Sunday 4 September 2016

Counting in the Kingdom (Luke 14:25-33)



(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Sunday Worship on September 4, 2016, Proper 18)

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Of Payments and Payoffs 

Jesus would probably not make a good campaign manager, at least not on today’s evidence. It’s true, of course—his message about the immeasurable love of God is a promise hard to beat. And so it’s no surprise that, as today’s scripture tells us, he already has large crowds following him. But instead of building on this promise, today Jesus invites his followers to think twice about their commitment. Following him will mean giving up their families, their possessions, even their very lives.

If there’s one word that seems to sum up today’s passage, it’s the word “cost.” In my Bible, the heading for today’s scripture is “The Cost of Discipleship.” Jesus tells a couple of stories, one about a builder planning to build and the other about a king planning to wage war, and in both stories the basic message is this: before you make a big commitment, you need first to “sit down” and count the cost (14:28, 31).

You would think that this kind of message would have crippled Christianity. But on the contrary, Christianity has made a curious living off this message, for the flip side to an infinite cost is an infinite reward.

And that’s one way that today’s passage could be preached. I could tell an inspiring story about a man or woman who counted the cost and then bravely paid it. I could encourage us all to aspire to such sacrifice, and I could reassure us that our payment would be returned with an equal payoff. For some people, the cost of giving up one’s life means receiving the reward of eternal life in heaven. For others, such a costly payment is rewarded by the continued life of others. In any case, the message remains the same: for every payment there is a payoff.

Counting: An Induction into Our World? 

But I have a sneaking suspicion that Jesus is doing more than teaching Accounting 101, in which the sheets must be balanced and every costly payment is met with an equal reward. We don’t need to be taught that. We’ve known that from the first moment we knew ourselves.

Ask any child who knows his or her own name how old they are, and they will proudly show you on their fingers. Chances are, they’ll tack on a fraction to let you know they’re even older—not just four, but four and a half. If their parents have made a habit of measuring their height, then they’re sure to know that too. I remember just how important my height was back in the days when I wanted to ride rollercoasters like the Rebel Yell and the Shock Wave at Kings Dominion.

Through numbers and counting, children learn to measure themselves. Soon enough, through this same system of numbers, they learn to measure the world. Perhaps they are given an allowance, or a small payoff for chores, and they discover that this amount will only buy them so much.

I’ve been wondering lately if it’s not through counting that we as children are inducted into the ways of the world. Through counting, we learn to assign value to ourselves and to the world—sometimes in superficial ways, such as age and height, but sometimes in much more consequential ways, such as when we measure a man or woman by the number on his paycheck or the square footage of her house. Through counting, we learn to measure our own deeds. What is the cost of this action? What is the payoff? Is it worth it?

It’s a curious question to ask: why do we count? The temperature? The sports scores? The cost of a ticket? When I ask myself this question, and follow my answer as far as I can, I nearly always end up at myself, at my own interests.

Counting comes down to the question of what’s good for me. I am the bottom line. Counting is the language of self-interest.

A Different Way of Counting— 
Or Not Counting at All 

To a world that lives by counting, Jesus insists on a very different way of life. To follow him, to step foot into the kingdom that he is proclaiming, we must count a different way—or perhaps not count at all—because one thing is for sure: Jesus is not counting the way we do. Our family, he says today, counts for nothing (14:26). All our possessions count for nothing (14:33). Even our lives themselves count for nothing (14:26).

To the world, this way of counting—or not counting—is foolishness. And if we should want to give Jesus the benefit of the doubt, to pardon him a single moment of madness, we will have no such luck. Because this is the way he is always counting. According to Jesus, two small coins count more than all the gifts of the rich people (21:1-4). According to Jesus, you should forgive someone not just once or twice or even seven times, but seventy times seven times, which is another way of saying until you lose count (Matt 18:21-22; cf. Luke 17:4). According to Jesus, the wages for a single hour of work are the same count as the wages for a full day’s work (Matt 20:1-16). According to Jesus, one sheep counts more than 99 (Luke 15:3-7).

