On Hating Your Life

Luke 14:25-33
September 7, 2025
William G. Carter

Now large crowds were traveling with him, and he turned and said to them, "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.

 

Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.'

 

Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace.

 

So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

Looking out at the congregation today, I have only one question. Where did everybody go? Last Sunday, the room was full. We printed over two hundred worship bulletins, even though it was a holiday weekend. There was only one bulletin left. We had a big crowd. It was wonderful.

But where is everybody today?

Oh, I know. Every Sunday is not a revival. Last week was a special event with its own magnetism. We don’t always beef up the choir with Roman Catholics. Nor do we normally welcome guests from California, Massachusetts, Brooklyn, Binghamton, or Allentown. All viable reasons. 

But I must wonder: do you think all the people who were here last week found out about our scripture lesson?

According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus was on the move. He was followed by “large crowds.” Enormous crowds! And he spins around and shouts to them all, “You can’t follow me unless you hate your family, carry the cross, and give up all your possessions.” Sounds like he wanted to thin out the herd. Trim away the dead wood. Pare down the inflated membership roll. Travel only with the True Believers, not with the Hangers On.

But what a way to do it!

It sounds like Jesus was not interested in church growth. You can’t build a congregation, much less a movement, by making the admission more restrictive. Imagine the congregation, service organization, or country club that extends its arms to say, “You all come! Everybody is welcome!” And when the masses come through the door, a second announcement is made, “You can’t stay unless you meet our stringent requirements.” That’s no way to enlarge an organization, but it is a way to clarify who is worthy of being there.

Jesus turns toward the large crowd following him and says, “Hate your family, carry the cross, and give up what you have.” After hearing him say this, I’m not surprised anybody sneaks out. So, let’s explore each of those requirements.

First: “Father, mother, spouse, children, brothers, sisters – you must hate them.” And yes, it does say “hate.” These are people bound to us. We don’t choose most of them, which means from time to time they are going to drive us crazy. Does anybody here have a completely peaceful family? No, I didn’t think so. But hate them?

Household irritations are a common occurrence, whether we air that dirty laundry in public or not. Two sisters may borrow one another’s clothing without permission. The brother might be an annoying know-it-all. Mom may hover while Dad ignores, all common situations. And then if you are blessed to have a spouse, well, there could be differences in opinion on everything from tidiness around the home, to the importance of changing the oil in the car, to how you discipline the kids.

God has created each of us with our own particularities and peculiarities. That’s a gentle way of saying none of us are identical, not even sets of twins – and certainly not the triplets. But to hate them? That seems over the top – which is exactly the point.

See, Jesus spoke as a first-century Jew. In that Semitic culture, choices were very clear. It’s either this or that. There were no gradations in between. Which is to say, if you want to follow Jesus, you can’t let your following be affected by what your family thinks. Either you’re in or you’re out.

Some of you are here today, while members of your family are sleeping in or going to brunch. You chose to make the commitment, and God bless you for it. And that’s not to say your family members are not following Christ, too. Maybe they are tired, or going through a slump, or they have mixed feelings about sitting for an hour in a room like this surrounded by people like us. Whatever.

Four decades of pastoral ministry has taught me to lean into graciousness. As for ourselves, we don’t live our spiritual lives for other people. As for others, God is not finished with anybody yet. The point is you have to be clear. That clarity increases the closer we get to Christ. It is possible to keep loving our families, working for their benefit, saving for their futures – and to still distinguish between who they are and who Jesus is.

That’s what he means when he says “hate.” He wants to shock us into deciding if it’s him or them. That’s the distinction he imposes on each of us. And it’s direct.

Second, he says, “You have to carry the cross.” What cross – his cross or the cross? Curious, isn’t it, that Luke and the other gospels put a phrase like this before the story of the crucifixion. It almost sounds like the Gospel writers are reading the cross of Christ back into our story of discipleship. That it’s a symbol that defines how we are called to live out our faith here and now.

Obviously, he’s not saying all of us will be nailed to wood by Roman soldiers. That old practice is long-gone, thankfully. But what is the cross? There are several interlocking answers.

·       The cross is a call to self-sacrifice. We set aside our will to do the will of God.

·       The cross comes when we do the right thing in a world that doesn’t want us to do the right thing.

