wealth isn’t a condition every would-be disciple must meet. Zacchaeus is generous, but he doesn’t bankrupt himself. Matthew Levi leaves everything behind in Luke 5, but he has enough left over to give a huge feast for Jesus at his house. Peter says that he and the others have left everything behind (Luke 18:28), but he seems to still have a wife, mother-in-law, and a house in Capernaum. Things seem more nuanced than a superficial reading of Luke 14:33 would indicate.

Kelley notes that the reports in Acts continue this nuanced understanding. We read stories of some well-off disciples, including Lydia. Cornelius doesn’t have to divest himself before baptism. House churches take collections to assist the poor and hungry. The mission of the church (beginning with the women in Luke 8 who funded Jesus’ own ministry) has depended on the generous support of people who have and maintain financial means.

Kelley outlines ways in which interpreters deal with Jesus’ radical words in Luke 14:33. Perhaps the early church walked these demands back in the face of resistance in the mission field. Maybe Jesus intended these words only for the fully-committed, those like Paul who were full-time in the field. Could it be that these words were applicable only during Jesus’ earthly ministry and the time of eschatological crisis he both described and provoked? Should we allow these words to fade into the background as no longer relevant to the ongoing life of the Church?

No, that’s not a faithful interpretation of this text, or any other. Just because a text is hard, that’s no reason to toss it in the homiletical dustbin. “To follow Jesus is to acknowledge that all we own belongs to God and is at [God’s] disposal,” Kelley writes. “If the master calls on us to get rid of all we have because it competes with our primary devotion we are to do so. If there is a need, we give the possessions God has entrusted to us to meet that need. That,” Kelley concludes, “is exactly what the earliest church did” (page 4).

Yet, there is more going on here. Kelley quotes the lyrics of “Things We Leave Behind” –“it’s hard to imagine the freedom we find from the things we leave behind.” Of course, this text is about removing obstacles in our lives to faithful Jesus following. That’s the “Law” part of the text. But the “Gospel” part is that we are released from our addiction to power over others. That addiction makes us hostages to our stuff. That addiction makes us less than fully human. That addiction leads us to treat others as means to our ends rather than as ends in themselves.

Whenever we are freed from our addiction to power over others, we become more fully human as bearers of the Divine Image. This freedom will come with a cost because we are so deeply committed to our addiction to power over others. “Hold everything in your hands lightly,” Corrie Ten Boom once said, “otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.” From this perspective, the language about cross-bearing is right on target in our text. Dying to self is the path to life. Saying farewell to god-like control is the doorway to authentic freedom.

It’s not a perfect analogy, but it’s not a bad one either. We could go back to Onesimus and Philemon for a moment if we wish. Onesimus had already made the leap and was freed. Paul was inviting Philemon to say farewell to his power addiction and join the party. As the letter was read to the congregation, the enslaved person was the free one. And the enslaver was still deep in bondage. Did Philemon embrace the freedom of falling? We don’t know for sure.

Following Jesus means authentic freedom. Will we go along on the ride?

References and Resources

Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship, (1937) 1979.

Capon, Robert Farrar. Kingdom, Grace, Judgment: Paradox, Outrage, and Vindication in the Parables of Jesus. Kindle Edition, 2002.

Kelley, Tim (1998) “Renounce my Posessions?: What does Luke 14.33 mean?,” Leaven: Vol. 6: Iss. 3, Article 8. Available at: https://digitalcommons.pepperdine.edu/leaven/vol6/iss3/8.

Levine, Amy-Jill, and Witherington, Ben III, The Gospel of Luke, 2018.

Malina, Bruce, and Rohrbaugh, Richard L. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 1992.

McCaulley, Esau. Reading While Black: African American Biblical Interpretation as an Exercise in Hope, 2020.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Luke, 2006.

