Saturday, June 28, 2025

Of Potholes and Detours

Luke 9:51-62
Pentecost 3
June 29, 2025
William G. Carter  

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 make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, 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.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

 

 

Luke describes the Christian life as a journey. Faith is a travelogue between beginning and end. There is a starting line, for all of us begin somewhere; and then we are off to travel our lives with Jesus. It is an expedition full of adventure and growth. The journey is just as thrilling as the destination. As a way of teaching us about the journey, he describes the journey that Christ took.

 

There was a day, says Luke, when Jesus decided to go to Jerusalem. In the words of Isaiah, “He set his face like flint.” Jesus left behind the carpenter shop and the teaching stump. He left behind what was known, settled, and comfortable. He stepped out to travel toward the cross. That was his destination, his calling. It was the way that he lived out what it meant for him to be God’s person in the world.

 

And that is exactly how the story unfolds for today. Jesus and the boys are traveling. They begin his final journey toward Jerusalem, a journey that will take half of this book. He knows where he is called. He knows what he is destined to do. It doesn’t matter if others understand his purposes or not. Jerusalem is his end.

 

Even so, every journey is prone to interruptions. A mile down the road, you turn around to retrieve a forgotten purse, or that little note with the address of where you’re going. Along the way, a voice in the back seat requests a rest stop. And then there are hazards on the highway to slow you down. Anybody been on I-81 lately? It was no different for Jesus.

 

He begins the journey. Heavenly trumpets resound. The advance team is sent out to publicize his departure. They go to a little Samaritan town. I’m sure you think the Samaritans are nice, gentle people, right? Wrong! The Samaritans and Jews did not get along. They refused to get along. Any thinking Jew would ask, “Jesus, why are you going through a town like that? Those Samaritans smell like camels, and they’re about as friendly.” But Jesus is on the way.

 

Meanwhile, the Samaritans say, “Jews are coming through our village? And they are heading to Jerusalem? To corrupt and evil Jerusalem? Well, they are not welcome here.”

 

James and John get wind of it. Jesus nicknamed them “the Sons of Thunder,” and we are about to find out why. They say, “Hey Boss, remember that old Bible story about the prophet Elijah? Remember when he ran into some unfriendly people from Samaria? He called down fire from heaven and burnt them to a crisp. He did it a couple of times.[1] How about if we do that, too?”

 

Jesus looked at them. It was a major pothole in the road. His road. And it was a Scranton-sized pothole. So, he said something to them that wasn’t very nice. We don’t know what it was. Luke just says, “He yelled at them.” I mean, some people of another race aren’t friendly, and you want to rain down fire? That is not the way to the kingdom of God.

 

Jesus kept walking. Along the way, he meets three different people who could join him on his journey. Three representative people. Each one has the opportunity, now each one takes a detour. Not only did Jesus just step around a huge pothole, but others also have their detours, too.

 

The first one steps right up. He’s a volunteer. He says, “I will go wherever you go.” To which Jesus cracks a smile. It’s that very noble word “wherever.” The man says he will go “wherever.” Really? Does he have any clue where Jesus is heading? And are we willing to go wherever? Wherever?

 

Jesus pushes back. “Foxes have holes, and birds have nests…” Now, that’s code language. Back in his day, there were rich people related to King Herod called “the Herodians.” They fancied themselves as the ruling class. They lived in great comfort, so Jesus says, “If you want nice curtains and comfortable beds, the foxes have their holes.”

 

And then, the Roman army was portrayed popularly as a flock of birds. Vultures perhaps, or certainly hawks. They swarmed into a village. They plucked everything out of the ground. They plundered whatever they wanted, then flew away. So, he says, “If you want to consume viciously, well, the birds build their nests.”

 

“But the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” That is strange and disturbing. In Jewish thinking, the Son of Man is the supreme authority over all the nations. He has power, glory, and might. Yet Jesus adds, “He is also homeless.” Or another way to say it, “Every place is his home.” He gets around. He will not stay in the holes of rich foxes or the nests of violent birds.

