I love fast food. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Actually, I don’t really love it; I’m just comfortable with it. It’s quick. It’s easy. And it’s cheap. It’s not good for me, I know. The last time I ate a Big Mac, I checked the calorie count. If you eat just the burger itself, you’re taking in 550 calories. An order of fries adds another 230, and a twelve-ounce Coke brings the total up to over a thousand. A thousand calories – really just a bit more than that – in McDonalds’ Number One menu item! That’s over half my daily need! No wonder Good Morning America’s Dr. Richard Besser calls any food like this a “calorie bomb.” And, to add insult to injury, most of the calories in a fast food diet are empty calories with little to no nutritional value.
If you consider yourself a friend, you would probably advise me to quit eating like this. And the truth is: I know better. I know I shouldn’t eat like this! So, why do I do it? It’s quick. It’s easy. And it’s cheap. In short, it’s convenient, and it doesn’t require any effort on my part. And that’s the way I want it. Even if I know it’s not good for me – and, actually, is really bad for me – that’s the way I prefer it.
And that makes it a lot like modern-day Christianity – at least, in America. Of course, most people even here in the so-called Bible belt don’t even bother with Christianity any more, but for those who do, they increasingly want it quick, easy, and cheap. The number one requirement is that it be convenient. And if it can be entertaining as well, that’s all the better. If the modern world has done anything, it has made us all consumers. And we have come to expect our religion to be like any other product on the market. We want it cleverly packaged, attractively presented, and we don’t want it to take much time or effort. Our friends would probably advise us against expecting much in the way of value from such a spiritual diet. It’s like Michael Horton says, “If convenience, accessibility, and immediate gratification are our criteria, we’ll be left with fast food, cheap wine, and shallow lives” (The Gospel Commission, p. 148).
It’s the prospect of a shallow life that ought to get our attention. We know you can’t learn to play the piano or baseball or even how to cook if you only give it a few minutes of your time every so often, yet we expect Christian discipleship to require nothing more than sitting through church now and again.
As you might expect, Jesus counters our flabby Christianity with the truth. No one wants to wind up in the ER because they’ve settled for high-fat, fast food over the years. And no one wants to stand before the Lord of glory at the end of life and hear him say, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 7:21). Believe me, in that moment there’s nothing we wouldn’t do, no amount of effort we wouldn’t exert, to hear instead, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from before the foundation of the world” (Matt. 25:34).
I don’t want you to hear me saying that Christian discipleship is like some ladder you climb to perfection. It’s not. According to Jesus, many of those who will be surprised that they are not permitted to go into heaven will have expended their lives in apparently religious endeavors. In fact, they will protest: “Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many deeds of power in your name?” And because they thought they could earn heaven by their own efforts, they will hear Jesus say, “I never knew you.”
You and I will enter heaven only by the grace of God. It is grace, in fact, that shows us our helpless condition before God and persuades us that we have nothing with which to commend ourselves to him. This is a blow for many people who consider themselves respectable and presentable before God as they are. But grace shows us that we must come to the end of ourselves and despair of our own ability. And it does this so that it can then drive us to Jesus, who alone can save us. Remember Augustus Toplady’s classic hymn and the line that says, “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling”? That’s the change that grace makes in us: from self-sufficient to completely dependent. We rely solely on Jesus. “On Christ the solid Rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand. I dare not trust the sweetest frame but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.” That is what faith is, and salvation is always and only by grace through faith.
But just as Christianity is not merely “sin management,” so it is not merely “fire insurance” either. Grace changes us, or it is not grace. The twentieth century martyr, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, warned us against what he called cheap grace. He said, “Cheap grace is the justification of sin without the justification of the sinner. Grace alone does everything, they say, and so everything can remain as it was before. ‘All for sin could not atone.’ Well then, let the Christian live like the rest of the world; let him model himself on the world’s standards in every sphere of life, and not presumptuously aspire to live a different life under grace from his old life under sin” (The Cost of Discipleship).
