Sermon — September 4, 2022
The Rev. Greg Johnston
“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:25, 33)
I’ve always wanted to suggest this as a reading for someone’s wedding…
I’m joking, of course. I can’t think of a worse choice. But this is exactly what’s so baffling about Jesus’ words. Most people in our culture encounter Christianity primarily as a kind of family religion. They go to church for family occasions like a baptism, a wedding, or a funeral. They go to church on big family holidays like Christmas; maybe even Easter or Mother’s Day. But if you’re among the faithful few who show up on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, you’re treated to this perplexing message: if you do not hate the ones you love, you cannot be my disciple.
Most of us are here to do the opposite. We know that Jesus taught us to love God and our neighbors, and we want to do it. We recognize, as well, that we need some help learning to love, or at least learning to love more gently, more patiently, more humbly. So we come to church and we listen for a word or wisdom or we say a prayer for compassion. Or maybe we just like the music. But none of us, I’m sure, are here to hate.
It’s possible, of course, that “hate” isn’t quite the right translation. Jesus seems to be talking less about emotions and more about priorities. He goes on to explain things in terms of “cost.” If you’re going to build a new tower for your vineyard, don’t you get a few bids first, to see if you can afford the work? If a king’s going to wage war, doesn’t he try to figure out if he’ll be able to win? “In this same way,” he says, “none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” (Luke 14:33) Following Jesus isn’t easy. It’s not cheap. It will take everything you have. So if you’re not willing to give up everything to follow Jesus—your family, your possessions, your life itself—isn’t it better not to set out after him in the first place? “Which one are you going to put first?” the wedding homily goes. “The deeply beloved person you’re about to marry? Or Jesus?”
Let’s be honest: if this is how we measure discipleship, there haven’t been very many Christians ever. People will sometimes preach this text as if you can just say, “Discipleship is hard. There’s no cheap grace. You have to give things up to follow Jesus.” And then rattle off a few of the saints and martyrs of the church: Martin Luther King, Jr.; Mother Theresa; Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Just be like them. But none of them would tell you they measured up to this. No one has. No one can. You can actually see it already in the Gospel. It’s part of Luke’s point. Jesus is on his final journey to Jerusalem. At this stage, “large crowds” are traveling with him. (Luke 14:25) But by the end, they’ll all be gone. No one in the crowd, none of his disciples, not even the closest members of his inner circle, take up a cross and follow him to his death. And he redeems them, nevertheless. Jesus is right. If this is what it means, we cannot be his disciples. We are not strong enough or single-minded enough to follow him down the road that he walked. And yet he loves us, and cares for us, and works in our lives nevertheless.
This is why I love the letter to Philemon so much. It’s a strange little letter. This is the whole thing. And it’s a little confusing, because while Paul, Philemon, and Onesimus clearly know what’s going on, we don’t have the whole picture. Some things are clear. It’s clear that Onesimus is enslaved, and Philemon is his enslaver. It’s clear that Paul is in prison. It seems to be the case that, while in prison, Paul has met Philemon and converted him to the Christian faith. And now Paul writes to Philemon, saying that he’s sending Onesimus back—presumably carrying the letter.
We don’t know how Onesimus got to Paul. Some suggest that Philemon sent him to Paul in the first place, maybe to bring a letter or to care for him in prison. Others argue that Philemon may have run away, perhaps after stealing or mishandling some of Onesimus’s property. And it’s not clear what exactly Paul wants Onesimus to do. Does he want him to welcome Onesimus back to slavery but treat him as a Christian brother, if such a thing is even possible? Does he want to send Onesimus back to Paul? Does he want him, perhaps, to free Onesimus? Is this what Paul means when he says he should receive him “no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother”? (Phlm. 16) The letter is ambiguous enough that it was claimed by both sides in America’s 19th-century debate over slavery. “Look! Paul sends back a runaway slave!” pro-slavery Christians said. “But wait!” replied abolitionists, “he tells Philemon to set him free!”
Paul’s actual advice is tentative. But at the same time, he makes a sweeping claim: by entering into God’s family, we have become one another’s actual family. Read alongside the family-hating language of the gospel this week, Paul’s use of family language is striking. “Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ,” he writes. (3) I’ve “received much joy and encouragement from your love…my brother,” he tells Philemon. (7) I appeal to you for “my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become.” (10) Perhaps you will “have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother.” (15-16) We are now equals: “Welcome him as you would welcome me.” (16) Oh and by the way, get the guest room ready; I’m going to come check up on this situation. (17) (Oh and by the way, Mark and Luke say hi.)
This is a huge transformation. In the highly-stratified society of ancient Rome, it would be extraordinary to call a man who’d been your slave your brother, let alone to actually treat him as your brother. It’s unclear how exactly Onesimus got to Paul and the first place, and what exactly Paul’s asking Philemon to do now. This is not a simple, sweeping statement of emancipation. But it comes with a theological punch. If we are siblings, truly siblings in Christ, how could one human being keep another in chains?
I wonder whether this is the kind of “hate” of family Jesus means, the kind of re-prioritization that puts the family of God at the center of our lives and moves our own families toward the margins. I’m still not sure I like the idea, but I am sure that to if Philemon took Paul’s advice, his brothers would have experienced it as hate. It would have been an insult, for this slave to be treated as if he were their brother. They would have been aghast to see him elevated to their rank. But in this new family God is creating, there is no rank or title or class: only innumerable siblings, treated as one.
So I don’t know whether any of you will become great heroes of the faith—the Saint Anthonys or Saint Francises who hear words like this and immediately really do go out and sell everything and give the money to the poor, the Martin Luther Kings and Dietrich Bonhoeffers and Oscaro Romeros who know what’s right and really do follow it, even unto death. But I do know that all of us face Philemon’s question: How do I live faithfully amid the messiness of ordinary life? What price am I willing to pay? What would it mean to welcome, to forgive, to embrace someone the way that Paul commands? What would it mean to really live as if the whole human family were my family? I can’t be Jesus. I don’t need to be Jesus. But maybe… just maybe, I can awkwardly, ambiguously, tentatively feel my way toward the kingdom of God like blessed St. Paul.