Call to discipleship
Sermon by Pr. Sharai Jacob on the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost + Saturday, September 6, 2025.
That sounds like a really tough word! Today’s Gospel reading comes with a shocking statement! Jesus, surrounded by crowds, turns and says:
“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.”
Yikes! These words are jarring—not only to us, but probably even more to the first crowds who heard them. In Jesus’ world, family was the foundation of life. It was your safety net, your identity, your livelihood. Family was survival, and to suggest turning away from family would have been unthinkable.
Whenever we hear Jesus using harsh words like this, I often ask, what is the deeper meaning here? What Grace is Jesus pointing us towards?
Jesus is speaking here not to discourage, but to clarify. He’s on his way to Jerusalem, and the cross is looming just down the road. He wants his followers to know: discipleship isn’t a hobby, it doesn’t sit neatly and quietly off to the side in your life. It takes hold and envelopes everything. It is a reorientation of the heart. It’s a life-altering journey.
And yet—even as Jesus issues this challenge—he offers God’s love and welcome in the same breath. Immediately before our reading, in Luke 14:1–24, Jesus tells a parable of a banquet where everyone is invited: the poor, the crippled, the outcast. And valued as equals.
And immediately after today’s reading, in Luke 15, we get the story of the prodigal son—the father who runs to embrace his wayward child.
So the Jesus who says, “Hate your family” is also the Jesus who says, “Come home, just as you are. All are welcome here.” We must hold the whole story together.
And what about that word—hate? Jesus is not calling us to despise our families or to reject love. That would go against his own teachings! Jesus says,
Love your neighbor as yourself (Luke 10:27)
Love your enemies (Luke 6:27)
And quotes, “Honor your father and mother “(Exodus 20:12)
Instead, scholars remind us that in Jewish usage, this word for “hate” often means to prefer something less. In Genesis 29, when it says Leah was “hated,” it meant Jacob loved Rachel more than Leah.
So Jesus is saying: If you’re going to follow me, your first loyalty must be to me.
It’s not about loving anyone less — it’s about loving everyone rightly.
When Jesus is first, we don’t love others less—we love them better. Our love expands. Our circle widens. We are freed to love not just those close to us, but those most often forgotten.
Jesus who often turns things on their head, offers a turning here too:
To give everything to Christ is to receive everything back, transformed by grace.
Jesus goes on:
“Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”
He invites us to count the cost—like a builder planning a tower or a ruler preparing for war.
And we should count the cost. Discipleship is not easy. It calls us to:
Risk our comfort
Challenge our assumptions
Stand with the vulnerable
Let go of anything that competes with Christ’s call
As Lutherans, we often speak of the theology of the cross, so we know that when Jesus says, “Take up your cross,” he’s not glorifying suffering. He’s saying: I will meet you in your suffering. I will be there when you love beyond what’s comfortable, when you speak up for the voiceless, when you risk something for the sake of my kingdom.
This Gospel ultimately does challenge us. It challenges us to expand our love.
Not just love for family.
Not just allegiance to a country.
Not just care for what’s familiar.
But loyalty to Christ and Christ’s mission—a mission that loves the poor, the outsider, the immigrant, the enemy, the vulnerable and the forgotten.
Following Jesus means saying “yes” to the kindom of God—a family not defined by blood, but by grace.
And that changes how we live, especially in times of injustice.
Right now, our city— and our nation—is facing a great injustice.
The potential presence of the National Guard or ICE in our communities raises real fear for many—especially for immigrants, families on the margins, and black and brown communities that are already vulnerable.
For many of us, this feels overwhelming. Maybe even hopeless.
But maybe that feeling of disconnection is actually a call.
A call into community. A call to discipleship. A call to say, “Here I am, Lord—send me.”
So what does this discipleship look like—today, this week, for each of us?
Maybe it’s attending a protest or a community vigil.
Maybe it’s donating to a mutual aid fund for immigrant families.
Maybe it’s inviting a neighbor into conversation or offering and accepting care.
Maybe it’s showing up at a block party or community forum just to be present and connected
In small, embodied ways, we say to Jesus:
“I will follow. I will carry my cross. I will love, as you have loved me.”
And when we do that together—as the body of Christ—we tap into a power that all the violence in the world could not defeat:
The power of God’s crucified and risen love.
Family, this Gospel is hard. It asks much of us.
But remember: Jesus never asks us to walk alone.
He walks with us.
He carries us when we fall.
And he has already borne the ultimate cross, so that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.
So let us follow—not because we’re strong enough, but because grace is strong enough.
Let us love—not just those close to us, but the whole family of God.
Let us live—not in fear, but in the bold, liberating love of Christ.
And may we discover that in giving our lives to Jesus, we receive them back— more full and more deeply connected than we could ever imagine.
Amen.