·       The cross is given to us when we speak truth to people who are living by lies.

·       The cross comes as punishment when we expose evil and name it for what it is.

Just think of the stories of Jesus. He was punished for being a good person.

Yet he remained good in spite of his punishment. The cross means all of this.

And there’s more.

·       The cross exposes the meanest intentions of people – and then it cancels those mean intentions.

Those who put Jesus on the cross heard him pray, “Father, forgive them.”

That’s the answered prayer on which every human life depends.

·       Therefore, the cross is the deepest expression of grace. We killed the Son of God, and God didn’t retaliate.

This means forgiveness is always possible. Unless we’re still nursing the grudge.

·       And the cross means there is a new world, a new way of doing things, a new dominion which we call the kingdom of God. What that means is this is God’s world, not the devil’s world. There’s a lot of evil, meanness, and corruption still lingering about. But we don’t belong to that. We belong to God.

I think of the apostle Paul, writing to a church in Turkey, and concluding his letter by saying, “May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world.”[1] Then he says, “The only thing that matters is a new creation. That’s everything.” It’s not a new creation far off in the future, but right now. We belong to God. We live out of the love he has for all of us.

Yesterday, my friend Jim and I attended a funeral for one of our clergy colleagues. Tom was a man with a big heart. Sadly, that big heart of his gave out on the day before he was going to marry off his son and new daughter-in-law. It was a shock for the family and all his friends. But there was a taste of New Creation in his obituary. It quoted what he said when he began his last pastorate. Listen to this:

As I look at humanity, I can only describe the human personality as designed for relationship with something from which it has been separated. Christian reconciliation, the realization that God in Christ has become human and in doing so unconditionally accepts us and helps us. That is my basic theological starting point.[2]

The cross reconciles us to God, and through God with one another. There it is. Carry that. Even if an evil world hates you. Just live like Jesus – connecting, forgiving, loving, giving yourself away for the sake of others. That’s what it means to carry the cross.

Third, he says, “You can’t become my disciple if you don’t give up all your possessions.” Wait – is that an echo I hear? Jesus has been saying something like this ever since he started out on the road. There’s something about having a lot of stuff that slows you down. And here, it’s even more stark. He calls us to give it all up. Everything. Every nickel in our pockets, every shirt in the closet, every book on the shelves. Every everything.

I dug into the text to see if I could soften it. Not a chance. It says what it says. Then I submitted to reason: if we give everything up, we are empty handed, defenseless, impoverished, and naked. Reminds me of a rich boy. You could call him Frank. He lived a few years ago and lived quite well. Then he had a series of spiritual visions that shook him up. He began to perceive the wastefulness of his opulent lifestyle, the way he tossed his father’s money around. Until one day, he stripped off his clothing in front of the local bishop, vowing a life of poverty.

I said his name was Frank, but you might know him as St. Francis of Assisi. For him to follow in the way of Jesus, he had to let goods and kindred go. All his stuff was bogging him down. So, he had to unload what he had as a sign of what he aspired for his soul.

Again, it sounds like an early Christian hymn about Jesus. “He had equality with God,” sang the church, “but figured that equality was not something to be clutched, so he emptied himself, becoming like a servant.”[3] It’s this movement of downward mobility that is held up as the model. Becoming like a servant by giving up all the stuff you’re carrying around.

Now, if that sounds difficult, it is. It’s the third time I’ve mentioned that in a sermon in the past six weeks because it comes up that frequently in the Gospel of Luke. Luke is the gospel of relinquishing, of letting go, of giving up power and prestige – and of course, unloading all our possessions. First time this came up in a sermon this summer, some of you reported how good it felt to clean out your closets. But we are called to keep at it, to keep letting go, in order that we can acquire more of Christ.

In fact, if you look in the back of my Subaru out in the parking lot, it’s loaded with stuff I’m dropping off at a friend’s garage sale. And the more I get rid of, the more I realize I still have. Relinquishing is long term work. Apparently, we are born with sticky fingers. We attach ourselves to everything.

But that’s precisely why Jesus is exaggerating – “Give up all our possessions”? Really, Lord? If we did that, we would have nothing left. And his response is, “No, if you gave it all up, all you’d have left is me.” And this is the Gospel truth, the day is coming when we will give it all up. And will he have him? Or better, will he have us?