In our text from Matthew today, Jesus tells us – commissions us, actually – to “make disciples.” Surely, this cannot be discipleship, can it? a nominal form of Christianity characterized by self-absorption, the demand that our religion be served to us in bite-sized portions that require no chewing, the expectation that the church – and therefore God – exists to meet my needs rather than change my desires? This cannot be discipleship, can it? A life of “flowery ease” that has no cross in it, no sacrifice, no humbling of ourselves before a holy God, no repentance, no cost? Can it really be quick, easy, and cheap? Or is it “a long obedience in the same direction”? The truth is: there is no instant discipleship, and our passage for today from Matthew 28, makes that clear. If you look at this text, you will see, first of all, a claim, then a command, and finally a promise.
The claim is striking. Jesus says, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” In our day and time, we have come to mistrust those who claim authority for themselves. Ironically, people still claim to like Jesus. And, maybe they do, but they don’t like him as an authority. They admire his example, perhaps even see him as a model of compassion and gentleness, but he must not be allowed to invade their own personal autonomy. One fast food chain has recently scrapped their “Have It Your Way” slogan in favor of “Be Your Way,” but the operative words are still the same: “your way.”
And yet, Jesus claims, “I am the way…” (John 14:6). If our lives are not to be shallow, spiritually malnourished, and, in the end, disappointing, we must acknowledge the authority of Jesus. He must be our King. The Shorter Catechism asks, “How doth Christ execute the office of a king?” And the answer, in part, is: “Christ executeth the office of a king, in subduing us to himself” (Q/A 26). We may be tempted to say, “I’m not sure how I feel about that” – as if our feelings are the governing criterion in matters like this. But it has nothing to do with feelings. Christ is King. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to him. And we will submit to him either now or later, for the day is coming when, “at the name of Jesus, every knee [shall] bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue [shall] confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father” (Phil. 2:10f.).
It is only when we submit to Christ’s authority that we are likely to obey his command. And his command is to “make disciples.” Churches do a lot of things, but I’m not sure how intentional they are in actually “making disciples.” They entertain people – or, at least, try to. They ask people for their time and money. But do they have any idea how to go about forging in them the heart and mind of a disciple.
I believe that it’s important that the church “make disciples;” in fact, I believe it’s the most important thing that we can do. But I also believe that it is important that you and I as individuals become disciples. In fact, Jesus commands it. And if nothing else makes it important, that one fact does.
But Jesus doesn’t just tell us what to do; he tells us how. His method involves what our Presbyterian tradition calls the means of grace, which are Word and Sacrament. We are to be “baptizing” people and “teaching them to obey” Christ. We will never improve on these simple measures. If we are to become disciples, we must take account of our baptism. Baptism is a Sacrament, and, as such, it is a means of grace. Look, baptism isn’t something you do for God! It’s something God does for you. And it’s not just an isolated action taken at some moment in time. It is in force throughout your life. When Martin Luther wanted to comfort himself, he didn’t say, “I was baptized.” He said, “I am baptized.” Your baptism is operative whether you remember it or not. Baptism is not your testimony to God; it is God’s testimony to you. In baptism, God claims you for himself. He marks you with an invisible sign that says that your life is to be lived in submission to his authority.
The second means of grace is the Word, which, of course, is the Bible, and it likewise makes a claim on you. You are, in the words of Thomas Cranmer’s classic prayer, to hear it, to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest it, so that you “may ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life,” which God has given you in your Savior Jesus Christ.
That, then, is the claim – Christ’s authority, which we are to acknowledge – and the commandment – to attend to the means of grace, which are Word and Sacrament. And, finally, there is the promise: “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” We shall not make much ground or gain much traction in the “long obedience” if Christ is not with us. It was Augustine who prayed, “Command what you will,” and then – wisely – continued, “and give what you command.”
I pray that you and I will not settle for some form of casual Christianity. The truth is: It is worthless and brings neither glory to God nor satisfaction to the soul. Dag Hammarskjold once wrote: “I am being driven forward into an unknown land. The pass grows steeper, the air colder and sharper. A wind from my unknown goal stirs the strings of expectation.” My friends, let us take this path; let us go this way.