 

It’s a jarring retort! To follow Jesus on the disciple road, we cannot be in love with our own comfort. There are no pillows to soften the trip (this I say to those who sit on padded pews). There can be no extravagance (like air conditioning). Jesus says, if you walk with me, stay portable. Become familiar with people who are deprived of comfort. Never let all the world’s goodies separate you from the world’s needs.

 

He said this because his face was set toward Jerusalem. His final journey would not be comfortable. He would not lounge at a five-star resort, but rather, be nailed to wood.

 

Then Jesus spots a second possible disciple. He is a recruit. He seems willing to follow. Yet he has a detour to take first. “Let me bury my father.” That sounds reasonable, but Jesus blasts him with a harsh word: “Let the dead bury the dead!” It is the coldest thing Jesus ever said.

 

Or is it? Because there’s no evidence the man’s father had passed away. In that time and place, no son would ask permission to attend a funeral. He would have been by his father’s coffin, surrounded by the whole family, not standing on the road, waiting for Jesus to walk by.

 

What’s more, if a Jew of Jesus’ day said he wanted to move to Brazil (assuming he knew where Brazil was), the neighbors would ask, “Aren’t you going to bury your father first?” Dad might still be as healthy as a horse. The cultural expectation was to stick around, to take care of dad and mom, to put all other decisions on hold until the family responsibilities were concluded. If it took another twenty years, that was that.

 

So, the hard word is a clear word: Let the dead bury the dead. That is, the Kingdom of God precedes family duties and neighborhood expectations. Christ comes first, especially if he’s given a thin excuse by a man who is watching from the sidewalk and whose father is not dead yet.

 

Jesus says, “Follow me!” The man responds, “I’d love to, but . . .” It is the classic detour from discipleship, spoken in a hundred variations.

 

            I’d love to do the work of servant, but . . .

            I would gladly serve as a leader, but . . . 

            I know the Vacation Bible School needs volunteers, but . . .

            I know those hungry people have great needs, but . . .

            I know there is wisdom waiting to be found in my Bible, but . . .

 

Maybe we know what Christ’s invitation entails, but… That is different from the first guy, who didn’t seem to know. In this case, “I discern the need, yet I keep it at arm’s length.”

 

And then there’s the third person. Not a recruit, but another volunteer. He offers to follow Jesus – but he needs a quick detour: “Let me go home first and take my leave.” That’s what it really says – he’s not merely going home to “say goodbye,” or “bid farewell,” but to “take his leave.”

 

Now, that is a phrase we don’t use very much, yet they know all about it in the Middle East. If you are invited to a party, you honor your host by attending. If you have something else to do, then you ask permission not to attend, or to depart early. This is called “taking your leave.” It is requesting permission from the main figure of the household for them to excuse you. It is the Middle Eastern polite thing to do.

 

So, this third guy wants to go home and request permission from his father to let him follow Jesus. If it is the planting season, he’s out of luck. If it’s the growing season, he’s out of luck. If it’s the harvest season, he is out of luck. Do you get the picture? He is putting his family ahead of the call of Christ. He lets them call the shots on whether he will get in step with Jesus. As Jesus puts it, he is taking his hands off the plow.

 

Family or Jesus? It’s an issue that comes up in a hundred different ways. It’s a preview of what Jesus will say later this summer, “Do you think I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, not peace but division. I have come to set father against son, daughter against mother”[2] Again, it’s a troublesome word because Jesus declares he is more important than those who are dear to us. He wishes to stand at the center of our lives. He demands our absolute attention and our complete obedience. And he persistently asks, “Do you love me more than these?”

           

Being a Christian is more than a matter of going to church. It is walking with Jesus first. We learn how to do this better when we do go to church. That’s where the scriptures are opened, the prayers are voiced, and the mission is named and engaged. The heart of being Christ’s disciple is traveling by his side, going to the places where he calls us. We do what he wants us to do. We love the stranger, for Jesus breaks down human divisions and extends God’s reach. We welcome people regardless of politics, gender, or income because Christ welcomes all to his Table. We offer the cold cup of water to those who are thirsty – and a cushion for those who need to sit. We keep our hand on the plow – because it’s his plow, his field, and finally, his harvest.

 

And then he sets out again. Next week, we will travel some more.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.


[1] 2 Kings 1:10, 12.

[2] Luke 12:51-53.

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