Because that’s the bottom line. When all is said and done, it is only Christ that can save us. Only Christ who will keep us. Not our money, not our safety, not even our families as nice as they are. Only Christ is worthy of all our hearts, all our wills, all our hopes, all our hearts. And so, the church at its simplest will sing:

 

Jesus, priceless treasure,

source of purest pleasure,
friend most sure and true:
long my heart was burning,

fainting much and yearning,
thirsting, Lord, for you.
Yours I am, O spotless Lamb,

so will I let nothing hide you,
seek no joy beside you!

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

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[1] Galatians 6:14-15

[2] Obituary for the Rev. Dr. Thomas William Blair. Online at https://www.wmhclarkfuneralhome.com/obituary/thomas-blair

[3] Philippians 2:6-7.

Can You Perceive a New Thing?

John 3:14-21
Jazz Mass 2025
August 31, 2025
William G. Carter

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

In the summer of my seventeenth year, I took some jazz piano lessons from a guy in my hometown. Lenny was a contrast to the saintly woman who started me on major scales and Mozart. He was the real deal, a true-blue half-alive jazz musician. He had retired from the road and was now married to a high school secretary who had health insurance and a retirement plan.

We talked about chords and how to notate them. He hinted at the hidden architecture that structured various tunes. I brought along a collection of Beatles songs to one of our lessons, and he laughed, “Oh son, there’s so much more.” With each lesson, the jazz tradition seemed even more mysterious than I had assumed. 

After I fumbled along for a few weeks, one day he pulled out a vinyl LP by Oscar Peterson. Then he said, “Play along!” I was too stunned to know how to begin. Peterson had twenty fingers, all flying in different directions. The music was explosive. Lenny said, “Play!” So, I poked and dabbled, uncertain of what to do. By the time the performance concluded, I knew only one thing: Peterson played a G about halfway through. One note, that’s all I figured out.

Lenny shook his head. “Kid,” he said, “I can teach you how to lay down some cool chords and even do so in rhythm. But if you want to become a musician, you gotta study what you hear, then play it.” I didn’t know it at the time, but that was some of the best advice I ever received.

He wasn’t telling me to play by ear. Playing by ear is a freakish talent given only to a few. And they don’t know what they are doing. That’s different from studying what you hear. No, Lennie wasn’t telling me to play by ear – but to play with my ears, to connect my ears with my fingers, to reflect on what I heard, and thus to learn while doing. Big step to become a jazz musician!

Fast toward, about thirty-eight years later. It was right after Christmas. Our annual jazz Christmas Eve service had gone a little flat. Fortunately, the next year was the fiftieth anniversary of A Charlie Brown Christmas. We knew that music and scheduled it, just as we will play it this Christmas Eve for the 60^th anniversary. But wait - when was the jazz mass that Guaraldi wrote? Oh yes – that was also 1965. The idea sparked. How about if we present that for Labor Day 2015, the 50^th anniversary of that?

That year, between Christmas and New Year’s, I wrote to the music staff at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco. They didn’t have the manuscripts. “In fact,” said the organist, “we suspect it was never written down.” That proved to be the case. Guaraldi collaborated with choirmaster Barry Minneah to repurpose music out of the Episcopalian hymnal. He took the old chants, gave them some Sausalito harmony and a bossa nova beat. Sounded great, although the choir found it maddening because he never played the music the same way twice.

The music we are hearing today was never printed in ink. Oh, there were words and notes, both well documented. Yet the experience of hearing the music and playing along was approximate. It was imprecise - because it was alive. Internally alive. The only way to access the experience was by listening deeply and playing along. And if you discover there’s a G, or an A, or a Bb, you could write it down, position it as best you can, and keep moving.

That’s how it is with music. As I am fond of saying, written music is a contradiction in terms. By definition, music exists in the air. That’s how we hear it. That’s how we sing it. Notes are only written down to remember what to do with it the next time.

As the great pianist Erroll Garner, a man who never learned to read printed notes, once quipped, “Nobody can hear you read.” They can only hear you play. And then they can tell if your ears are connected with your fingers, or if your ears are connected to your voice, or if your ears are connected to your neighbors. It’s all about listening. In music making, everything else is commentary.