If Jesus ever visited Sesame Street, he and the Count would have a lot to talk about.

“Stop Counting” 

When Jesus tells the two stories about the builder deciding to build and the king deciding to go to war, what is his point? Is he telling us that these decisions are like the decision to follow him? Is he telling us that we need to count the cost? Is this a bit of divine parenting, an invitation for us to check the piggy bank of our soul to see if we’ve got enough?

I’m not so sure. Jesus’ strange way of counting leads me to think he’s saying more than simply, “Count the cost.” In fact, part of me wonders if he’s not saying something more like the opposite: “There’s no counting to be done here.” Whenever I count, I’m focused on myself. I am the bottom line. And so Jesus says to me, “Stop counting. Step outside yourself—out of all that you count as your life.”

Or as he actually says in the passage: “Carry the cross” (cf. 14:27)—which is a way of saying, don’t live for yourself, or for your possessions, which are a part of yourself, or even for your family, which is also a part of yourself. Live for others.

How Not to Count 

In his book, In His Steps, Charles Sheldon tells the story of a young woman, Virginia, who lends a helping hand to Loreen, a town tramp. Virginia welcomes the drunken and unwashed Loreen into her home to help her get back on her feet. The trouble is, however, that Virginia’s grandmother also lives with her, and her grandmother is repulsed by the idea of this unkempt woman staying even one night under the same roof. Virginia’s grandmother counts the cost—and finds it way too high. But Virginia is not counting at all. She’s not thinking about herself but about Loreen. Listen to a snippet of their conversation:

“You shall not do this, Virginia,” the grandmother says. “You can send her to the asylum for helpless women. We can pay all the expenses. We cannot afford, for the sake of our reputations, to shelter such a person.”

“Grandmother, I do not wish to do anything that is displeasing to you; but I am going to keep Loreen here to-night, and longer if I think it is best.”

“Then you can answer for the consequences! I do not stay in the same house with a miserable—” and here the grandmother is lost for words.

“Grandmother, this house is mine. It is your home with me as long as you choose to remain…. I am willing to bear all that society may say or do. Society is not my God. By the side of this poor, lost soul, I do not count the verdict of society as of any value.”

“I shall not remain here, then,” her grandmother replies. “You can always remember that you have driven your grandmother out of your house in favor of a drunken woman.”[1]

A World of Love 

This is a painful exchange, and one that captures well what Jesus means when he talks about hating your family. It’s not literal hate. It’s the step that a follower of Jesus must take, a step from the land of self-interest—whether that’s family or possessions or one’s reputation in society—into the kingdom, where the self is second place to the other, where counting no longer dictates our lives. While Virginia’s grandmother counts the cost of hospitality and finds it unbearable, Virginia simply lives for Doreen.

As long as we live by counting, the gospel will always sound like a threat. It will always sound like a costly exchange, like a payment followed by a payoff. But I have a hunch that that’s not how Jesus intends for it to be heard. I have a hunch that in the kingdom there is no counting. There is no self, no me, no I, that is tallying up what matters and doesn’t, who matters and doesn’t, like family or possessions. And if there is no counting, then the gospel is not a threat but indeed good news—the best news. In a kingdom where there is no counting, we live not for ourselves, but for each other, and that means that everybody, from family to stranger, has literally an entire world of love raising them to new life.

Prayer 

God,
Whose love cannot be counted—
Haunt the equations by which we live.
Lead us beyond costs and payoffs,
So that we may live not for ourselves,
And not for a reward in the future,
But for the kingdom in the here and now,
Among family and stranger and enemy alike. Amen.


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[1] Charles M. Sheldon, In His Steps: What Would Jesus Do? (Mineola, N.Y.: Dover, 2010; orig., Chicago: Advanced, 1897), 94.  Emphasis mine.

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