Tiroyabone, Obusitswe. “Reading Philemon with Onesimus in the postcolony: exploring a postcolonial runaway slave hypothesis.” Acta Theologica 2016, no. supp24 (2016): 225-236.

Text Study for Luke 14:25-35 (Part Three)

“In this way, therefore,” Jesus says to the large crowds who were going about with him, “each of you who does not renounce control over all of what belongs to them will not be able to be my disciple” (Luke 14:33, my translation). It’s easy enough for me as a privileged White American male to imagine what this means for Philemon. But how does this work for Onesimus?

I have read, studied, and taught this little letter frequently over the last decade. I could spend three months of Bible study on the letter and still have more to discuss. How, then, can I pretend to capture anything in twelve to fifteen minutes at a worship service? The preacher needs to pick a lens through which to focus such a message. In my time and space, the most appropriate lens for that focus is the voice, experience, and story of Onesimus.

Onesimus does not have a voice in the letter. Of course, only Paul and his colleagues have an actual voice in the letter. But it is addressed to Philemon as a subject and tends to handle Onesimus as more of an object. That’s certainly a major drawback to the letter. That drawback should be acknowledged in any sermon or message based on the text. I am being presumptuous in even attempting to give Onesimus a voice through my preaching, but I believe that sin is less grievous than allowing Onesimus to remain mute.

Philemon has enslaved Onesimus in his Colossian household. Onesimus has escaped that enslavement and fled to Paul. Paul is imprisoned, likely in Ephesus, about a hundred miles away. As I read the letter, I believe Onesimus became a Jesus follower during his time with Paul. He had fled to Ephesus in order to appeal to Paul as a “friend of the enslaver.” Sometimes, such associates might intervene on behalf of the enslaved person and ask for lenient treatment if the enslaved person would return.

It seems that Onesimus got far more than he expected or desired. Paul became his father in the faith. The words in verse ten sound like birth language. Onesimus has been reborn as a Jesus follower and as a member of Paul’s family. Since Paul referred to Philemon as “my brother” in verse seven, this means that Onesimus and Philemon are now “beloved brothers” (see verse 16) in Christ.

We know all this because Paul sent a letter to Philemon in order to resolve the broken relationship between these new siblings. It seems clear from the letter that Onesimus came back to Colossae along with the letter. It may be that Onesimus was commissioned to perform the letter aloud for the Colossian church at a worship service. I don’t think that’s the case, but it is possible. In any event, he was present when it was read.

I want to linger on that last sentence. If Philemon responded to the letter and the situation as a typical Roman head of household, things would go badly for Onesimus. At the very least he would be whipped severely. He would certainly be put in chains, at least for a while. He would probably be physically branded as a “runaway,” with that brand applied to one of his cheeks. Depending on Philemon’s mood and ownership philosophy, there was a fair chance that Onesimus would be publicly executed, most likely by crucifixion.

These would not be extreme responses. Bloody beatings, physical mutilation, and public execution were the standard responses to enslaved persons who were captured and brought back to their enslavers. Any other response would not be merely unusual. Any other response would be nothing short of a miracle.

So, why did Onesimus risk that response? Why did Onesimus return? That question still drives me to study and pray over this little letter.

Perhaps Paul, as Onesimus’ “father in faith” ordered him to return and work things out with his new sibling in Christ. Paul acknowledges that he has such authority over Philemon (verse 8). Paul certainly believed he had such authority over Onesimus as well, his child and co-worker in Christ. Paul, however, wanted Philemon to respond “on the basis of love,” not coercion. I believe Paul would apply the same standard to Onesimus.

I assume that Onesimus chose to return to Colossae. Paul likely suggested this course of action but left it up to Onesimus to decide “on the basis of love.” For Onesimus, Jesus’ words in Luke 14 were neither metaphor nor hyperbole. He was “hating” even life itself. He was likely going to Colossae to bear a cross. He was renouncing control over all that belonged to him in order to be a Jesus follower – in order to call a beloved sibling to the realities of life together in Christ.