By listening to the Vince Guaraldi music, the insights come. When we chant together the Nicene Creed in a few minutes, we sing a G. That’s all it is, a G. Around it are the identical chords as the song “Skating” in A Charlie Brown Christmas, recorded a few months later. That’s the song when the kids are catching snowflakes on their tongues.

Or there’s “Theme to Grace,” which we just heard. It’s the signature piece from the mass. It strongly resembles Vince’s tune, “Christmas Time is Here,” again recorded a few months later, and sung by some of the same kids who sang in the mass. Here’s the point: if we listen, we learn. And then we can play.

It’s obvious that listening is something a lot of people aren’t doing these days. We can’t become musicians if we don’t listen. I dare say we can’t become human beings if we don’t listen – and listen to one another. And it’s deeply true we cannot become spiritual beings if we don’t listen to Jesus Christ. He’s still speaking.

Hear what he said today? Just one thing we’ve heard him say before. “For God so loved the world that he sent his only Son into the world.” Life is not about perishing. It’s not about condemnation. It’s about flourishing, even in spite of our circumstances. The coming of Christ toward us is God’s gift of love. We have not been abandoned. We have not been neglected. We have not been ignored - because we are loved.

Can you hear that? Can you decipher the tones? Can you write that down once you hear it? Can you connect what you hear with your hands and voices? That’s the skill – and it takes practice.

Of course it takes practice. Nobody arrives fully formed. That’s obvious when you listen to the Guaraldi Mass recording. The choir had been practicing for a year and a half, yet there are still a few moments when the altos and the tenors can’t agree on what or when they should sing. Sometimes Guaraldi’s fingers strain for something that remains out of reach. Or he re-uses a snippet of melody or harmony that he used before. And why not?

The point is all of them were working at it. They are giving it what they have. They are reaching for something that makes the world more beautiful. This is what honors God. Not perfection, which is impossible - but listening, and learning, and practicing together. If you make music with your ears wide open, you deeply engage with those around you. This is a metaphor for the faith that gives us life. And it is a return on the love that God has given to the world.

What if we come up short? Well, here’s what Mike and I were talking about on Thursday afternoon. He called to say, “I’m working on the tunes for the mass. There’s a tricky part in the “Holy Communion Blues.” Do you want me to play that like it is?” I replied, “Mike, why don’t you play it as you hear it? Just give it to the world as a gift because that’s what it is. And that’s what you are. A gift.”

And that’s what all of you are, too. A gift of love, from the God of love, offered to a world that continues to be loved. Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, and none of the above. We are protesting the ugliness that has crept into our world by making something beautiful together. We are connecting what we’ve heard with all our best efforts to play together. And God smiles.

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

Rules Are Made for Hypocrites

Luke 13:10-17
August 24, 2025
William G. Carter

Now Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues on the sabbath. And just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, "Woman, you are set free from your ailment." When he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God. But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, "There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the sabbath day." But the Lord answered him and said, "You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the sabbath day?" When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

There was a time when people proclaimed their faith on bumper stickers. We don’t see this much anymore, but not so long ago, it was quite common. Some are scripture verses, like “God is love,” or “Jesus is Lord.” Other are affirmations of faith, like, “Glowing with the Spirit,” or “With God all things are possible.” One of my favorites said this: “1 + 1 + 1 = 1.” The doctrine of the Trinity!

And then there are the other ones, with a bit of snark. “Turn or burn.” There’s no telling how many conversions that prompted. Or this, “In case of rapture, can I have your car?” I confess a bit of jealousy that he asked first. Or this one, “Honk if you love Jesus. Text if you want to meet him.”

And then there was this bumper sticker: “B.I.B.L.E. – Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.” Like other slogans, it is brief, memorable, and aims to make a positive impact. As Christian people, we want to honor the Bible, right? But I find myself pushing against this one for a few different reasons.

First, the purpose of life here on earth is not to prepare for leaving earth. This life matters, too. Most of the Bible’s instruction is here and now: how you treat your neighbors, what to do with your money, how to take care of your body, and how you spend your time. 

