But First...

Luke 9:51–62 finds Jesus setting his face toward Jerusalem—straight into rejection, suffering, and love that won’t back down. Along the road, would-be followers say, ‘I will… but first…’ In this sermon, we face our own ‘but firsts’ and discover the freedom of following a Savior who walks into the fire with us—and will not turn back.

Transcript

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You're listening to The Word on Baker Street, a podcast from Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Bakersfield, California. Each week we share the good news of God's love through the sermons from our Sunday worship. Wherever you are in your journey, you are welcome here.

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The Holy Gospel according to Luke 9, 51 through 62. When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem, and he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to prepare for his arrival. But they did not receive him because his face was set towards Jerusalem. When his disciples, James and John, saw this, they said, Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them? But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village. As they were going along the road, someone said to him, I will follow you wherever you go. And Jesus said to him, Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head. And to another he said, Follow me. But he said, Lord, first let me go and bury my father. And Jesus said to him, Let the dead bury their own dead. But as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God. And another said, I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say farewell to those at my home. And Jesus said to him, No one who puts a hand to the plough and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God, the gospel of the Lord. Let us pray. Loving God, may these words and the meditations of all our hearts draw us closer to you today. Amen. I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back. No turning back. It's like one of those power hymns, right? As a child, I loved it. I'd be standing on the pew, singing at the top of my lungs, and the the words were simple, and the tune was easy and it made me feel strong and brave, like I could do anything. The song is rooted right here in our gospel reading today. When Jesus says, no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God. It sounds so simple. I have decided to follow Jesus, no turning back. But honestly, this passage is anything but simple. The lesson from Luke takes place well into the ministry of Jesus. Up until now, he's been teaching and preaching and doing his miracles all over the region of Galilee. And he he's even ventured into some foreign territories and he's developing a following. People are excited and they want to know what's next. Today's gospel marks a shift. Luke tells us Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem. And that's that's really more than geography. It's it's a choice, it's a turning point. From here on out, everything is aimed towards confrontation and suffering and death. Jesus is no longer in Galilee doing miracles among friends. He's on a dirt road to a city that will reject him. And there's no turning back. Didn't we just go through Lenten Easter just a couple months ago? I could really use a few Sundays with Jesus, you know, to maybe talking about sheep or children sitting on his lap, but that's the reality of the gospel. Jesus isn't on a loop that keeps returning to comfort. He's headed straight into the places of pain. His and ours. And the question becomes who's willing to go with him? Luke tells us that Jesus and his disciples are in Samaria. Definitely not a place of comfort, at least not for Jesus. We would certainly would not expect Jesus to be there. The Jewish people and the Samaritans did not get along. This is a long-standing disdain for one another that goes back hundreds of years. Ironically, both groups are descendants of Abraham, but centuries of wars and separation have led each group to form their own ideas about God. And this included where God dwelt. For the Samaritans, it was on Mount Horeb in Samaria. For the Jews, it was a temple in Jerusalem. And so, of course, the Samaritans are not going to go to Jerusalem. And when Jesus shows up, they refuse to welcome Jesus. James and John, they don't handle this very well. They want to call down fire from heaven, a literal fire, like Elijah. And this isn't some random tantrum, it's a reference. Back in 2 Kings, hundreds of years before the time of Jesus, Elijah was rejected by a king's soldiers. And so he called down fire to consume them. And the disciples, they assume that's how God still works. They want divine punishment, holy wrath, an epic takedown. But Jesus doesn't stand for this. He rebukes them. And not gently, pretty sharp here. And he he basically says that might be how it used to go, but not anymore. Because this kingdom, the one Jesus is proclaiming, is not about consuming your enemies. It's about loving them, even when they reject you. And I can't help but think that if that's not a word for our time, I don't know what is. Because we live in a moment when calling down fire is practically a spiritual discipline. Our culture trains us to respond to rejection or disagreement with fury. Hit the block button, use sarcasm or shame. Christian nationalists do it by saying we're defending the truth, but progressives