Reading this little letter is a dangerous spiritual and moral adventure. Onesimus, the enslaved person, had no obligation to do anything to benefit Onesimus, his enslaver. The oppressed in principle are never obliged to help or save their oppressors. In fact, a correct reading of 1 Corinthians 7:21 indicates that enslaved Christians should gain their freedom if the opportunity presents itself. (The NRSV puts this option in a footnote rather than in the main text. I will post some information that makes the case for the alternative).

White Christian preachers have used Paul’s Letter to Philemon for centuries to undergird White Christian biblical arguments in favor of Black chattel slavery. That interpretation is clearly wrong and even heretical. But I don’t want to inadvertently allow it to sneak into this post or my thinking. And yet, Onesimus returns to Colossae. He returns to offer Philemon a chance at real life as a Jesus follower. And he does so at the risk of his own life.

Onesimus is the character in this drama who lives as a Jesus follower. He has willingly surrendered control of all that belongs to him – including the life he has gained through his escape. He faces the cross as a concrete reality and not just as the hardship of giving up chocolate for Lent. He has counted the costs of following and set out on the journey anyway. I have followed this arc of the story a dozen times over. And I am stunned by Onesimus’ courageous love every time.

There is so much wrong with Paul’s approach in this letter – at least from my contemporary point of view. Paul wheedles and cajoles. He flatters and fauns. He manipulates and shames. But he never directly asks Philemon to renounce enslavement – either of Onesimus in particular or of people in general. This letter is no treatise on the rights of humanity. And Paul is no proto-abolitionist. I wish Paul had done much better in this letter. Centuries of human suffering might have turned out differently if he had.

Yet, it would seem that the drama had some sort of happy ending. If not, I doubt we would have this letter in front of us. If Philemon had rejected Paul’s request, I doubt that either Onesimus or the letter would have survived. I’m not sure if Onesimus was freed, but I think he was. I’m not so sure about other enslaved persons in Philemon’s household.

We can be certain that this letter had little positive effect on Christian slaveholding from the first to the nineteenth centuries. In fact, it seems that the letters to the Colossians and Ephesians as well as First Timothy walk back any Christian progress that might have been made regarding human enslavement. I fear that the second and third generations of Christians were unwilling to risk persecution by the Roman Empire in response to any efforts to upend or reform the Roman system of enslavement. The rhetoric of the Lukan account reflects this cautious retrenchment. An exception can be found in the Book of Revelation, but its setting as a response to persecution simply makes my point.

What belongs to me that I must renounce in order to be a faithful Jesus follower? I probably won’t have to imitate Onesimus, but the question remains. Perhaps we can flip the question on its head for a moment. What has such a hold on me that I am not free to follow Jesus? That’s the real issue for Philemon, the one that Onesimus feels called to address. As long as Philemon was enslaved by his role as enslaver, he was not free to follow Jesus, no matter what he might say or do.

Do my possessions possess me? Does my anxiety about my own life keep me in bondage to sin, death, and evil? Do systems that privilege me actually keep me less than human in the process? Yes and yes and yes.

“The call to discipleship, the baptism in the name of Jesus Christ means both death and life,” Bonhoeffer writes in the Call to Discipleship. “the call of Christ, [one’s] baptism, sets the Christian in the middle of the daily arena against sin and the devil. Every day [the Christian] encounters new temptations,” Bonhoeffer continues, “and every day [the Christian] must suffer anew for Jesus Christ’s sake. The wounds and scars [the Christian] receives in the fray,” Bonhoeffer concludes, “are living tokens of this participation in the cross of [our] Lord” (page 99).

The whole thing scares me to death…

References and Resources

Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship, (1937) 1979.

Levine, Amy-Jill, and Witherington, Ben III, The Gospel of Luke, 2018.

Malina, Bruce, and Rohrbaugh, Richard L. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 1992.

