Walking With Christ

(Part 5 of 8)

Luke 14:33  So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.(ESV)

That’s a difficult sentence.  Which may explain how quickly we start explaining it.

Surely Jesus doesn’t mean everyone must sell everything.  Surely Christians are allowed to own houses.  Surely we can have savings.  Surely we can provide for our families.  Surely possessions themselves aren’t evil.

Those are reasonable observations.  Some of them are clearly supported elsewhere in Scripture.  But notice what we just did.

Jesus spoke.  And before we let the sentence settle, we began telling ourselves what He couldn’t possibly mean.

That may be one of the most common ways we pass a difficult verse.

We don’t reject it.  We qualify it.  Immediately.

Sometimes qualification is necessary.  Scripture should interpret Scripture.  Context matters.  Careful theology matters.

But there’s a difference between interpretation and escape.

Before asking what Jesus does not mean, perhaps we should sit with what He actually said.  “Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.”

Pause there.

This statement comes in a section about the cost of following Jesus.

Christ has already said that anyone who comes to Him must place allegiance to Him above even the closest family relationships.  He says a disciple must carry his own cross.  Then He tells people to count the cost.

A man doesn’t begin building a tower without considering whether he can finish it.  A king doesn’t march into war without considering what the conflict will require.

Then Jesus concludes:  “So therefore…”

That matters.  This isn’t a disconnected sentence about money.

It’s the conclusion of an argument about discipleship.

Following Christ costs something.  And Jesus doesn’t seem interested in hiding that fact to improve enrollment.

He tells the crowd to count the cost before pretending they’re willing to follow.

We usually admire that kind of commitment when we see it in biblical stories.

Abraham leaves his homeland.  Moses walks away from the treasures of Egypt.  Elisha leaves his oxen.  Peter and Andrew leave their nets.  Matthew leaves the tax booth.  Paul eventually counts everything as loss compared with knowing Christ.

We read those stories and understand.  Of course following God required surrender.

Then Jesus turns toward us.  Renounce all that you have.

Now we need qualifications.

That should make us suspicious of ourselves.

The issue may not be that possessions are automatically sinful.  The issue may be that we still believe they are ultimately ours.

My money.  My house.  My career, time, and plans.  My reputation, and abilities.  My comfort.  My future.  My relationships.  My life.

Then Christ says:  Follow Me.

And suddenly we discover how many things we’re willing to follow Him around rather than surrender.

We’ll follow as long as the path doesn’t threaten this.  We’ll obey as long as obedience doesn’t cost that.  We’ll give until generosity becomes uncomfortable.  We’ll serve until service interferes with our plans.  We’ll forgive until forgiveness touches the wound we have decided to keep.  We’ll trust until God leads somewhere we didn’t intend to go.  We’ll call Him Lord while quietly maintaining a list of things over which His lordship isn’t welcome.

That’s where Luke 14:33 becomes dangerous.  Because renouncing something doesn’t necessarily mean throwing it away.

It means we stop treating possession as ultimate ownership.

The Christian may still live in a house.  But whose house is it?

The Christian may still have money.  But whose money is it?

The Christian may have abilities.  Whose abilities?

Opportunities.  Relationships.  Influence.  Time.  Whose?

If Christ is Lord, then stewardship replaces ownership.  That changes everything.

A steward can enjoy what’s been entrusted.  A steward can care for it.  Invest it.  Protect it.  Use it wisely.  But a steward can’t finally say:  “You have no authority over this.  It’s mine.”

That sentence doesn’t fit very well beside “Jesus is Lord.”

Maybe that’s what makes this verse so uncomfortable.

We like surrender in principle.  We even sing about it.  “I surrender all.”

Those words are easy while nothing specific is being requested.

Then something receives a name.

Your schedule, ambition, money, relationship, resentment, retirement plan, status, preferred future, comfort, need to be right, or ability to walk away whenever obedience becomes costly.

Now surrender has weight.  This is why Jesus tells people to count the cost.

He isn’t recruiting admirers.  He’s calling disciples.

An admirer can appreciate Jesus while maintaining ownership of everything else.  A disciple follows.

That doesn’t mean Christians should become reckless.  Stewardship isn’t irresponsibility.  Providing for family matters.  Planning matters.  Saving can be wise.  Property can be used for hospitality.  Money can provide for needs, support ministry, help the poor, employ people, build things, and bless families.

The point isn’t that having something proves you’ve failed to renounce it.  The point is whether having it means Christ is no longer allowed to command it.

That’s a different question.

Perhaps the best way to test ownership is to imagine God asking for something.

What immediately produces:  “Anything but that”?  There may be the boundary.

The rich young ruler discovered one.  He wanted eternal life.  He had kept commandments.  Jesus looked at him and loved him.  Then Jesus touched the possession that possessed him.  Sell what you have.  Give to the poor.  Come, follow Me.

The man walked away sorrowful.  Not because possessions are universally evil.  Because when Christ’s call collided with his wealth, the wealth won.

That’s what ownership looks like when lordship is tested.

We often ask:  “What am I allowed to keep?”

Maybe Jesus is asking:  “What are you unwilling to release?”

Those are very different questions.

The first searches for the boundary of obligation.  The second exposes the boundary of allegiance.

And perhaps that’s why we rush to qualify Luke 14:33.

We know there are legitimate theological distinctions to make.  But legitimate distinctions can become very convenient hiding places.

We can spend so much time proving that Jesus doesn’t require every Christian to become penniless that we never ask whether our money belongs to Him.

We can prove that houses are permissible without ever asking whether ours is available for His purposes.

We can defend family responsibility while using family as an excuse for disobedience.

We can defend rest while protecting comfort.

We can defend wisdom while guarding control.

We can defend boundaries while refusing sacrifice.

The explanation may be correct.  The heart may still be wrong.  That’s the danger.

So don’t rush to the qualifications.  There will be time for them.  First, let Jesus speak.  “Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.”

All.  That word is uncomfortable.  Let it be.

What do you still call yours in a way that excludes God?

What could He not ask for without provoking resistance?

What possession would make you walk away sorrowful?

What plan has quietly become nonnegotiable?

What relationship matters more than obedience?

What comfort have you mistaken for entitlement?

What part of your life still has a sign hanging over it:  Christ may enter everywhere except here.

That’s where this verse belongs.  Not as a command to perform poverty.  As a confrontation with ownership.

Jesus is Lord.  If those words are true, then everything else must eventually be spoken with open hands.

My house.  My money.  My plans.  My time.  My gifts.  My future.  My life.

Entrusted.  Not ultimate.  Not sovereign.  Not beyond His authority.

We often pass Luke 14:33 because we know how severe it sounds.

So we soften it before it reaches us.  This time, don’t.

Read it exactly as Jesus said it.  Let the weight remain.  Count the cost.

Then ask the question beneath all the qualifications:  What do I still possess that I’m unwilling for Christ to own?

Pause there.