Second, does the Bible offer basic instruction? If so, why is it so hard to read? Sometimes the instructions are wrapped in stories, parables, and proverbs. Some of the instructions seem dated: don’t eat lobster, don’t wear clothing of mixed fibers. Some of the instructions are contradictory, like the 26^th chapter of Proverbs. One verse says, “Never answer a fool.” The very next verse is, “Always answer a fool.”[1] Which is it? A basic view is not enough.

What’s more, if the Bible offers instructions, that doesn’t mean anybody will follow them. On page two, God said, “You can eat anything you want in this Garden, except from that tree over there.” By page three, Adam and Eve are chomping into the restricted fruit. Say what we want about obedience – and obeying God is a good thing – yet the Bible teaches how we are prone to disobey. To follow our own way.

Maybe it’s something in the very nature of getting instructions. As the apostle Paul wrote to one of the churches, “I wouldn’t have known what it is to covet, if the law had not said, ‘Thou shalt not covet.’”[2] Coveting? Wanting what others have? I had no clue, until the instructions said, “Don’t do it.” He goes on to confess, “When I want to do what it good, evil lies close at hand.”[3] Something more than a rule is required.

Today’s Gospel story centers around one of the Bible’s basic instructions, namely the keeping of the Sabbath. You remember how it goes. “Six days you shall do all your labor; on the seventh day, you shall rest and not do any work.” On the face of it, that seems clear. Yet the instruction prompts a question that is not so basic: what constitutes “work”?

In the time of Jesus, this was a matter of debate. Is it work to prepare a big Sabbath meal of brisket and roasted potatoes? That depends on who is making the meal. Can we walk to a neighbor’s home for a visit? Yes, as long as it’s no more than three-quarters of a mile. The religious leaders debated all of this. And it was a debate, a thorough conversation, a discussion in pursuit of wisdom. The rule wasn’t enough. You had to figure out how to apply it.

On occasion, the conversation could be quite comical. Clarence Jordan tells about those who pondered if you could run out of the house on the Sabbath if the house was on fire. Yes, of course. But if one of you had a wooden leg, you must leave the leg behind. That would be “carrying wood.”[4]

So, Jesus stopped by the synagogue to teach. It was the Sabbath day. Was teaching the Bible considered working? Nobody seemed to think so. Then he saw a woman who had been bent over for eighteen years. He called over and said, “Lady, it’s time for you to be set free.” He put his hands on her back, she stood up straight for the first time in years, then started praising God.

Over here, the leader of the synagogue was grinding his teeth. “This is the Sabbath of God,” he growled, “not a day for healing.” Because healing is somebody’s work! Now, we understand the rule. But if we take the rule only on the surface, it can be an empty rule. Something more is needed.

Some years ago, somebody invited me to preach at First Presbyterian Church in Naples, Florida. “Bring your jazz band,” they said. Well, it was the middle of January. Who was I to say no? We played a jazzed-up hymn, the people sang along. Right in the middle of the hymn, a man passed out and toppled into the carpeted aisle. Jazz affects people in different ways.

What should we have done? Should we have said, “Band, keep playing, all of us are singing a hymn, it’s the Sabbath”? Or should we have said, “Nobody touch him. It’s the sabbath.” So, stay frozen. Nobody moves. It turns out the deacons did the holy thing. Apparently, this kind of episode happens regularly in Naples, Florida. They called the EMTs. We paused. We prayed for him. The ambulance took him to the ER, checked him out, pronounced him well. Then his wife said, “I’m never going to let you hear jazz in church again.”

I suppose if we were playing it hard and fast, only by the rule, we would be indignant. We’re not working. Let God manage it. Fortunately for that wobbly little Floridian, the Deacons took the more humane approach. That was wisdom. To do nothing would be to put God to the test. To let the bent-over lady keep looking down at her sandals for another eighteen years would be heartless.

“After all,” said Jesus our Lord, “when the Sabbath comes, don’t you take your farm animals to get a drink?” The clear implication is this: isn’t this daughter of Abraham to be held in more esteem than your donkeys?

Wisdom. That’s the ticket. The Bible pushes us to think and wrestle and discuss and act. What if we get it wrong? Then keep thinking, wrestling, discussing, and acting. The God of Life is not going to zap us with lightning bolts if we act like human beings. No, if there is any zapping, it will be for the person who kept all the rules and lost their humanity in the process.

