Luke 14:25-33 Deuteronomy 30:15-20
The beginning of this passage is one of the scriptures that
I have a hard time with. Jesus doesn’t
seem like the kind of person who would demand that his followers turn against
their families in the way it seems to imply.
It just doesn’t fit with the message of love for all people that he
preached so consistently during his time with us, and it certainly isn’t in
keeping with his last actions telling John to take Mary as his adopted mother
and vice versa. Quite frankly, if the
cost of following Jesus is hating my family, I don’t know if I can live up to
the demand, and a part of me recoils from the idea that it would even be asked
of me. But I respect the scriptures
enough to wrestle with this one rather than dismissing out of hand, and I have
unearthed a couple of insights that have helped me along the way.
The first has to do with the challenging process of
translation. The word we read as “hate”
in this passage comes from the Greek word “misei.” It was originally translated as hate by the
monks who put the King James version of the Bible together, and has held on
through the years despite other valid possibilities. The root of “Misei” is miseo which literally means
"to regard with less affection, to love less, or to esteem less". It
doesn't mean animosity, ill will, or revenge, which our English word,
"hate," suggests. Miseo doesn't mean that the object is detestable or
repugnant. It just means that by comparison, someone or something is less
important than someone or something else.[1]
The other insight comes from scholars’ interpretation of the
culture in the Middle East two thousand years ago which I think is probably on
target since it helps this passage dovetail with the parable Jesus shared just
before this text – the parable of the banquet that was refused by the chosen
guest and became a feast open to all who chose to attend. This is what that perspective has to offer
according to John Pilch….
The purpose of meals in the Middle East was to cement social
relationships. Kin and friends were, and
continue to be, the basis of economic survival in this world, where economics
was deeply embedded in kinship and politics. You could always count on your family and
friends to look after you. A follower of
Jesus who ceased "networking" by means of meals would jeopardize a
family’s very existence. That disciple
would have to choose between allegiance to the family and allegiance to Jesus.
Also, in the Middle East the main rule for behavior is
family first. A disciple who chose to cut ties with family and social network would
have lost the ordinary means of making a living. That would qualify as an economic
cross for anyone who made that choice.
It is true that by joining a new "family" consisting of the other
disciples of Jesus, a "family-hating" person could have found a new
source of livelihood. But without being able
to make claims based on blood ties and advantageous social networks, members of
that new "family" would have to rely on hospitality, which would have
been extended exclusively by strangers to strangers.[2]
That interpretation helps me relax and breathe a little more
easily. I don’t have to “hate” my
family. I simply need to be reminded
from time to time that they are not necessarily the most important thing in the
world. That’s still a little hard to
stomach, but I don’t believe that God often chooses to separate or break apart
families if there is another option.
(And I suspect that … for God … there is almost always another option.)
It also seems to imply that the cost Jesus was asking his
listeners to count was more or less strictly economic. That makes sense given that somewhere around
60% of Jesus’ teachings were about money and the rearranging of wealth-based
societies, including the parable just preceding this passage. If that was the case, it was still a pretty
big cost to accept.
So what was the benefit?
We don’t often stop to ask that question. Instead we just hunch our shoulders and
think, “well, I’ll have to accept the cost if I want to follow Jesus.” And yet, it seems to be the natural question
to ask. If I would have been there
listening to him speak, that would have been the first thing that came to mind.
For us, the answer might be eternal salvation by the power
of the grace offered through Jesus’ obedient self-sacrifice. For the crowd, that wouldn’t have entered the
picture. They didn’t know anything (or
had only the slightest inkling at most).
For them, the other side of the equation would have been the new way of
life that Jesus preached – a life where there was enough for everyone to eat
and where people reached out across the boundaries of family and social class
to take care of each other with love and compassion … a life where the
prosperity, abundance, and length of days became a reality for everyone just as
Moses had promised so long ago.
Was that worth the cost?
Is it worth the cost to you?
Consider these two stories from Paul Gaffney and Robert
Baldwin, respectively. Gaffney writes…
As a street chaplain in Marin
County, California, I join with the street community in San Rafael, California,
every Tuesday. Our Wellness Group is
made up of people who live in their cars, people who sleep in bushes and those
who are newly housed. Some drink before
noon, some are in recovery. We are
joined by mental health consumers, retired clergy, lay monastics – and whoever
else is moved to join us. In less than
an hour we move together through the ritual we’ve built over the last ten
years: we sit in silence, pray and
discuss sacred and secular texts.
Recently, we have concluded the time with a meal organized by members of
our community….
Initially we planned only simple
meals – bread and soup, salad and pasta.
But the cooks were delighted with the host church’s commercial kitchen
and could not contain their enthusiasm.
Spaghetti and meatballs led to pulled pork with led to coconut
curry. Our simple dinners had turned into
elaborate feasts….
At first the participants in the
Wellness Group were upset that some people came only for the meal, or ate more
than their share, or critiqued the food.