do it too. We say we're protecting what's sacred when all we're really doing is dressing up our motives with spiritual language. Jesus doesn't torch his enemies, he keeps walking. No fire, no vengeance, only forward. When we look at the disciples, in a literal sense, James and John were following Jesus. In reality, they were really following a religious idea that was hundreds of years old. They thought that they understood what God was like, and they had clear expectations for Jesus. They had plans, and they could not let go of the control they had over the plans for their future. They knew how, or they thought they knew how setting out for Jerusalem was going to go. And this is true for others. As Jesus sets his face towards Jerusalem, others want to follow him too, or they almost do. One says, I'll follow you wherever you go, and Jesus responds, foxes have holes, birds have nests, but I don't even have a place to lay my head. And then another says, I'll follow you, but first let me bury my father. And another says, I'll follow you, but first let me say goodbye at home. They're not asking for much. These are normal human things, family, grief, closure. And yet Jesus doesn't say, sure, guys, take your time. He says, No. Let the dead bury their own dead. No one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God. They're harsh words. But they're not cruel, they're urgent. Jesus knows his time is short. He's not looking for half-hearted disciples. He's looking for people who understand the stakes, people who know that following him isn't about adding some spiritual sparkle to your already made plans. It's about dropping the plan and trusting the Spirit. This past week I uh I kept hearing the words, but first let me echo in my head. And I started catching myself saying it all the time. Yes, I'll come, but you know, first let me finish this email. Yeah, I'll yeah, I want to, but first let me finish the dishes. Yes, I will. But first let me get ready. And then sometimes it's even deeper. But first I need to lose 20 pounds. Or first let me get a handle on my schedule. First, let me let me grieve this loss, or clean up this mess, or wait for things to calm down, or even as a congregation, yeah. But first let's get a handle on the budget. So I wonder, how much do we miss? How much do I miss simply because I can't let go of my plans? Because I want to be in control. Of course, Jesus is specifically talking to his disciples about being a disciple. So as a pastor, I find this a little bit relieving. I mean, as pastors, we've chosen to follow Jesus, and it's a it's what we do. We love Jesus. Like, you know how I like how Lillian Daniel put it in her book, tired of apologizing for a church I do not belong to. She says, pastors love Jesus so much we get paid for it. But maybe that's a trap. Maybe that's what the disciples thought too. Like, we've already left our boats. He must be talking to somebody else. After all, these are mostly fishermen, not farmers. What do they know about putting your hand to the plow and looking back? I actually got to plow a field once. I was probably too young to be driving a tractor. And I do not remember why my grandpa and uncle needed me to do this, but they gave me some coaching and they let me go. And I remember needing to keep my eye right on the place where the front right tractor tire needed to stay. And any little shift in concentration meant that I was out of the row. I can't even imagine plowing a field with an ox. What I know is if you put your hand to the plow and you look back, you end up with a really lousing looking furrow. The truth is, Jesus knew his disciples would look back. And they did after the crucifixion. Where do we find them? Back in Galilee, back in their boats, fishing. Jesus knew they'd say, but first, again and again and again, because we all do, because the longing for control, the desire to steady the chaos of our lives is so deeply human, but it's an illusion. We're not in control. Not when a fire or a diagnosis or a phone call or a storm, a flood can end our lives in seconds. Control is a story that we tell ourselves to manage the fear. But here's the good news: Jesus doesn't demand control. He doesn't even offer it. What he offers is presence. He steps into our out of control lives, our grief and our trauma and our undone projects and into the mess of it all. And he walks the road with us, not above us, not from a distance, with us to Jerusalem, through rejection, into death and out the other side. Beloved, maybe the deepest calling of discipleship isn't to get control, to figure out what we're supposed to do and then do it. Maybe the calling is to release the illusion of control, to take a risk, to follow Christ into this wildly unpredictable life, to love fiercely, to act boldly, to trust fully. And when we fall short, which we will, when we look back or we hesitate or we whisper, but first, Jesus doesn't turn us away. He turns his face towards Jerusalem, not just with us, but for us. So that nothing, nothing can separate us from the love of God. Not fear, not failure, not fire, not even us. And with this love, we are never the same. Amen.

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Thanks for listening to the Word on Baker Street. If this message has spoken to you, share it with a friend. More sermons and reflections can be found at emmanuelbakersfield.org. May God's grace and peace be with you today and always.