In his recent book, How the Bible Actually Works, Peter Enns says this: 

Watching how the Bible behaves as a book of wisdom rather than a set-in-stone rulebook is more than just a textual curiosity to be noted and set aside. Rather, it models for us the normalcy of seeking the presence of God for ourselves in our here and now.

 

Like that of the biblical writers themselves, our sacred responsibility is to engage faithfully and seriously enough the stories of the past in order to faithfully and seriously reimagine God in our present moment. The Bible doesn’t end that process of reimagination. It promotes it.[5]

Let’s take a cue from Jesus. He interpreted the rules. He didn’t water them down. Sometimes he tightened them up. He knew God has expectations for all of us. Those expectations come through the biblical tradition – yet they must be interpreted by real human beings in real human situations. 

So, there he was, teaching the Bible. That’s what you teach in the synagogue. Over here, there’s a woman so bent over she can’t lift her head. Was he supposed to speak and then split? No, not when he had the ability to heal and the compassion to do so. So, he said, “Daughter of Abraham, stand up tall.” Claim your dignity. Receive your release. The whole crowd cheered. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t we all?

What was he doing? He was interpreting the substance of the Sabbath commandment. The Sabbath was given to us as a gift. Six days, we work. On the seventh, we welcome God’s work within us. As the late Walter Brueggemann used to say, “Sabbath liberates us from Pharoah’s brick factory,” that ceaseless demand to produce and measure up. Sabbath interrupts our desire to over-achieve, over-function, and over-control. It breaks our obsessions. With Sabbath restraint, we give time, space, and room for God to act.

Don’t miss the punchline: all of this is good for us. Sabbath is for our well-being, and for the well-being of others. Like that grownup child of God confined to look at her sandals. Like that uptight synagogue manager who just needs to smile. Like that synagogue crowd, ready to hear the Christ to speak, ready to welcome some joyful, life-affirming good news, whether they hear it – or see it. For God has spoken as Christ has come: for the benefit of all.

Now, can we keep the rules? Maybe. I think of all the families scrambling around, trying to keep all the soccer balls in the air, running from dance lessons to tennis practice to saxophone lessons to sleepovers, all good things. But they are worn out. They go on vacation and come back exhausted. There’s precious little rest.

I think of those, half a generation older. They tell me Sabbath keeping is just not possible. There’s so much to do, so much to manage, so much to keep up with. And today I offer a special prayer for all those who have convinced themselves the house must always be perfect. Bless your hearts. Like that old neighbor of mine who clutched his chest every time a dandelion appeared on his lawn. Let it go, man. God planted that dandelion to get you to lighten up.

Here's how to understand the rules. The apostle Paul told a church of misguided Christians, “God gave us these commandments as a babysitter.”[6] It was good advice for that bunch; they thought they were supposed to circumcise everybody in Turkey. Paul said, “No, no, no. For freedom, Christ has set us free.” The rules were given to guide our lives, so we knew where to start and what to do. They came at the beginning, like the training wheels on a child’s bicycle. They kept us from tipping over. We have never outgrown them.

But now that you’re growing up in the grace of Jesus Christ, let those ancient rules guide us as we create joyful, compassionate lives that give freedom to us and those around us. Stand up as tall as you can. Be merciful to those in front of you. In loving them, let yourself be loved. And if you get straightened out by Jesus, all the better. For that was God’s intention from the beginning.

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

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[1] Proverbs 26:4-5.

[2] Romans 7:7.

[3] Romans 7:21.

[4] Clarance Jordan, The Substance of Faith and Other Cotton Patch Sermons, (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2005) 162.

[5] Peter Enns, How the Bible Actually Works (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2019) 112-113.

[6] Galatians 3:23-29.

Division and Other Signs of the Times

Luke 12:49-56
August 17, 2025
William G. Carter

Jesus said, "I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law."

 

He also said to the crowds, "When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, "It is going to rain'; and so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, "There will be scorching heat'; and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

 

The sky looked threatening on Wednesday morning. Dark, murky. After a long stretch of hot, dry August days, we knew something was going to happen. I didn’t need to ask Alexa or Google, “What’s the weather today?” Neither did I need to tune in to Joe or Jeremy for a televised update. Sure enough, shortly after lunch we looked to the heavens – and those heavens opened up. There was a hard rain, with flash flooding in some places.