But as group members talked about this friction, we smoothed off some of
the rough edges of the practice. Now we
proudly feed everyone and anyone, not just ourselves….[3]
And
Baldwin tells this story:
I will never forget the day I met Mother Teresa. More than that, I will never forget what she taught me about loving other people, especially the poor.
I will never forget the day I met Mother Teresa. More than that, I will never forget what she taught me about loving other people, especially the poor.
She wasn't nearly as famous in the late seventies as she is now, but she
already had hundreds of thousands of admirers around the world. I was the
editor of a Catholic newspaper in Rhode Island, and when I heard she would be
speaking in Boston, I decided to go. [As
a member of the press, I was] ushered into a room where a little old lady wrapped in a blue-and-white
sari [she was preparing to speak].
I couldn't believe how tiny she was. But what I remember most is her smiling, wrinkled face and the way she bowed to me, as if I were royalty, when I was introduced. She greeted everyone that way. I thought that if Jesus Christ walked into the room, she would greet him in exactly the same manner. The way she did it conveyed a message that said, "You are holy".
But meeting her wasn't as memorable as what she taught me about loving people. Until that day, I had always thought of charity as simply being nice to people. For Mother Teresa it was much more.
During her talk, she told us …. a story of how one of the sisters had spent an entire day bathing the wounds of a dying beggar who was brought to them from the streets of Calcutta. Mother Teresa's voice dropped to a whisper as she told the hushed auditorium that, in reality, the nun had been bathing the wounds of Jesus. She insisted that Christ tests the love of his followers by hiding in grotesque disguises to see if we can still see him.
I couldn't believe how tiny she was. But what I remember most is her smiling, wrinkled face and the way she bowed to me, as if I were royalty, when I was introduced. She greeted everyone that way. I thought that if Jesus Christ walked into the room, she would greet him in exactly the same manner. The way she did it conveyed a message that said, "You are holy".
But meeting her wasn't as memorable as what she taught me about loving people. Until that day, I had always thought of charity as simply being nice to people. For Mother Teresa it was much more.
During her talk, she told us …. a story of how one of the sisters had spent an entire day bathing the wounds of a dying beggar who was brought to them from the streets of Calcutta. Mother Teresa's voice dropped to a whisper as she told the hushed auditorium that, in reality, the nun had been bathing the wounds of Jesus. She insisted that Christ tests the love of his followers by hiding in grotesque disguises to see if we can still see him.
A few nights later, I was leaving my office after dark when a drunk accosted
me. He was dirty and ragged and smelled
bad. "Did the bus leave yet?"
he asked. The only bus that ever stopped on that corner
was a van that carried street people to a soup kitchen.
"You've missed it," I told him. Then I thought about Mother Teresa. I didn't exactly buy the idea that this old
bum was God in disguise, but I could see a person in front of me who needed a
meal. The soup kitchen wasn't very far
out of my way. "C'mon, I'll drive
you," I said, hoping that he wouldn't throw up in the car. He
looked surprised, delighted and a little stunned. He studied me with bleary eyes. His next words floated to me on the smell of
cheap wine and they seemed to confirm everything Mother Teresa had taught me.
"Say," he said, "you must know me."[4]
Was it worth the costs for these two men? I think they would say that it was because it
sounds to me (when I read between the lines) that they both found joy and
fulfillment in the moments when they reached out past their barriers to help out
those in need. In those moments, I think
they discovered the blessings of the Promised Land. In those moments when they met Christ sitting
at the table or weaving down the pavement before them."Say," he said, "you must know me."[4]
For Baldwin, “family” was the social standing that would
have him keep his distance from men who bear the smelly, lurking, nauseas
stigma of those who have reached the end of their rope. For the people in Gaffney’s group, it seems
like pride and control were the barrier that wanted to keep everything just so
and make sure everyone followed the same rules.
I don’t know what the barriers or concerns are that get in the way for each
of you. I don’t know the “family” that
threatens to disown you if you choose to follow Christ. I don’t even know what all of my own are, but
I’m pretty sure that there is at least one.
We all have that struggle. There is a cost for each of us to count. I only hope that you can find a way or a time
or a place when you can set them aside and meet Christ. I only pray that you too will discover the blessings
and the joy of following his invitation to the banquet table set before us all.
[1]
Levin, Ron. “Counting the Cost of
Discipleship.” SermonSuite.com
[2]
Pilch, John. The Cultural World of
Jesus, Year C. (Liturgical Press, Collegeville) 133 - 135.
[3]
Gaffney, Paul. “Feeding and being fed: a
feast for those at the edges,” The Christian Century, September 18, 2013. 13.
[4]
Baldwin, Robert. “Mother Teresa, the Wino and Me” in Chicken Soup for the
Soul: Stories of Faith, Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, and Amy Newmark,
eds. (Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, Cos Cob), 228-229.
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