Costly Discipleship

sermon by Torin Eikler
"Hymns that Shape Us" series:
Early Church Heritage Hymns
Luke 14:25-33 Psalm 1

Today we are beginning a series on Hymns that Shape Us. That might seem like a fairly tame subject, but hymns are powerful things. Last week, when I visited Alice in Sundale, the words I said and the touch of my hand holding hers seemed to go unnoticed. She remained unresponsive, and her face showed the lines of discomfort. But when I began to sing some of her favorite hymns, she opened her eyes a fraction and her face relaxed. There were even times when I felt sure that she was trying to join in. Those hymns provided comfort for her and encouragement, and they reminded her that she belonged to something greater than herself – that she was not alone. Somehow, setting the words to music helped them reach her in a way that they didn’t or couldn’t alone.


That may seem surprising, but it’s not really a new concept. Advertisers, activists, and church leaders alike have understood for years what some of us haven’t really thought about: music has the power to carry messages deep down within us. And if you have ever found yourself humming a tune as you wend your way through the day, you know how they can stick with you. Often, just listening to a few seconds of a hymn can take us into memories of the times and places we have heard them before.

Take “Amazing Grace”…. Whenever I hear the opening strains of the hymn, I am reminded of my time with the Orangeburg AME church where they sang it as a call and response … “Amazing grace, (said amazing grace,) how sweet the sound, (how sweet the sound,) that saved a wretch, (that saved a wretch,) like me, (that saved a wretch like me.)” And a fondness for a whole different style of worship filled with “bother-ation” and random input from the congregation.

But if you hear: (sing in traditional manner) “Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,” you will undoubtedly think of church services or funerals or both, and all the comfort of the Spirit’s healing presence will come to mind.

And if you hear: (sing to Gilligan’s Island) “Amazing grace how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me,” you will have an entirely different experience.


But hymns don’t just comfort and encourage us. They don’t just remind us that we are part of something bigger than ourselves or recall to us moments from our past. They also challenge and shape us, molding our beliefs and our worldview in powerful ways that we may not even recognize. That makes them a powerful tool, and hymn writers, church leaders, and theologians throughout the centuries have used them with more or less care to influence and undergird the faith of the Christian community.

Three hundred and three years ago, Alexander Mack and his small group of Anabaptist Brethren did just that. Inspired by the scriptural accounts of Jesus’ challenging words, they defied the authorities in Germany to be re-baptized, singing (as legend has it) the hymn that we have just sung – “Count well the cost.” Knowing what they were risking, the words rang with the strength of their decision to risk “self, wealth, and reputation,” and that moment in the church’s memory, recalled whenever this hymn makes an appearance, has come to shape generations of believers… though not always as they would have expected.


Take a moment now and remember about what you thought when you read the bulletin and discovered that “Count well the cost” was part of the service. Or think back just a few minutes to what you felt when we were actually singing.

Somewhere in the midst of all the memories that came back to me, I found a bit of guilt and relief that run through them all. Guilt that I don’t really pay much of a cost for my faith. Relief that I do not face the persecution of those early Anabaptists who often lost everything or were imprisoned or even burned at the stake. And so the hymn takes on a sense of admonition for me, a mild rebuke for the life I live when I should be selling everything or challenging the Powers-That-Be in a more diligent way.

That’s not surprising given the story that goes with the hymn and the scripture that has so been often read just before I sing it. There we hear Jesus reprimanding the Pharisees for their pride. Specifically, he is responding to one man who proclaimed, “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” with all the assurance of one who is sure of receiving the blessing himself.

Be careful, he says, of assuming that you will be at that table because you must concern yourself with the things of God if you wish to be welcomed. You must be willing to give up all your possessions … and even the family, friends, and reputation that you hold so dear if you are to receive that blessing. There is a heavy price to pay. If you are not willing to lay the foundation without assurance that the tower will be built … if you are not willing to step into the fray knowing that you are outnumbered two to one, then you will not find the way into the Kingdom.

And that’s the way that I hear it because I have always been taught to identify with the Pharisees … because I am really more of a Pharisee than I like to admit. I worry about having enough money to feel secure. I shy away from starting projects that I can’t finish or that I am pretty sure won’t work out. And I set more store than I should on having the respect of others. More often than I realize, I’m sure, I compromise or rationalize my way off the path to the Kingdom table for the sake of securing that respect or in the name of respecting the call of my family’s security.

Sound familiar?


Then again … I’m not sure that was all that Jesus was about with this speech. Corey introduced the scripture by telling us that Jesus was speaking to the crowd that had gathered, uninvited, in the courtyard of the Pharisee’s home to listen to the conversation and watch the drama. That was not uncommon at the time, and many of those watching may have been waiting for the left-overs that were sometimes shared out after a banquet. What was uncommon was for a guest of honor to speak with the crowd, and while I’m sure Jesus meant his words as a warning to those gathered at the table, I wonder how they would have been received by the people he spoke to directly.

Those people could not have been so very worried about their status among the social elites or they would never have come into the courtyard. There was simply too much stigma that came with being associated with that crowd. They may or may not have had very much money, but probably not. Most of Jesus’ followers, it seems, came from the lower classes of society who had to work in order to make ends meet. They were used to taking risks without knowing what the future would bring because their daily lives involved exactly that kind of risk.

Honestly, I have no idea how the words that Jesus spoke would have sounded to them, but I think that they would not have found them to hold rebuke … or at least not much. Instead, I think they might well of sounded … well … encouraging. They didn’t have money or stature. They weren’t able to maintain the purity that society held to be the only way to righteousness under the law. And yet, they could become disciples if they were only willing to accept the risk. They could find their way to the banquet table of the Kingdom is they were willing to face … what? … failure, ridicule, perhaps death (though a king going to war rarely risked death – only defeat). That was no so much to ask of people without so much to lose. It would certainly have been easier for them than for the Pharisees.


I think it was much the same for the early Anabaptists. They were not the wealthy or the powerful of their time. Scriptures like this one were not just warnings offering judgment; they were a source of hope and promise. There was a new creation that they could be part of – a community of peace and love that was ready to welcome them into a warm embrace if they were willing to risk


So where does that leave us. Most of us are not at the lower levels of society with nothing to lose. We do not have to risk our lives for our faith, and I don’t think any of us would want to. But we are not wholly lost either. We have made the commitment to follow Christ. We struggle with the habits of pride and consumption and our tendencies to feel holier-than-thou. And we have accepted the costs that come with choosing a faith community that still pushes the boundaries of society’s expectations.

We reluctant martyrs … we regretful Pharisees … we are somewhere in the middle. And so the words of our hymns and the words of scripture are a two-fold blessing. Standing as we do between the table and the crowd, we hear the soft reminder that the path laid out by Jesus is not an easy one, and we experience the resounding declaration of the promise of peace and love and that comes to those who take it. We hear and affirm the proclamation that costly discipleship brings hope and life to all who follow Christ.