Indifference

I went to the local lectionary study group for the first time in a number of weeks. A Methodist lay pastor at our community picnic encouraged me to help balance the large group of Lutherans who attend. As it turned out, my schedule allowed me to go this week, so I did and was welcomed back.

It took us a while to get around to the Gospel reading. It’s not a pretty one, and no seemed inclined to preach on it. Jesus tells the large crowd following him that in order to be his disciple, one has to hate father, mother, spouse, children, brothers, sisters, even life itself. Count the cost first, he says, and if you aren’t prepared to give up all your possessions, forget it. I told the group that I am always troubled by this passage. If it is taken seriously, why would anyone want to become a Christian?

Our discussion included the usual interpretations: Jesus is speaking in hyperbole and not literally; “hate” in Greek doesn’t have the same strong emotional connotations as it does for us; we aren’t really expected to give up everything. I couldn’t dismiss it quite so easily, however, because I’m steeped in the ancient monks of Egypt. They did give up everything and even refused to see family members who visited them in the desert. (There were a few cases where brothers became monks, but they didn’t treat one another any differently than non-relatives.) These monks understood “hate” as abandonment, which is part of the meaning Luke appears to intend.

The Greek word for hate does have a sense of disfavor, disregard, be indifferent to – a kind of renunciation. And the word for possessions reflects what we have at our disposal. Put together, they mean that we are to consider everything with a sense of indifference, of detachment. That’s especially hard with human relationships. Neither my wife nor my son (nor my parish, for that matter) would be happy with me if I were indifferent to them. But another way of expressing the same idea is that we must prefer nothing to Jesus Christ. To take up the cross is to put Christ before any human attachment, before even life itself. And that, at least, makes sense to me, even if I’m not very successful at it.

Having possessions makes it easier to put something in the place of God. In the confirmation classes I’m now leading, we created a cultural creed to parallel the Apostles’ Creed – what our culture tells us to believe. In the U.S., where the economy is so dependent on consumers, we are told to buy more possessions, not give them all up. And if a friend or mate doesn’t make us happy, we’re supposed to find someone else.

It’s a culture focused on self. That creates its own indifference to others, but surely not in the way that Jesus meant. Jesus tells us to give up even our attachment to ourselves, so that in emptying ourselves of everything we can be filled by God. And maybe that’s the reason to become a Christian. To be a true follower of Christ is costly, but to be filled by God is ultimately more fulfilling than any thing or any person can be.


Pentecost 15: Jeremiah 18:1-11; Psalm 139:1-5, 13-17; Philemon 1-21; Luke 14:25-33.