7 September 2025 Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Psalm 139.1–5, 12–18 Psalm 139.1–5, 12–18 Philemon 1.1–25 Luke 14.25–35
There is an old Talmudic parable the captures the heart of this Gospel reading. A large, multi-cabined ship sets sail across the ocean. A passenger whose cabin is on the lowest level of the ship decides to dig a hole in the floor of his cabin. Sure enough, the ship begins to sink. When the other passengers realise what is happening, they rush to the man’s cabin “What are you doing” they yell. The man looks up from the hole and says “it’s my cabin, I paid for it” and the ship goes down.
This is a parable, of course, full of hyperbole. But it names the uncomfortable truth that Jesus names in the reading: when it comes to the life of faith we want our cake and eat it too. But the problem is, we can’t. Despite our desires otherwise, Christianity does involve choices. We may want to experience Jesus the healer, Jesus the saviour, Jesus the friend – but we are not so keen on Jesus the radical, counter-cultural prophet who barges into our private cabins and asks the impudent, unbearable question “what are you doing?”
Jesus tells the crowd, ‘none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions’. And he goes on and tells them, ‘whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple’. And if those two warnings are not enough, he finishes with ‘whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, even life itself, cannot be my disciple’.
And you have to hand it to him, Jesus believes in ‘truth in advertising’, there is no ‘sugar coating’ of the message here, he tells it like it is. Basically, Jesus is saying ‘if I want to follow him, I have to relinquish once and for all the fantasy that “it’s my cabin. I paid for it”. Because there is no ‘my cabin’, I am on God’s ship now, and everything I do – every decision I make, every idol I worship, every tribalism I cherish, every possession I hoard – affects the entire vessel. There is no ‘us’ or ‘them’ on the ship of Christian discipleship. There is only ‘we’ – a holy, God-ordained ‘we’, more inclusive, enormous, consequential, and fragile than I can possibly wrap my head around. If I become a disciple, I am responsible for the ‘we’, whether I like it or not. In other words, Jesus’ claim on my life is radical and absolute, it relativises every other claim. Every other claim. End of story.
It would be an understatement to say this teaching is difficult to hear. Jesus knows it is difficult, which is why he advises his listeners to stop and count the cost before signing up to be his follower. Like the careful builder who takes a good hard look at his budget before he breaks ground. Or the wise general who makes sure the troops are equipped and battle-ready before declaring war. The life of faith is no different; discipleship is not a ‘weekend hobby’ or ‘vacation destination’. It is a full soul, full body, full mind endeavour that requires renunciation. And surrender. And a reordering of our identities, priorities, and proclivities. It requires ‘hating’ what is too narrow, or exclusive, or insular and learning instead to love what is broad, inclusive and boundless.
Let me ask you, when have you, or maybe even have you counted the cost of following and found it reasonable or desirable?
Let me expand on those thoughts.
What do you consider yours. What do you insist on owning, possessing or claiming as your own, as if ownership is your exclusive right. What are you possessive about – what do you cling to that is not God. And more importantly, can you muster the courage to change. To live non-possessively – to love and not smother, steward and not exploit, appreciate and not hoard.
Who is your ‘we’. To whom and for whom are you responsible? How wide, or narrow, is the circle that encompasses ‘your people’, the people you will love, welcome, serve, and make sacrifices for. Can you embrace a ‘we’ that is broader and riskier than any you have so far embraced. A ‘we’ that transcends race, ethnicity, religion, sexuality, and all other socially constructed categories. How aware are you, that the ship – the whole ship, not just your corner of it – has an irrefutable claim on your life.
What are you willing to ‘hate’. What customs, beliefs, or traditions have you inherited that you need to renounce in order to follow Jesus. What baggage do you need to abandon. What ties need loosening. What relationships need to be subordinated. Jesus spoke these difficult words about ‘hating’ one’s family in a cultural context where family was the source of a person’s security and stability. In first-century Palestine, Jewish families were self-sustaining economic units. No one in their right mind would leave this unit behind in order to follow a homeless, controversial preacher into an uncertain future. Can I, in 21st century Australia, recapture any vestige of the risk these first elders in the faith took in choosing Jesus. What sources of modern-day security and stability do I trust more than I trust God.
What version of Christianity are you selling. You would probably agree that you have a ‘stake’ in the Church. The Church which is a human institution even as it is also the Body of Christ. And whether we like it or not, we care for its survival. We care about ‘numbers’. We care about ‘attracting newcomers.’ We care about ‘the bottom line’. But how do these concerns fit in with the ‘hard’ sell Jesus insists on in this reading. How do we package discipleship in a culture that insists ‘its my cabin. I paid for it’. What do we lose every time we trade the cross in for a low-cost, low-risk, ‘you can have your cake and eat it too’, version of Christianity.
Well, we lose the ship. Or if we return to Jesus’ metaphor, we lose the opportunity to invest in a tower worth building. A holy community worth living and dying for. A resurrection worth the weight of the crosses Christ will gladly and graciously help us bear. If we will just let him.