McCaulley, Esau. Reading While Black: African American Biblical Interpretation as an Exercise in Hope, 2020.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Luke, 2006.

Tiroyabone, Obusitswe. “Reading Philemon with Onesimus in the postcolony: exploring a postcolonial runaway slave hypothesis.” Acta Theologica 2016, no. supp24 (2016): 225-236.

Text Study for Luke 14:25-35 (Part Two)

How do we get from “hate your family and even your own life” (Luke 14:26) to “give up all your possessions” (Luke 14:33)? Let’s start with verse 33, which is the punchline for this paragraph. This will involve some close reading of the Greek text, but I think it will be worth effort for faithful interpretation.

“In this way, therefore,” Jesus says to the large crowds who were going about with him, “each of you who does not renounce control over all of what belongs to them will not be able to be my disciple” (Luke 14:33, my translation). Many scholars suggest that our passage is largely a composition by the Lukan author since it doesn’t show up in the other Synoptic accounts. That matters for our interpretation (whether one accepts that scholarship or not) because it means that this is a specific concern for the community to which the Lukan author is writing.

The verse has a “therefore” (Greek = oun). Therefore (ha, ha), it draws a conclusion based on what precedes it. Too often in our casual reading we can miss these connective words. But they are crucial to an accurate reading and faithful interpretation of the text. For the Lukan author, this verse is not a bumper sticker phrase tacked on to the end of some other random verses. This is a small conclusion to a rhetorical chain of thought and should be treated as such.

The verse begins with “in this way” (Greek = outos). For the Lukan author, the previous verses describe why it is that disciples must take the action in verse 33. There is something about hating family and life, and about counting the cost, that leads to this idea of “renouncing control over what belongs to them.” That connection is not obvious or intuitive. It takes some hard thinking and reflection.

Let’s look at the verb I translate as “renounce control over” (Greek = apotassetai). The root verb (Greek = tasso) can mean “to appoint to or establish in an office.” It can also be used to describe putting someone in charge of something. It can mean, finally, to “order, fix, determine, or appoint.” The verb has to do with determining the fate or status of something or someone. It has the sense of control – not merely ownership.

When we get to the verb in our text, we’ve added the preposition apo. This preposition has the sense of a move away from something or someone. That’s how we get to the lexical meanings of the verb. It can mean to say farewell to someone or something, to take leave of someone or something. In an expanded sense, it means to renounce or give up someone or something. This moves us closer to the connection between verses 26 and 33 in our text.

I would suggest that to “hate” family or life itself is not to emotionally reject those loved ones. As I noted in the previous post, the psychological content of “hate” comes to the fore for post-Enlightenment individualists. Instead, when Jesus uses the verb “hate” (or at least when the Lukan author uses it), Jesus talks about saying goodbye to, moving away from, giving up allegiance to someone or something.

I think, however, the sense is stronger than that. Verse 33 says that disciples say goodbye to reliance on controlling things and people around them as the source of their life. Disciples cannot serve two masters. We’re going to come to that statement in Luke 16:13. It is instructive that this verse also contains the verb “to hate.” When we serve a master (the Greek is the word for “Lord”), the Lukan author says we will love the one and hate the other.

We can have that sort of allegiance to only one Lord. And in Luke 16, the choice is between God and “mammon.” We are going to study that text in a couple of weeks. Therefore, keep all this in mind as we go forward. We’re dealing with a major focus in this section of the Lukan account. The Lukan author is going to keep hammering at this emphasis and won’t really be finished with it until the story of Zacchaeus in Luke 19 (right before the Lukan Triumphal Entry).

Disciples say goodbye to the security and power we get from things (and people) we control. Disciples say goodbye to “power over” others as the means to abundant life. This brings us to the other important word in verse 33, the word the NRSV translates as “possessions.” That’s an acceptable translation, but I think it loses its edge in English. We tend to think exclusively about material possessions. I don’t think that’s a broad enough meaning for our text.