The mayor of Scranton said, “We’ve been working on our storm drainage in the city. On Wednesday, we discovered new places for our attention.” Anybody could have looked to the sky to predict it. What did they tell me in Boy Scouts? “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.” Read the horizon, what do you see?

It reminds me of a moment from years ago. A few of us traveled to Haiti for a mission trip. One night, we were sitting on a flat roof in Port au Prince, learning about that Caribbean country. There was a pause in the conversation, then somebody said, “Have you had many hurricanes here?” Oh yes. Realizing there is not much of an infrastructure in Haiti, she said, “How do you know when a hurricane is coming?” Our host said, “The sky gets very dark. The chickens get very quiet. Then the wind begins to blow.”

Jesus said to the crowds, “You can interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?” He says this on the road to Jerusalem. It’s his last journey to Jerusalem. He will be greeted as a prophet. He will speak and act like a prophet. He will be killed like a prophet. Some will greet him. Some will reject him.

What does he see when he looks to the horizon? What is the weather report? Jesus says, “Cloudy with a 100 percent chance of division.” People will be divided against one another. It was a sign of the times.

It is still a sign of the times. There are Eagles fans and Steelers fans. They don’t see eye to eye. There are red states and blue states. If either senses power may slip away, they will gerrymander their territory to gain an advantage. This fierce competition seems to have been written into our DNA. It’s us against them, although it doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of “us” anymore.

One of our retired teachers remembers when the public school system was the great American melting pot. School was for everybody. They received the same education. Great democratic values were passed along to the next generation. The project was never unanimous, although it seemed that way. Then the splintering began. “I don’t like what they are teaching.” “Home is where health class ought to be taught, not the classroom.” “I don’t want my daughter reading Nathaniel Hawthorne.” “My kid doesn’t need algebra,” and so on.

Sorry to say, some church people were behind the splintering. The kids weren’t learning the Ten Commandments at home, and they weren’t going to Sunday School, so somebody had the bright idea, “Let’s print the Ten Commandments on the classroom wall.” In other words, “Thou shalt not commit adultery, but don’t let them read The Scarlet Letter.” So, here we are. Them against them, and precious little “us.”     

There is nothing new about that. Jesus said it will be “father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law." He takes that list from the prophet Micah.[1] It is a generational split, parents against children, children against parents. One generation against another. Your enemies shall live in your own house. That is sobering.

Jesus knew this. If you read the Bible stories, he rarely spoke to a unanimous house. Sure, the Gospel says, “Everyone heard him gladly,” but it wasn’t everyone. Look around the room. Somebody was offended.

It happened on the day of his very first sermon. Jesus went home to Nazareth, went into the hometown synagogue, opened the hometown scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Then he read, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me to preach good news to the poor.” Everybody said, “Oh, how we love Jesus!” Then he told them two stories out of their own Bible about how God loves everybody, and they wanted to kill him. And that was on his first day.

If they only knew what his mother was told a week after he was born. Mary and Joseph took baby Jesus to the Jerusalem temple according to the Jewish Torah. An old prophet named Simeon stumbled up, mumbling, “I’m looking for the salvation of God.” He peeked into their little blue blanket and said, “Here he is. I have seen God’s salvation!” Then he turned to Mary to say, “He is destined for the rise of some and the fall of others. He will be opposed. And a sword will piece your soul.”

Thirty years later, Jesus says to the crowd, “Do you think I’ve come to bring peace? No, I have come to create division.” That is what prophets do. They tell the truth. People don’t want to hear the truth.

One of the signs of our time is that people cannot agree on what the truth is. Somehing happens, and everybody starts to spin it. They spin it to the right; they spin it to the left. Now we have television stations that tell us what we want to hear. Once upon a time, most folks could agree on what happened. There was a broad consensus. And we could agree on who the radicals were and who were the nincompoops.

But these days, if you report the economic facts and somebody doesn’t like them, you could get fired for simply reporting the facts. You would be replaced by someone unqualified and unexperienced, who told the boss what he wanted to hear. It’s a sign of the times. The new rule is “If you are critiqued, attack the critic.” So spin it.

