SERMON 5 September 2004    

 Readings:      Jeremiah 18: 1-11         Philemon            Luke 14: 25-35 

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God. Amen.  

Happy Fathers Day to all you Dads out there! The pivotal importance of fathers in the healthy development of children is slowly being recognised – a great dad is a priceless gift to a child and our use of the term ‘Father’ as an image for God is a recognition of that fact. Even those of us who had hopeless dads can see the potential for the relationship. 

I hope you were all encouraged and heartened by the lectionary writers’ choice of a Gospel reading to celebrate your unique and important role as fathers. Not for our lectionary writers such affirming  readings as ‘Is there any among you who, if your child asks for a fish, will give a snake, instead of a fish?’ 

No, we get: “Jesus said, ‘Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple’.” (Luke 14:26) 

Were it not for the fact that we have been steadily working our way through Luke’s Gospel and this section just happens to be the next bit, I would be tempted to think that they had done it deliberately to set a challenge for preachers. 

It is tempting just to ignore it and preach on something else altogether – such as the Old Testament text that tells us to choose life. Indeed, it was even suggested to me that I might give you all a break from having a sermon or perhaps seek refuge in a meditation. But I believe we must grapple with these difficult texts. If we fail to do so, we are failing to come to grips with the richness of the Scriptures and can be rightly accused of only paying attention to the ‘nice’ bits. 

So what is going on here? History tells us that in the 13th century, Henry II of England, was angered at opposition from Archbishop Thomas a’Beckett, whom he had counted on for support. In his anger he asked “Have I no friend who will rid me of this troublesome priest?" Four of his knights promptly rode to Canterbury, where they confronted the Archbishop and demanded that he back down. When he did not, they killed him. Henry was devastated, swearing that he had not intended his remark to be taken literally. Similarly, I believe that Jesus would be appalled if, inspired by this Gospel passage, we set ourselves to hating our closest family.  

This passage comes in a section of Luke’s Gospel where the costs and nature of discipleship have been examined at length. If you cast your minds back over the last few weeks, you will remember that Jesus has talked about how the life of discipleship is radically different from all the things that we as human beings usually prize – he has talked about the idiocy of religious rules,  about the folly of acquiring wealth, about the need to be humble and not seek social status.    

This week’s Gospel highlights, in very provocative language, the primacy of the commitment to discipleship over any other commitment, even those commitments that we would normally regard to be the most important – those to our closest family. Jesus is calling for a new orientation on the part of the disciple –towards the new community that seeks God’s purpose and is faithful to the message of Jesus and away from any of the traditional affiliations of family or social class. 

Many of the scholars writing on Luke regard the language here as being typical Semitic rhetoric – way, way over the top in order to make the point about the importance of being utterly committed to this way of discipleship. Jesus does this sort of thing all the time – shocks us to grab our attention and make us think. The drift of this verse is so radically at odds with other texts that tell us to love one another, even our enemies, that it is most likely that the language of ‘hate’ should not be taken literally. It is there simply to emphasise the point about the importance of putting God above everything.  

The social circumstances of the time also need to be considered. For a significant number of Jesus’ disciples, their commitment to him would have meant being cut off by their families. Christianity did not become fashionable until about the 4th century. Texts like this one reinforce for them the rightness of their decision to follow Christ, despite the personal cost.  

The Gospel passage then goes on to talk about that cost in terms of bearing a cross. Discipleship is burdensome. The stories about the tower and the king encourage people to think through the consequences of commitment before they enter onto a path they may not be prepared to follow through to the end.  

By the end of this section of the Gospel, we are in no doubt that discipleship is serious, significant, costly and not to be entered into lightly.  

But this text contains other messages too, messages which are perhaps harder to see at first because of the confronting nature of the primary message. It’s hard to get past the first shock of it. This morning I want to look in a bit more detail at the opening statement about family relationships. Although disconcertingly extravagant in its expression, it is a strong reminder of one of the revolutionary teachings of Christianity.   

How many times do you hear parents say ‘We don’t do that in our family’? Or, ‘we always celebrate Christmas like that’. It is all part of introducing children to their family, to their social grouping, helping them slot in to life, knowing who they are and where they fit. As we form our identity we define ourselves both by the ways in which we are similar to some and different from others. We belong to a number of intersecting communities: family, school friends, later work colleagues, church, sports clubs, city, nation, ethnicity. If someone asks me who I am I usually express it in terms of the tribes that I belong to – I am Australian (well, Tasmanian actually), I am a woman, I am left-handed, middle-aged, Anglican – and so it goes on. These different tribes inform us, support us, challenge us. They are where we belong from the cradle to the grave. Some are automatic – like ethnicity and skin colour; others, such as friends and special interest groups like sports clubs, are chosen. 

This sense of belonging is deeply important to us as humans. But it easily slips into judgement and condemnation. Difference brings division and suspicion. We say that familiarity breeds contempt but it is also true that unfamiliarity breeds suspicion and hostility. This can be a useful, life-preserving reaction – you really don’t know if the stranger is friend or foe and it is wise to find out before you let them into your camp. 

Much of Jesus’ teaching subverts this human reaction. The story of the good Samaritan confronts us with the reality that even people we despise, the people who are as offensive and misguided to us as the Samaritans were to the Jews, may be more godly than we are. ‘Love your enemies’, Jesus tells us.  

We may discriminate but God doesn’t. We are all God’s children – there is no legitimate basis of discrimination. Ethnicity, age, gender, social class, language, eye colour, skin colour, intellectual capacity, sporting prowess, are all irrelevant. Such differences exist and they are interesting. They are part of life’s wonderful and awe-inspiring diversity. But they are not grounds for division or dispute. We are to treasure the differences and acknowledge our common status as beloved children of God. The ‘take home’ message from today’s reading, as indeed from the whole Gospel of Luke, is to love God and to love each other. Father, mother, husband, wife, sister, brother, daughter, son, neighbour, stranger, foe. 

May God give us the strength and compassion we need to fulfil this awesome command. Amen. Happy Father’s Day!

Sarah Macneil