PROPER 18, YEAR C

September 4, 2022

(Christ Church, Woodbury, N. J.)

 

Luke 14:25-33

 

Today’s Gospel captures a basic paradox of the Christian life. On one hand, we have the popular appeal of our Lord’s ministry: “Great multitudes accompanied Jesus.” But then follow some hard sayings that appear to restrict discipleship to a committed and faithful few willing to make difficult sacrifices: “Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me, cannot be my disciple.” So, let’s look at both sides of this equation.

 

“Great multitudes accompanied Jesus.” We must not gloss over this initial statement. Our Lord was no elitist, either socially or spiritually. He did not seek out only the learned, the holy, the rich, or the powerful as worthy of his attention; quite the opposite. He went into the towns and villages, and he preached, taught, and performed miracles amongst the common people. He broke bread with tax collectors and sinners. In today’s jargon, Jesus was open and inclusive. He welcomed everybody. And if we measure success by numbers, he was quite successful. Great multitudes followed him. At the outset, at least, he appeared as the leader of a mass movement.

 

But then come the hard sayings in which Jesus emphasizes how difficult it is to follow him. Stop and count the cost. Take warning from the builder who proves unable to finish his tower, or the general who raises an army but then is forced to seek peace terms from a superior enemy. Are you sure you’re up to this? To follow me, you must hate your mother, father, spouse, children, brothers and sisters. To be my disciple you must take up your cross and follow me. Here the all-inclusive Jesus seems to have become the rigorously exclusive Jesus, who demands that his followers be willing to give up everything, even life itself, for his sake.

 

So, we have two contrasting images of our Lord: the inclusive Jesus and the rigorist Jesus. My point is simply that we can never finally reduce our Lord to one or the other of these opposites. When we describe Jesus as the one who loves, welcomes, and accepts us just as we are, we speak the truth—but we must always remember at the same time his radical and uncompromising demands of us. 

 

Conversely, when we describe Jesus as the one who requires complete self-renunciation and total self-sacrifice, we also speak the truth—but we must always remember at the same time the unconditional love he extends to all. Both halves of the picture are true, and neither is complete without the other. To emphasize either half to the exclusion of the other is to distort the full picture and misrepresent the whole truth.

 

This paradox extends to our life together in the Church. On one hand, the Church is called to be an inclusive community where all without exception find welcome and acceptance. Following Our Lord’s example, we do our best to minister to the needs of all people. And if great multitudes choose to accompany us, as they accompanied him, we rejoice.

 

But on the other hand, we cannot water down our beliefs, convictions, or practices. So, the Church is also called to be a community that challenges us to total commitment and heroic self-sacrifice. G. K. Chesterton once said that Christianity has not been tried and found wanting, it’s been tried and found difficult, and therefore left largely untried. Being a practicing Christian is not always easy. And not everyone is up to the challenge.

 

So, here again, we have two contrasting pictures of the Church: the all-inclusive Church and the rigorously exclusive Church; the Church of the Multitudes and the Church of the Faithful Few. 

 

Again, both descriptions are true, but neither is complete without the other. A Church where all are welcome and anything goes soon ceases to be the Church, becoming instead a mere reflection of the surrounding society: what is sometimes called cultural Christianity. Such an institution may provide with some comfort, fellowship, and good cheer, but it lacks the power to transform our lives. 

At some times in its history, the Church has veered too far in this direction, becoming apathetic, lax, and worldly. One need only think of large segments of the Renaissance Church under the Medici and Borgia Popes, or of the establishment Church of England during the eighteenth century: which has been caricatured (perhaps only a bit unfairly) as a Church of “fox-hunting parsons and absentee bishops.”

 

By contrast, a Church that excludes all but the small spiritual elite who can meet the demands of total commitment also soon ceases to be the Church and becomes instead what sociologists call a sect or even a cult—a holy huddle made up of narrow minded, judgmental, and often unattractive people. And in some times and places, the Church has also gone too far in that direction, becoming puritanical, intolerant, and tyrannical. We need only think of Savonarola’s Florence, Calvin’s Geneva, or (closer to where I live) the early Massachusetts Bay Colony.

 

So, the paradox is that to be the Church, the Church must be both inclusive and rigorist. The challenge is not to find some midpoint halfway between these two endpoints—for that would produce only a dull mediocrity—but rather, at one and the same time, to fully express and embody both ideals: to be simultaneously the Church of the Multitudes and the Church of the Faithful Few; the Church where all are welcomed and accepted, and yet the Church where all are invited and challenged to follow Jesus in the way of the cross.

 

We need to hold on to both ideals as we think, pray, and deliberate about what kind of parish God is calling Christ Church to be. On one hand: an inclusive community where all without exception are welcome, accepted, valued, and loved. On the other hand: a challenging community where all have the opportunity to grow in obedience to God’s laws and in fidelity to the Christian life’s practices and spiritual disciplines. 

 

It’s true that God loves and accepts us all just as we are. But it’s also true that God calls us to keep on growing in the ways of Christian discipleship: and sometimes that growth can entail difficult, costly, and painful sacrifices, although in the end it always turns out to be more than worthwhile. Crucifixion leads to Resurrection. Sorrow is transformed into joy; death becomes the doorway to eternal life. 

 

In the past several decades, sociologists of religion have identified another paradox: namely, that the churches experiencing the greatest numerical growth are often the very churches that ask the most of their members, rather than those that ask the least. So again, the question before us is how we can make Christ Church more and more a community that welcomes everyone without exception—while at the same time challenging us all to respond to God’s call to continual growth in faithful discipleship.