If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, and even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. [Luke 14:26-27 (CSB)]
How can Jesus, who told us to love our enemies and do good to them, tell us to hate our families? Do we have to despise our relatives if we want to be His disciples? Jesus, however, used “hate” idiomatically. Demanding unrivaled loyalty, He used hyperbole to contrast ultimate devotion to Him with all other attachments. In comparison to our love for Jesus, we are to love our family less than we love Him. Christ is to be first and foremost in our hearts and minds and we are to love Him more than anything else in our lives.
In a similar way, Jesus stressed exclusive service when speaking of money in Matthew 6:24 and Luke 16:13. Love for one master necessitates “hating” (loving less) the rival. To be His disciple, Jesus demands total commitment; we must be willing to give up everything for Him, even if that means the things and people we love—as well as our lives.
While we may have given up a few bad habits or unsavory friends when we accepted Christ, Christian apologist Nabeel Qureshi gave up far more. When this Pakistani American gave up his Muslim faith, he gave up his loving family, too. I cannot begin to comprehend the difficulty of Qureshi’s choice to follow Christ and the pain experienced by both parents and son. When I read his story, I understood what Jesus meant when He said to count the cost before we pick up that cross to follow Him. For Qureshi, that price was family and many friends!
After getting the disciples’ attention with his shocking statement about hating one’s family, Jesus followed with a parable about a man who undertook a project without counting the cost and then couldn’t finish what he began. Never one to mince words, Jesus warned His disciples there was a cost to following Him. He told them they’d be hated, persecuted, banned from their synagogues, and even killed. [John 15:18-16:4] The Apostles gave up more than their families; they gave up friends, jobs, financial security, safety, and even their lives.
Consider the Apostle Paul. Originally known as Saul of Tarsus, he came from a family of Pharisees. An active leader in persecuting the followers of Christ, he may have been a member of the Sanhedrin at the time; if not, Saul was well on his way to becoming part of the high council. He probably was everything a devout Jewish family wanted in a good son, that is until he became the Christian evangelist we know as Paul! Think of what it cost Paul emotionally, financially, and physically to follow Jesus!
Because I was raised in a family of believers, married a believer, and live in a country where I am free to worship, I’ve never had to choose between Jesus and my family, livelihood, or life. Christ’s followers in countries like Afghanistan, North Korea, Somalia, Libya, Yemen, Nigeria, and Pakistan are not so blessed. They face surveillance, discrimination, persecution, violence, imprisonment, torture, and even death for following Christ! They know what it means to carry a cross, because they carry one every day! Any burden I carry for Jesus is but a trifle compared to the challenges they face daily. I can’t help but wonder if my commitment to the Lord is as great as theirs. Have I truly died to self? Have you?
How could I betray my family after all they had done for me? By becoming a Christian, not only would I lose all connection with the Muslim community around me, my family would lose their honor as well. My decision would not only destroy me, it would also destroy my family, the ones who loved me most and sacrificed so much for me. I began mourning the impact of the decision I knew I had to make.… “But Jesus,” I said, “accepting you would be like dying. I will have to give up everything.” [Nabeel Qureshi]
Wearing a stuffed backpack and carrying his Teddy bear, little Tommy walked past his neighbor’s house. A short while later, he walked by her house in the same direction. He disappeared around the corner only to reappear several minutes later. As he was passing her house for the fourth time, the neighbor asked him what he was doing. When Tommy explained he was running away, she asked why he was only circling the block. “Because I’m not allowed to cross the street!”
Things were going well for Moses in Midian: he was happily married, with a family, and tending his father-in-law’s sheep. Then God interrupted his comfortable life with a burning bush and a major task: free the Israelites. Moses reacted the way most of us would by questioning God. Who am I to do this? Who do I say sent me? What if they don’t believe me? He then told God he simply wasn’t up to the task. Not one to be thwarted, God responded to all of Moses’ concerns. He would be with him, provide the words, the proof, and even Aaron to do the talking. In short, God promised to provide and so Moses obeyed.
“May the Holy Spirit give us grace to not begrudge the pedagogy of God,” wrote John Piper in the day’s devotion. A somewhat archaic word and not one I regularly use, I thought of a pedagogue as an old, boring, stodgy, and authoritarian teacher who never changed his lesson plan or lectures. Unsure what Piper meant, it seemed wise to consult the dictionary. “Pedagogy” comes from two Greek words: pais, meaning child, and agogos, meaning leader. A paidagogos was a slave who led the boys to and from school, taught them manners, and tutored them after school.
Isaiah heard the Lord ask, “Whom shall I send as a messenger to this people?” and responded, “Here I am. Send me.” When God commissioned him to be His messenger/prophet, Isaiah was acting as a scribe and had a family. Nevertheless, without hesitation, his was an unqualified, “Send me!” Isaiah didn’t know exactly what God wanted him to do or how he was supposed to do it. Even after God told him that the people wouldn’t listen, Isaiah never wavered. Many of Scripture’s heroes, however, weren’t as eager to do God’s work.
Several of the men from church met for breakfast and John, a retired farmer from Iowa, offered to say the blessing over their meals. After taking off his cap, he stood and said, “Lord, I sure do hate buttermilk.” The old farmer continued: “And, Lord, I don’t care much for lard!” After a slight pause, John added, “Truth be told, white flour doesn’t taste like much either and, Lord Almighty, baking powder sure is bitter!” Shocked at his words, the men sat in disbelief until John added, “But, Lord, when you mix them all together and bake them, I truly do love those fresh buttermilk biscuits! Thank you, Heavenly Father, for the biscuits, gravy, eggs, and bacon with which we are blessed this fine morning. Amen.”
