Jesus is once more
surrounded by “great crowds” who wish to accompany Him as He journeys
towards Jerusalem. But just as the Israelites out of Egypt had a lot of
come-alongs, there are plenty of people here who are just along for the ride.
Now is an excellent time to thin the herd with some straight talk.
“Good morning
God-seekers!” Jesus greets the swelling crowd. “Before we get started
today, I wanted to briefly review the basic requirements for becoming my
disciple with you.”
The God of love then
tells us all we need to hate others (and ourselves). Um, what?
Our confusion is
understandable. Back then, love/hate was not a cut-and-dried either/or, pro/con
concept as it is today. Today, if we “hate” someone, we would
probably actively oppose them or even consistently engage with them for the express
purpose of thwarting their ambitions and/or actions. In this way, hate today is
a lot like love (we often have love/hate relationships), it’s full of emotional
energy and can even border on obsession.
In Semitic culture,
on the other hand, love/hate was an expressed preference for one thing over
another. Jesus’ call to hate father, mother, wife, children, etc. would have
resonated with His Jewish listeners. On hearing it, they would have lifted their heads and started humming
the opening refrain of Malachi's gorgeous song (“Jacob I have loved, but
Esau I have hated”) as God's testimony to His love for the nation of
Israel.
Suddenly, the
love/hate thing’s not so bad. In fact, it’s a pretty familiar concept. “Piece of cake!” says the crowd. “It’s all hyperbole anyway, right?”
So Jesus, being
Jesus, drops a bomb: want to follow me? Pick up your cross and let’s get going.
Again, um, what?
Jesus uses a
shocking metaphor (crucifixion) to describe the life – or death (to self)
– of a disciple. His disciple. It is shocking for the crowd because they know
just what a horrific death it is. Why would anyone choose to emulate it in any
fashion? It is shocking for us because it is precisely the death Jesus has
chosen – weeks before His arrival in Jerusalem.
“Do you need
an answer now?” asks the crowd.
“It only makes
sense, doesn’t it?” counters Jesus. “Why go to all the trouble of hiring a
contractor, digging a foundation, buying building supplies and picking out
paint colors if you don’t have the money to install the roof? Why bother
mustering an army, outfitting it with the latest in technology and equipment to
take on an enemy army twice your size that is similarly if not better equipped? Wouldn’t it be
better to put your time and energy into surrendering?”
This is not
hyperbole, says Jesus. “Any one of you who does not renounce all that he
has cannot be my disciple.”
The crowd is
understandably bummed out. “This is harder than we thought. Why should we
go to all this trouble?”
“Because you’re
special,” Jesus comforts. “You are the light of the world, you are
the salt of the earth. You are precious in God's sight.”
Salt, says Jesus, is good. It’s one of the necessities of life. It brings out
the flavor of many other things. But don't take this for granted. Salt can lose
its “saltiness.” So can you. You can cease being special. Salt that’s
no longer salty has no use whatsoever – it’s not even good for fertilizer. It
is thrown away. Can you hear? Then listen.
