A couple of Sunday's ago I preached from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 14, verses 25-25, as a part of our ongoing series delving into Luke's account of the life, ministry, death, and resurrection of Jesus.
And I had so many people ask for a copy of my sermon notes that I thought I'd actually just re-write it as a blog post.
So here it is!
This reading is as intense as it is short.
In just a few sentences, Jesus throws down some demands which, on the face of it, are not only weird but also incredibly offensive.
Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem for a showdown with the Jewish and Roman authorities—a journey he knows will ultimately result in his arrest, torture, and execution.
As Jesus travels down the road, a large crowd begins to follow him. The crowds that gathered were incredible; no one had seen anything like it in living memory.
Jesus’ name was ringing out because of the amazing things he had been saying and doing. People had heard him speak with authority, challenge the corrupt religious leaders of their day, and witness him heal the sick, cast out demons, and perform unimaginable miraculous acts that boggled the mind.
And so, as Jesus made his way toward Jerusalem, the crowd grew.
Suddenly, the same people who had jeered at him wanted to be seen near him. And the same religious leaders who feared his influence were busy trying to befriend him.
Love him or hate him, Jesus was the flavor of the month.
Now, something I’ve observed in my short time on this earth is that most people, if they begin to draw a following, get quite stoked with the attention, influence, or even power it gives them.
Which makes sense: people suddenly care about what you think. They ask for your input on important projects or decisions. They put you on a bit of a pedestal. And if you’ve ever experienced anything like that, you’ll know—it feels good.
But Jesus wasn’t swayed. He wasn’t interested in developing a superficial following based on popular opinion. Jesus had a job to do. He came with a mission to change the world, and he was looking for people who were willing to follow him and join him in that mission no matter the cost.
And so, Jesus did what no PR consultant would ever recommend.
He turned to the crowd—a large, growing group made up of every subsect of society—and said:
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate [their] father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.”
Intense words. What’s going on here?
Well, to understand, we need to define two things. The first is the word “disciple.” What is a disciple? What is discipleship?
A disciple is more than just someone who believes in someone or something. In fact, the original word used in the reading for “disciple” means “to be an apprentice.”
In Jesus’ day, young men were selected by a Jewish Rabbi to be their disciple. These disciples followed their Rabbi incredibly closely. They learned from him all they could about what it meant to be a devoted Jew—about how to worship and please God and how to demonstrate this to others. They followed their Rabbis as closely as possible, learning by literally walking in his footsteps, imitating his life, and taking on his mission. For them, it wasn’t a hobby or a Sunday ritual; it was a way of life.
They understood that being a disciple is about transformation, not just belief.
Because anyone can believe. Believing is easy.
But following is hard—because to follow as a disciple demands something of you.
And that's Jesus’ point here.
That's why he uses that extreme-sounding word 'hate':
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate [their] father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.”
The word used here for “hate” is mesei, which can also be interpreted to mean “disregard” or “be indifferent.” And if you think about it, even in that sense, it sounds pretty harsh.
“If you’re not willing to hate, disregard, or be indifferent to your loved ones, you can’t be my disciple” still sounds awful. So what is his point?
Jesus wasn’t calling for everyone who wants to follow him to literally hate their loved ones.
That would fly in the face of his other teaching where he encourages respect for our parents and selfless love for others. Instead, he was calling on those who want to follow him to a commitment above all other commitments.
This means that “hate” isn’t an instruction to develop an intense dislike for your little brother or sister—it’s a call to still love them but to love Jesus even more.
Now, that might sound like a step too far to some of us. But it would have sounded even more extreme to the crowd. They lived in a society where family always came first. Their identity was rooted in family connections, and culturally, a huge amount of value was invested in caring for and advocating for one’s family. In first-century Jewish society, family was the highest priority.
So to “hate” one’s family—or even one’s own life—not in the sense of actively disliking them but loving them less than Jesus, was intense because it was essentially a challenge to transform their identity from being family-oriented to being Jesus-oriented.
And Jesus understood the cost this would entail.
That’s why he continues on to say:
“And whoever does not carry their cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
Now, when Jesus said this, I think he did so partly for shock value.
His audience understood the scandalous, shocking tones underpinning this statement.
In ancient times, the cross was a symbol of suffering, humiliation, and death that struck fear into people’s hearts. While the Romans didn't invent crucifixion, they did perfect it, primarily using it for criminals, rebels, and anyone the Empire wanted to make an example of.
It was a shameful and agonizing form of execution which involved condemned people being forced to carry their crosses on their backs through their hometowns before being nailed to the crossbeam, hoisted into the air, and left to slowly expire while birds pecked at their eyes.
It was an awful, cruel, and shameful way to die.
So when Jesus said, “carry your cross,” he was using intense imagery that the crowd would have instinctively recognized.
Now, we thankfully don't live in first-century Israel, and being literally crucified isn’t a real threat to us. But even though, in the first century, carrying a cross wasn’t a metaphor (but a death sentence), the essence of Jesus’ words still applies.
