Homily, September 7, 2025, Rev. Holly Cardone

Sermon on Luke 14:25–33

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

Those are strong words. Hate your parents? Hate your children? Hate life itself? It sounds like Jesus might be losing it. We hear this and think, that can’t possibly be what he meant. And you’d be right.

The language is shocking, but that’s the point. Jesus was teaching in the first century, and in Jewish culture at that time, hyperbole was a standard way to make a point. Exaggeration drove truth deeper. His listeners didn’t walk away scratching their heads about whether they literally needed to hate their families. They understood this as a teaching device—a way to demand attention and drive home the seriousness of discipleship.

The Greek word used here, miseo, often translated as “hate,” also carries the sense of “to love less.” Jesus was not asking people to despise their families, but to place God above every other loyalty. To put the kingdom of God first, even before family, possessions, or one’s very life.

This would have been troubling, though. Families in first-century Palestine worked together in trades, in farming, in fishing. To lose a member of the household to a religious teacher wasn’t just emotionally difficult—it could threaten the family’s survival. Jesus was calling people to shift their allegiance from the most central, unshakable bond they knew—family—and place it on God. That was radical.

And yet, to those who had already encountered Jesus, it may not have felt like such a leap. Many had been healed by him. They had been fed, freed from oppression, restored to community. He had given them hope where there was none. For them, to “love family less” in order to cling to Jesus was simply to follow the one who had given them life.

Still, the demands of discipleship are costly. We see this elsewhere in the Gospels. In Luke 9, someone says, “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me go and bury my father.” Jesus replies, “Let the dead bury their own dead.” Another says, “I’ll follow you, but let me say goodbye to my family.” And Jesus says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

For the modern reader, it feels cold, dismissive. But Jesus wasn’t being cruel—he was pressing the urgency of the kingdom. He was making clear that following him isn’t something we fit into the edges of our lives. It’s not a hobby or an add-on. It’s a total reorientation of life itself.

And yet, not everyone was asked to abandon everything. Mary and Martha, for example, still had their home and possessions. Jesus stayed with them. The early church had wealthy benefactors who opened their homes and supported the movement. So it’s not as simple as, “Every disciple must give away everything.”

The real issue is allegiance. Jesus is saying: God comes first. Always. Following him means living the principles he embodied—love, kindness, justice, compassion. As the prophet Micah put it: “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8).

Sometimes that requires letting go of possessions. Think of the rich young ruler who asked what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus told him, “Sell all you own and give the money to the poor.” Not because money itself was evil, but because his wealth was the thing keeping him from God. For him, discipleship required radical surrender.

Elsewhere he says, “No one can serve two masters. You cannot serve God and wealth” (Luke 16:13). It’s not about perfection—it’s about practice. Discipleship is something we keep showing up for, over and over. Some days we love well. Some days we fail. But every day, we’re invited again to put God first.

Jesus wants us all in. And that looks different for each of us. For those with wealth, Jesus’ words might mean loosening the grip of possessions. For those with busy lives, it may mean re-ordering priorities to make space for God. For some, it may mean stepping out in courage, using gifts and creativity for the sake of others.

God doesn’t promise us money or security or status. What God does give us are gifts—imagination, courage, compassion, vision. And God invites us to use them. To risk them. To trust that life with God is bigger than what we cling to.

Maybe that’s why Jesus sometimes asks people to give things up. Not because they’re bad, not because wealth or family are evil. But because those good things can sometimes keep us from seeing what God is offering right in front of us. They can hold us back from the journey God is inviting us to take.

And so Jesus shocks us with words like “hate” or “give up all your possessions.” Because he knows how easily we cling to what feels safe, even when it’s holding us captive.

Discipleship is costly. It is not a weekend project. It is not something we can fit in when convenient. It asks for everything. And yet—it gives everything back, transformed. When we release what we cling to, God meets us with freedom, new life, a deeper sense of who we are and whose we are. It isn’t about being perfect. It’s about choosing, one day at a time to follow. Some days, we do great! Other days we stumble. We’re human. Jesus doesn’t ask us to be flawless, he just asks us to be committed. 

The invitation is the same now as it was then: follow me. Put God first. Live in love, justice, kindness, and humility. And trust that the God who calls you will also equip you—with gifts, courage, imagination, and the Spirit to walk the path.