Sermons

Sun, Sep 04, 2022

In perspective

Series:Sermons
Duration:11 mins 44 secs

Throughout his adult life, my father worked incredibly hard…

in an effort to ensure that my brother and I had a good start in life––

that we had the sort of opportunities that he never had.

As a kid, he wanted to be a doctor…

and he probably could have been;

except that he was the firstborn son of a poor peasant family…

born just before The Great Depression;

and he was only thirteen when the Germans invaded Holland…

and life became incredibly hard…

so that Dad had to leave school at thirteen to help support his family;

and he missed out on the chance to fulfil his dreams…

and even the chance to be a kid.

So he always tried to do his best for his own sons.

Even after our mother left and took everything in the house with her––

and we struggled financially––

Dad did everything that he could to provide for us;

to make sure that we had what we needed;

to give us the opportunities that he never had––

even if it meant that he went without himself.

 

Today, we remember our fathers.

We remember the love that they showed us…

or didn’t know how to show us;

the things that they taught us, both good and bad;

and what they meant to us. 

But I don’t know whether it’s a simple coincidence…

or whether the people who compile the lectionary have a warped sense of humour…

but, surely, it’s a bit odd that, on Father’s Day, we get this morning’s reading…

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”.

Sure, I know that ‘family’ can be difficult.

Dad was a demanding perfectionist…

and a world-class guilt manipulator.

And there have been times in my life when my family has driven me to frustration and despair;

there have been times when I would have loved to have disowned them;

and there have certainly been times when I couldn’t stand being around them.

But hate?

That’s rather strong, isn’t it?

 

Clearly, the Lukan Jesus isn’t speaking literally here.

It’s not that he actually wants us to hate our families.

Rather, the use of the word, “hate”, here, is not referring to an emotion…

but to an attitude. 

And it’s not an attitude of anger, contempt, scorn, or disdain––

like wishing someone ill…

like wanting them to fall off a cliff or be hit by a bus.

Rather, it’s a particular idiom that we find in ancient Hebrew.

Back then, to “hate” something meant treating it with detachment. 

To hate something meant that it wouldn’t be the focus of your attention;

that you wouldn’t make it your priority;

that you wouldn’t allow it to determine how you thought… 

or how you behaved.

And, here, the Lukan Jesus is suggesting that following him means treating family like that.

 

Now, that was a huge call back then––

much more than it is now––

because, in the first-century world, family was absolutely everything.

The average person was completely dependent upon their family financially.

Peasants needed their families to help farm their land…

because they quite literally couldn’t survive without it.

So too, artisans needed their families to help in their workshops…

or else they couldn’t survive.

Parents needed children to look after them in their old age––

when they were no longer able to work––

because theirs was a world in which there was no superannuation…

and no aged pension… 

so that your family was your only social security system.

Theirs was a world in which people were obligated to help their relatives–– 

whenever it was needed…

and whenever they were asked––

without question.

People’s entire sense of identity and worth came from their family––

apart from your family, you literally couldn’t survive;

apart from your family, you effectively didn’t exist.

In that world, family really was all-encompassing––

it dominated everything.

So, through this saying––

the author was calling for Jesus’ followers to show detachment from their families;

not to allow family to dominate their lives––

and not to make their family their primary focus.

 

And yet, he wasn’t saying that family wasn’t important.

He wasn’t saying that people shouldn’t help their families…

or that they should forget about them…

or that they should stop worrying about them.

Rather, he was urging them to put their obligation to their families in perspective:

not to let those obligations dominate them;

not to let those obligations control their lives.

And that’s why the author has Jesus tell them to “hate…even life itself”––

although, in the original Greek, it literally says “to hate self”.

Now, that doesn’t mean indulging in self-loathing;

or treating yourself as a worthless worm;

or acting as if you’re constantly at everyone’s beck and call.

It doesn’t mean lying down and becoming a doormat for the world to trample on–– 

and certainly not becoming a doormat for your families to walk over.

Rather, it’s an exhortation to put the whole of our lives into perspective.

We’re being urged to rethink our fundamental priorities and attachments.

We’re being asked to reconsider what––

ultimately–– 

gives us value and worth;

and where do we find our sense of meaning and identity?

We’re being encouraged to consider that, perhaps, family doesn’t necessarily come first;

that, maybe, sometimes, loving people means getting tough…

and making tough decisions;

not getting dragged along as they ride the roller-coaster of their lives;

not allowing their problems to dominate our waking moments;

or sapping our energy;

or smothering our sense of self.

Maybe, sometimes, caring for them means not being a doormat;

not allowing our families to walk all over us;

not being constantly at their beck and call.

But, rather, stepping back;

allowing them to take responsibility for their own actions…

and the consequences of them;

allowing them to live their own lives…

to make their own mistakes…

and to sort them out for themselves.

Maybe, sometimes, it means tending to ourselves; 

nurturing our own lives;

and caring for the child of God that each one of us is.

 

Being open to an incarnate God––

being open to a God who reveals God’s self in the person of Jesus––

means putting family, and family obligation, into perspective.

Indeed, it means putting the whole of life into perspective.

So, when Jesus calls us to take up our cross––

to give of ourselves…

to walk the way of costly service…

to take risks and become vulnerable…

to take a stand against cruelty, injustice, and the forces of evil––

he’s calling us to be agents of transformation and redemption;

he’s calling us to enable others to find new, and full, and abundant life;

he’s calling us to live a life of loving and caring for those who are in need.

But, sometimes, that enabling…

that loving…

and that caring…

needs to be directed towards us, too.

Or else, we can’t really be followers of Jesus.

 

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