The base meaning of the word (Greek = huparchousin) is “to be present” or “to be at one’s disposal.” If we take the word apart, we get a literal meaning of “to rule over.” These possessions aren’t merely the stuff we have “at hand,” although that’s included. These possessions are the things we rule over, have power over, have control over. That can and often does extend beyond the material stuff we have in our closets and storage units.

Now we can zero in on the verses earlier in the pericope. Those who follow Jesus are called to “hate” family and life itself. If you look closely, you’ll notice that no one is called to “hate” their husband. The imagined person being addressed is a prototypical paterfamilias, a Roman head of the household. Such a person was always an adult man. That adult man, in legal theory in the Augustan empire, had the powers of life and death over all the members of the household. This text isn’t for everyone. It’s for the men who are really in control of, who have power over, everyone else.

The possessions of such a household included dependent parents, spouse and children, and enslaved persons, as well as the non-human inventory of the estate. The Imperial definition of authentic humanity was this free, adult, propertied, and powerful male – the master (“Lord”) of all he surveyed. Jesus calls disciples to say goodbye to all of these platforms of power over others and to embrace radical dependence upon God alone. It is no accident that this renunciation would then lead to cross-bearing, the deepest place of shame on the Imperial honor/shame scale.

Who is it who can contemplate building a watchtower for his vineyard or a new farm building? Both of those structures are acceptable translations of the Greek word purgos. The landless poor in the crowds following Jesus might labor in such a building project. But they are not going to plan or pay for such a structure. This image is salient to free, land-owning, property-controlling males who have power over others to carry out such a project.

Who is it who might fantasize about being a king and fielding a private army? It’s not the dependent elders, the wives and children, the (younger) brothers and sisters in the crowd. It’s those who actually have some of that power in their lives in the here and now. It is those with the means who would even bother to count the costs of such adventures. And the cost, if such a one wishes to follow Jesus, is to say goodbye to that power and control.

In light of this close reading of our text, I am inclined to use the Second Reading, from Paul’s Letter to Philemon, as the basis for my sermon this week. I love that letter and have studied it intensively and extensively for the last ten years. It shows up just this once in the Revised Common Lectionary, and I don’t want to miss the opportunity to expose listeners to this remarkable text. More to the point, however, this letter gives us multiple case studies of the connection between discipleship and saying goodbye to what and who we control.

The first case concerns Philemon. I imagine him to be both the paterfamilias of that household in Colossae and the head of the little house-church there. We don’t know if Apphia is his wife and Archippus is his son. But that’s a fair conjecture. We do know that the Christian assembly gathers regularly at his house. And we can be pretty certain that this letter was read aloud to that assembly in Philemon’s house while Philemon sat and listened.

We can debate just what Paul was asking Philemon to do. But it is clear that Paul is asking Philemon to say goodbye to his control over Onesimus as his “possession.” Whether that led to formal manumission of Onesimus’ enslaved status is not clear from the letter. But Paul asks Philemon to regard Onesimus “no longer as a slave” but rather as a beloved brother in Christ. Philemon, if you do not say goodbye to what and who you have power over, you cannot follow Jesus. Therefore, dear brother, what will you do?

The second case concerns Onesimus. I want to address our brother, Onesimus, more fully in my next post. For now, we can reflect on the concrete realities in the case of Philemon and how those realities connect to our lives. To what must I say goodbye in order to make room for following Jesus as the highest priority in my life? What will that choice (made daily, as we read elsewhere in Luke) cost me? Will I pay that price?

References and Resources

Levine, Amy-Jill, and Witherington, Ben III, The Gospel of Luke, 2018.

Malina, Bruce, and Rohrbaugh, Richard L. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 1992.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Luke, 2006.

Text Study for Luke 14 25 to 35 (Part One)

13 Pentecost C 2022

Most of us preachers will have to deal early on with Jesus’ demand that we “hate” any and all who would claim our loyalty and care in competition with our commitments as disciples.