A few years back, our friend Brent Eelman worshipped with us for a while. One time he said, “I want to teach a class on the loss of truth in our society.” What do you mean? He said, “We are living in a post-truth culture.” That sounded ominous, like red skies in the morning. And he explained:

"Post-truth" is a culture where appeals to emotion and personal belief are more influential in shaping public opinion than objective facts. The distinction between truth and falsehoods becomes blurred, and emotional narratives often take precedence over factual accuracy. So, people start throwing around accusations of "fake news" and spread misinformation. 

That is, you can tell somebody what happened. And they will say, “That’s your opinion.” But it’s a fact. “No, that’s not one of my facts.” But didn’t you see it? “No, it wasn’t on my favorite television station.” But shouldn’t we speak up? And there’s silence. Like they told us down in Haiti, “When the hurricane is coming, the chickens get really quiet.”

Here’s the truth about Jesus: he told the truth. In the clarity of his resurrection authority, he still tells the truth. He stands in the tradition of the prophets who thundered against the abuses of his day. Remember what the prophet Isaiah said?

Hear the Word of the Lord:

When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean; remove your evil deeds from before my eyes;
cease to do evil; learn to do good;
seek justice; rescue the oppressed; defend the orphan; plead for the widow.[2] 

Any questions? And Jesus speaks with the clarity of the Psalmist. Remember what the Psalmist said?  

You love evil more than good and lying more than speaking the truth. 
But God will break you down forever; he will snatch you from your tent;
The righteous will see and fear (God) and will laugh at the evildoer, saying,
“See the one who would not take refuge in God

but trusted in abundant riches and sought refuge in wealth!”[3] 

There is moral clarity in the kingdom of God. There is a holy love for those who have been hurt. There is a holy fire that purges those who are evil. This is the fire Jesus ignites – and many who will not like what he says, as if their emotions and opinions can protect them from the truth. Yet ultimately it is the truth of Christ that sets us free – it is the truth about ourselves, and the truth about God’s cleansing, purging grace.

If there is to be a division, let it be a division between good and evil.

Let it be a division between right and wrong.

Let it be a division between life and death.

Let it be a division between loving neighbors and hating neighbors.

Let it be a division between justice and indifference.

Let it be a division between loving God and ignoring God.

Let it be a division between holiness and hellishness.

Let it be a division – ultimately the division - between the sheep and the goats.

As a preacher in the early church would say about Jesus, “The word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account.”[4]

Can we read the signs of the times? On his way to Jerusalem, Jesus could read the weather. “Stormy, with a good chance of crucifixion.” But he was not a silent chicken in the face of storm. Jesus was baptized with water and Holy Spirit. And he came to cut us free from all the lies, all the nonsense, all the emotional spin, all the self-important hype, so that we could live in peace with him and one another.

For this is the message of the Gospel: truth is in order to goodness.[5] Honesty is spoken to facilitate peace. Clarity is given to live in mercy. Division can be Christ’s gift, if it is in the greater purpose of building unity.

 Or for those who might be empowered by the poets, here is a bit of T. S. Eliot:

 

The dove descending breaks the air / With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare / The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair / Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre -
To be redeemed from fire by fire.

 

Who then devised the torment? Love. / Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove / The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove. We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.[6]

 In this stormy season, let us live by the true fire of Love, which is the Love of Jesus Christ our Lord.

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

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[1] Micah 7:6.

[2] Isaiah 1:15-17.

[3] Psalm 52:3-7.

[4] Hebrews 4:12-13.

[5] PC(USA) Book of Order, Historic Principles of Church Order (F-3.0104) – “That truth is in order to goodness: and the great touchstone of truth, its tendency to promote holiness, according to our Savior’s rule, “By their fruits ye shall know them.” And that no opinion can either be more pernicious or more absurd than that which brings truth and falsehood upon a level, and represents it as of no consequence what a man’s opinions are. On the contrary, we are persuaded that there is an inseparable connection between faith and practice, truth, and duty. Otherwise it would be of no consequence either to discover truth or to embrace it.”

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[6] T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets, “Little Gidding,” https://www.columbia.edu/itc/history/winter/w3206/edit/tseliotlittlegidding.html