Taking up your cross—both literally and metaphorically—means surrendering control, giving up personal ambition, and walking a path of obedience, even when it leads to suffering.
For us, it means putting Jesus first in every part of our life, letting his voice be louder than culture, career, or even the expectations of friends and family. It looks like standing for truth when it’s easier to stay silent, loving people who are difficult to love, and holding onto faith even when doubt creeps in. It means letting go of comfort, reputation, ambition, and self-preservation. It means choosing sacrifice over self-interest, service over status, and commitment over convenience. Carrying your cross might not cost you your life literally, but it still has the potential to cost you everything.
Jesus used such extreme language because he wasn’t calling for half-hearted followers. He was calling for people who were willing to die to themselves so they could truly live.
And to really drive his point home, Jesus then shared two brief parables—one about building a tower and the other about going to war (v.28-30, v31-32).
In the first, a landowner is reminded of the need to estimate the cost before starting a building project. In the second, a king opts for peace rather than marching into battle against a larger force. In essence, both parables are about the same thing: counting the cost.
Jesus’ point is that anyone who wants to follow him should first count the cost, because being his disciple will always demand something.
Which begs the question: why bother? Why follow Jesus if it’s potentially so costly?
When I was a child, growing up in a Muslim country, we were taught at Sunday School that we should tell our friends about Jesus and pray for them to become Christians. And I remember being really worried by this. Because I knew that if my Muslim friends became a Christian, their mum, dad, siblings, and themselves might not be welcome at the mosque, at school, or even in the marketplace.
I knew there was a genuine, real threat to their safety if they became Christians—their house might be burnt down, they could be attacked—while I would be safe.
And so, as a little kid, I wondered: Why bother?
Why would I want to tell them about Jesus? Why would I want them to become Jesus followers if it might cost them so much? What would make it worth it for them to follow Jesus given the potential cost?
Well, the answer, put simply, is: because of grace.
Grace is God’s unmerited and unstoppable love freely given to those who could never make themselves perfect in God’s eyes. At the heart of the Christian faith is this radical truth: that we are more sinful and flawed than we ever dared believe, yet we are more loved and accepted through Jesus than we ever dared hope.
I appreciate that I mention grace a lot here at church, and while there is a risk of repetition, I do so because grace is the central plank of the entire Christian faith.
Every other belief system—secular, religious, spiritual, or philosophical—tells us to strive, to prove ourselves, to earn our worth, but the doctrine of grace says that God has already accepted us through Jesus, not because we deserve it but simply because he loves us.
But here’s the thing: there is such a thing as fake grace and real grace. Or, to paraphrase Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German minister who stood up against Hitler, there is a stark difference between cheap grace and costly grace.
Grace is God’s unmerited favor, freely given to anyone who turns to Jesus, but it’s not cheap.
Cheap grace is grace without discipleship—it is God’s love without the cross, God’s acceptance without Jesus. Cheap grace is when people want forgiveness without repentance and salvation without surrender. It’s an easy, feel-good version of Christianity that makes no demands on your life. Cheap, fake grace requires nothing, costs nothing, and changes nothing.
And this cheap, fake grace is a serious thing.
As Bonhoeffer said:
“Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of the church.”
When those of us who profess to follow Jesus embrace, preach, and champion cheap grace, we lose what Jesus called our “saltiness.”
Just as salt that loses its saltiness becomes useless, when we embrace cheap grace, we lose our identity as Christians. We become like the crowd on the road to Jerusalem—wanting to follow Jesus without truly understanding what following him looks like.
Now, compare that cheap (fake) grace with costly (true) grace.
Costly grace is epic.
It’s free, yet it demands everything.
It compels us to follow Jesus, to pick up our cross, and to surrender all. It is the love that compelled Jesus to lay down his life on our behalf so that we might be forgiven for all the times we fail to measure up to perfection. True grace is epic. It is transformational.
And true, costly grace—the unmerited love of God illustrated by Jesus on the cross—changes us. Because while God loves us unreservedly just the way we are, he loves each of us too much to leave us as we are. That is what makes the cost of discipleship worth it. Costly grace is what makes taking up your cross and following Jesus worth it.
As Jesus made clear on that hot, sunny day 2,000 years ago on the road to Jerusalem—where he would pay the ultimate price so that you might know just how much you are loved—he wasn’t looking for admirers or groupies.
He was looking for disciples: apprentices who, in response to his love, would commit themselves to taking up their cross and following him despite the cost.
And that is as true now as it was then.
Jesus isn’t looking for mere admirers; he is looking for disciples. He challenges us to count the cost and follow him wholeheartedly. He warns that it might cost everything, but he promises it will be worth it because of his costly grace that transforms reality itself.
So, the question each of us must weigh in our hearts is this: Are we willing to follow? Will we count the cost and commit to taking up our cross and following him?