My mom taught me that it was wrong to say I hated anyone. Perhaps you received similar formation. That instruction hasn’t kept me from hating people, but it certainly has kept me from saying it out loud or demonstrating my hatred too plainly. When I was growing up, saying I hated someone (or even hated some thing, like spinach) was regarded as just below uttering a profanity.

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If our listeners have received similar training from little on (and if some of them are forming their children in the same way), then they may not hear anything else in the text. With that in mind, it’s probably important to address Jesus’ command to hate before going on with further reflections. I’m not sure that’s how it will work out in my message this week, but I suspect that it’s a generally good policy with this and similar texts.

“If anyone comes to me and does not hate their father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, and furthermore, their own self,” Jesus declares to the crowd, “then they will not be able to be my disciple” (Luke 14:26, my translation and emphasis).

Richard Swanson urges us to resist the temptation to cushion the hammer blows of that demand. “It will not do to soften these words by appealing…to notions of ‘oriental hyperbole,’” he writes. Many interpreters tone down the violence of the verb, “and the whole offensive mess becomes a tame suggestion that one ought to value one’s religious faith relatively more even than one values family obligations,” Swanson continues.

But that won’t do, he concludes, “The word translated as ‘hate’ means ‘hate,” he argues. “That’s all there is to it” (page 189). Swanson reminds us that this demand is in the same context as the demand that disciples bear their own crosses. That demand can also be softened into a moralistic metaphor which turns nosy neighbors and morning halitosis into “crosses” to be born. Swanson reminds us that Jesus’ first listeners would have made no such connections. Jesus words about cross bearing “would have been heard as obscene and offensive” (page 189).

Levine and Witherington do not set the interpretive bar quite so high regarding verse 26. “Claims that the apparently hyperbolic statement is typical of Jewish wisdom literature or that that they represent a Semitism indicating not ‘hate’ but ‘love less’ are plausible,” they write.

They note that the Matthean version of the demand offers precisely this reading. “Yet for Luke,” they continue, “discipleship does not appear to be a both/and; it is rather an either/or. Everything that is not directly related to discipleship is to be rejected,” they continue, “to hang on to earthly life will be giving up the heavenly one, just as piling up treasures on earth depletes the heavenly treasury” (page 401).

Levine and Witherington note that our text is paired in some lectionaries with Philippians 3:7-9. While that’s not the case in the current Revised Common Lectionary, that’s a connection worth examining. They note that as Paul writes to the Philippian Christians, he is imprisoned and facing the prospect of Imperial execution because he will not put allegiance to the Empire above his allegiance to Jesus as Lord. “Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ,” Paul writes to the church at Philippi. “More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord” (Phil. 3:7-8a, NRSV).

Paul’s words take this “love/hate” discussion out of the realm of abstractions and put it into a concrete and real-life situation. It would take just a pinch of incense on the altar and a few insincere words to satisfy the Imperial authorities. With those small concessions, Paul could maintain all the “gains” of his previous life. But, in comparison to “gaining Christ,” he regards all the other goods of his life as “rubbish.” The Greek word, of course, is something much more akin to “shit.”

Levine and Witherington offer a necessary caveat in this discussion of “hating” and “cross-bearing.” This “hatred” is not enacted on another. Nor is cross-bearing exercised in violence against another. “Such a total dedication therefore is not compatible,” they remind us, “with the dedication shown by those who would, in the name of God, blow up federal buildings or shopping malls, buses and trade centers. To take up the cross,” they conclude, “means to give up one’s own life rather than to take the lives of others” (page 402).

Malina and Rohrbaugh offer some extended remarks on “love” and “hate” in the first century world of our texts. While we post-industrial post-moderns would regard love and hate as purely internal states, that would not be the case in the first-century Mediterranean world. Malina and Rohrbaugh would understand “love” in that world as “group attachment” or “attachment to some person” (page 376). Love is, therefore, about loyalty and allegiance rather than warm feelings of affection.

