Creekside Church Sermon of September 5, 2004 "Goodbye, My Dearest" Luke 14:25-33	Rev. David Bibbee
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Each year, Elkhart City sends a large contingent to Camp Mack for the long Labor Day weekend Family Camp. Families from across Indiana come together for four days of fun, relaxation, and spiritual enrichment. The experience underscores the importance of family and the power families have for good, both within and beyond their family bonds.

It's a good thing that Family Camp coincides with today's text from Luke. That is, it is good for them because they are not present to hear it. Of all that Jesus said, this passage is probably the most difficult to swallow. I wish that Luke and Matthew had not included it. Given everything that Jesus said, there were things that weren't written down. Why wasn't this one of them? It seems so contrary to the Jesus we've come to know.

Families are in enough trouble as it is. Why compound their pain by telling them Jesus didn't come to bring peace but a sword? Spare them his prediction that homes will be hacked apart, and fathers and sons and mothers and daughters will be set against each other because of him. Cut the Ten Commandments to nine and toss the, "honoring thy father and mother" part in the trash. If you want to follow Jesus, you will hate your father and mother, your children and siblings, and while you're at it, hate yourself.

We talk about the necessity of sharing our faith. We want to find a way to make Christianity attractive and practical. We sell it as a remedy for people's ills and the fulfillment of their needs. We want to be faithful, but even more, we want to succeed, and success usually translates, "getting more people."

Statistically speaking, Jesus was a success. He could draw a crowd. The numbers looked good. This is where our lesson begins. Jesus was accompanied by a great multitude that was attracted to his teaching. He had a winning message. If Jesus had political consultants, they would have told him to stick with his message. "If people like it, and it ain't broken, don't fix it."

Statistics are bottom line we go to when deciding whether something has been a boon or a bust. Last week in church school, the class discussed the new churches that are growing by leaps and bounds. We speculated on the key components of their message and asked why it is so attractive to so many. Then someone said, "Whatever it is, they must be doing something right." Numbers don't lie. You can't argue with numbers, can you?.

Jesus was riding the crest of popularity's wave when he stunned everyone -- "If you are coming with me, you'll have to let mom and dad go", he said. "Kiss the wife and kids good-bye. Kiss yourself good-bye, too. Pull up whatever you have nailed down, and follow me." Just when people thought they had a family values candidate, Jesus turned on them.

He asked who would build a house without first figuring out what it would cost. "How would you like people walking past your unfinished home saying, 'Nice basement?'" "What king would be crazy enough to declare war on another king if he had only half the army of his opponent? When he sees he is outnumbered, do you think he'll wave the white flag?" Jesus told the crowd that unless they were prepared to part with the people and possessions that were nearest and dearest to them, they weren't disciple material.

He didn't listen to his consultant's advise. People weren't nearly as enthusiastic about his message. It seemed to them that he had declared war on family reunions, and the crowds evaporated. The Jesus we want is usually not the one we get. Allowing him to address us on his terms will wreck the growth curve.

I know someone who worked in an administrative post in a local company. During her interview, a promising picture was painted of the staff with whom she would work. She was told the company wanted to change, and they wanted her to lead the charge. It seemed to be job of her dreams, so she took it. It didn't take long to discover that the picture bore little resemblance to reality. There was more undermining than cooperation. The changes she initiated hit a brick wall. People were protective of their turf. She realized that she wouldn't be allowed to lead, so she resigned. When asked why she wasn't told the truth about the company culture, they said, "If we told you the truth, you wouldn't have taken the job."

The church has done the same thing. Whether it's the desire for numerical growth, or because we don't want the church to die, Jesus is turned into something he isn't. He bears more resemblance to who we are and what we want than who he is. The trouble is, it is a great way to attract a crowd. People like what they hear. It doesn't conflict their ideas about how life ought to be. We look at churches that do this and conclude, "Well, numbers don't lie. Whatever they're doing, they MUST be doing something right."

The Upper Room publishes a spiritual life journal called, Weavings. In it I found an article by Karen Turner who had been invited by some dear friends to witness the baptism of their twelve-year-old daughter. Karen was honored to be part of this important moment in their girl's life. Thinking about her baptism made Karen reflect on her own. Though she was just a young girl when she was immersed, Karen understood that from that point on, nothing would be the same. She surrendered herself to Jesus, and her life would be different.

Karen arrived at the church. It seemed like an endless parking lot full of luxury cars and glistening SUV's. The church looked like a stadium. She entered the sparkling sanctuary illumined by bright lights. There were people everywhere who, she said, "looked so fine, so beautiful, so happy, and tan." She met her friends and gave their daughter an embrace and blessing. The music grew louder and the lights dimmed. People began singing a song she did not know but she tried singing by looking up at the large screens on which the lyrics were projected.

Suddenly she looked and there stood the girl in a baptistery between the two projection screens. The pastor spoke a couple of phrases, she went down into the water, up and out. After her came a parade of children baptized assembly-line fashion.

After the last child came up from the water, there was a round of applause as the music that played during the baptism continued into the next part of worship… the announcements. Then the screens turned to red, white, and blue stripes, everyone stood, and with great enthusiasm sang songs about God and country. As the congregation swayed to the music, the lights dimmed. At the podium, the senior pastor dropped to one knee, and with one hand extended to heaven and head bowed, he began to pray:

"O Lord, be with our country, our President, our military. We pray for peace in the world. We really do. But, not at the expense of our way of life…"

All around her, Karen heard sincere murmurs of "Yes, Lord." She described her reaction like this: "My fight or flight response took me out one of the back doors during the next hymn. My stomach hurt as I experienced a kind of spiritual acid reflux. The no-frills baptism coupled with zeal for the American way of life made me wonder what I had witnessed. What had the children been baptized into? Is our way of life, no matter how noble or well intentioned, the same as new life in Christ?

The imagery of baptism is of dying to the old self; being buried and coming out a new person. We shed the clothing of our way of life and put on the wardrobe of Jesus and his way of life.

In one of Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons, a Stegosaurus stands at a lectern addressing a concerned audience of dinosaurs. He says, "The picture's pretty bleak, gentlemen… The world's climates are changing, the mammals are taking over, and we all have a brain about the size of a walnut." The days of "their way of life" were numbered.

Jesus told many would-be followers that discipleship was not a stroll in the park. It was costly. Livelihoods and lives are at risk. Families will be stressed and snap. Some will give their possessions to the poor. Friends will be friends no longer. You're not on your own any more.

Our families love us, they teach us to get along, and show us responsibility. The greatest happiness and pain we experience comes from our families. They give us wings to fly or make us totally dependent. But Jesus was a home wrecker.

Families offer you a start and stability, but they can't give your identity. They can't tell you who you are. You are more than a Marcin, a McFadden, or Miller. You're more than someone's mother, brother, aunt, or cousin. You are more than a "middle child." You're more than a role. You're a child of God. Its God's love that makes you who you are.

The temptations Jesus faced in the wilderness were tempting because they looked sooooo good… meeting his own needs, recognition, an easy following. When we try to make the church appealing, we can be suckered into what Jesus rejected. Let's not give the impression that the Gospel is about fulfilling people's needs and realizing their dreams. Such a message packs the pews, but Jesus didn't seem interested in packed pews. You're God's child, that's what you are, and its God's love that makes you who you truly are.

"Love, I will love you Lord, with all my heart…" He asks us to love him above all other loves, even if it means losing something or someone in the process. We can do it because we have his word that whatever we lose for his sake, our lives included, we are given back.

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