“Hate” would, by contrast in this worldview, mean “disattachment, nonattachment, indifference.” These external states do not necessarily reflect internal feelings. “But it is the inward feeling of nonattachment along with the outward behavior bound up with not being attached to a group and the persons that are part of that group,” they write, “that hate entails” (page 376).

The social networks of the first-century Mediterranean world were exclusive in nature. They focused on “love” for in-group members and “hate” for out-group members. Those social networks included family and kin connections, village (which often was about the same network), ethnic groups, class and honor status connections, and perhaps national or tribal connections.

Malina and Rohrbaugh note that Jesus calls for inclusive table fellowship. This is the import of the previous parables in chapter fourteen. “The break with biological families and social networks implied in Jesus’ call for inclusive table fellowship,” they write, “is here made explicit, and the price to be paid for it is spelled out” (page 369). That will also be the connection, I would observe, with the following chapter, where some grumble because Jesus welcomes sinners and eats with them (Luke 15:2).

Malina and Rohrbaugh speak the language of sociology when they describe groups in the early Christian movement as “fictive kin groups.” I have only to think of all the Christian congregations that describe themselves as church “families.” That metaphor wraps the “insiders” in a warm and comforting quilt of familiarity and belonging. That quilt feels like “love” to the insider. But it can present “outsiders” with an impenetrable wall of norms and expectations, assumptions and connections that are simply opaque to the newcomer. That wall feels like “hate” to the outsider.

I mention this as a way to accomplish two things. First, we can use this common experience of church communities to make familiar something that seems quite foreign in the text. The “love” that insiders experience may be an internal state, but it is primarily an external reality. People can belong to the same congregation, despise one another, and still consider themselves part of the same church “family.” Congregations may express great love for “outsiders” (notice the many signs that announce “all are welcome”) and yet act with “hate” through exclusionary habits and structures.

Second, we can remind folks that what we insiders experience as church is not what outsiders experience. If our communities are to be inclusive table fellowships on the model of Jesus’ preferred community, then we are called to see ourselves from the perspective of the outsiders. That’s difficult, because we will then see the “hate” we have demonstrated in our community boundaries, structures, habits, and values. We insiders won’t enjoy that experience (at least I hope we won’t).

The fall (in the United States context, anyway) used to be a time when people “returned” to churches in one way or another. While that’s not nearly so common as it was a generation ago, it still happens. This text can offer a helpful prod for Christian communities to examine our practices of hospitality and to discern whether they and we are, well, hospitable. Do we speak words of “love” in our publicity and practice works of “hate” in our behaviors?

This discussion moves us toward a more systemic and less psychological understanding of “love” and “hate” in the framework of our text. One of the marks of Whiteness, for example, is the assertion that racism is only about individual intentions and actions that consciously proceed from such intentions. Anything that does not flow from individual intentions is therefore not culpable since “that’s not what I intended.”

But if “love” and “hate” are descriptions first of external realities and secondarily of internal responses to those realities, then we can be and should be culpable first for the outcomes of those external realities. I may feel welcoming to all. I may not have a racist bone in my body. But if my behavior excludes others from the goods of community and society due to race-based policies, practices, and structures, then my behavior is racist regardless of my intentions.

We have moved beyond the discomfort Jesus causes because my mommy told me it was wrong to say I hated anyone. We have now moved into the discomfort of Whiteness that chooses to render invisible any systemic advantage we White people may have. If that advantage becomes visible, then we (those of good conscience, anyway) must grapple with the “hate” that is built into the systems that benefit us.

References and Resources

Levine, Amy-Jill, and Witherington, Ben III, The Gospel of Luke, 2018.

Malina, Bruce, and Rohrbaugh, Richard L. Social Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, 1992.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Luke, 2006.