I expect most of you know that fear of commitment is endemic in today’s society. It's not surprising. I expect many if not most of us have experienced - or at least witnessed - bad relationships or are the children of divorce ourselves. If you've gotten burnt, you're more than a little afraid of making a mistake. Relationships are messy and difficult and can even be dangerous; the easiest thing to do is avoid any that go deep enough to hurt. The way not to be disappointed is to expect little and promise less. Both men and women are equally wary of commitment. Gun-shy, I suppose you could call it. At any rate, cohabitation pretty much always precedes the proposal, much less the wedding vows, and pre-nuptial agreements are becoming more and more common. You always have to have either an escape hatch or a safety net. The fear of commitment goes even further than marriage, though; it shows up in lower membership in volunteer organizations from churches to Toastmasters, and most alarming of all, the reluctance to have children.
Well, things certainly were different back in Jesus’ day. Yes, divorce was easier than it should have been, but it still wasn’t common in the Jewish community. The fear of commitment showed up on a different plane. You see, there was a lot of religious fervor. Roman rule was pretty oppressive, and the only real hope they had of change was from divine deliverance. There were all kinds of religious movements that people could hook up with, from the Essenes to the Zealots. Think of the Essenes like a cross between a monastery and a cult: people moved into communes and practiced strict religious observances, to try either to be ready for the Messiah or to create the conditions that would bring the Messiah. And think of the Zealots as armed revolutionaries. They all had one thing in common, though: they were looking for the promised redeemer.
But most people weren’t ready for anything that extreme. And besides, not too long before there had been an unsuccessful rebellion under a self-proclaimed prophet named Theudas which had resulted in the deaths of hundreds of people. And besides, there were plenty of people who were doing just fine under the occupation, from un-savory people like tax collectors to reasonably decent sorts like merchants. Why risk what you have for some unproven unknown? What are you, a romantic? Yeah, I now, God promised and all that. But how do you know? Better to wait and see.
Jesus tells a story about someone who “gave a great dinner and invited many. At the time for the dinner he sent his slave to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come; for everything is ready now.’ But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a piece of land, and I must go out and see it; please accept my regrets.’ Another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I am going to try them out; please accept my regrets.’ Another said, ‘I have just been married, and therefore I cannot come.’ [Lk 14:26-22] In the version Matthew tells, some of the people who were invited to the feast actually beat and kill the servants who come to remind them of their obligation. That’s what we see in the passage we are looking at this morning.
Jesus has been trying to wake up the people to the reality of the kingdom of heaven, trying to get them to see beyond their everyday lives to the possibility of something greater, comparing it to a priceless pearl, assuring people of God’s love and faithfulness, wooing them with every possible combination of challenge and patience and tenderness. And yet what happens? One set of people - the Pharisees - hate Jesus because he’s not “religious” enough, and another bunch - King Herod and his crowd - hates him because he’s too holy. Jesus just can’t catch a break. Which is exactly what we see in this passage.
Now, it may be that the Pharisees who come to warn him are among the few who have actually been listening and rethinking their theology. But it’s more likely that they’re using Herod’s threat as an additional lever to get Jesus to shut up and move on. And he does move on. He knows when he's not wanted. He's not interested in winning a popularity contest, he's interested in moving the people in a different direction. Jesus wants to be loved for the right reasons.
But Jesus makes it clear that he’s not moving on under pressure, but according to a very clear timetable. He shrugs off the threat from Herod, calling him a fox, a sly and crafty animal but not really terribly dangerous. He lets the Pharisees know that he’s not about to be intimidated. He is going to finish the work God has set for him to do, regardless of who’s saying what, regardless of the sniping and criticism and the dismal showing in the polls. And then Jesus tells them that far from being intimidated into dropping out of the race or at least toning down his rhetoric, he will soon be going right up to Jerusalem, right up to the center of established religious and political power, and that nothing they can do will stop him.
But notice his tone. He’s not angry or confrontational or even threatening, although he’s certainly warned his listeners often enough that the time is short and some day the window of opportunity he’s offering them will be closed. No, Jesus is as grieved and disappointed as a rejected lover. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem,” he says, “how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” [Lk 13:34]
Jerusalem is the city of God, a real city filled with real people who in a few short weeks would condemn Jesus to the worst death imaginable. They don’t just ignore him and turn their back on him, they revile him, and mock him, and kill him. Anything at all to keep him quiet. And of course Jesus knows exactly what they are like, exactly what he is getting into. Jerusalem is dangerous, “the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it.”
But Jerusalem is also a metaphor, a way of talking about all God’s people in every age, the ones God has lavished his love and provision on but who don’t hear him be-cause they’re too busy or too self-satisfied or too suspicious of Jesus’ motives or credentials. And eventually, if Jesus doesn’t shut up, they too will be forced to kill him - to protect their interests, or maybe to act out their terrible disappointment at another betrayal of their hopes - because he wasn't what they expected, even if their expectations were wrong.
So this text is a message to us, as well. Just as God tried to woo back the people of Israel in Old Testament times with second and third and fourth chances, before eventually letting them get conquered by their neighbors or finally sent off into exile, Jesus also gives his people second and third and fourth chances. The more he calls us to repentance and commitment, though, the more strident and hostile come the voices arrayed against him. Neither the call to a love relationship nor the warning of danger can get through.
Most people think they can avoid danger by closing their ears to God and refusing to examine their lives and turn around. That’s what the majority of Jesus’ hearers did: they turned their back on his message. And they did avoid one particular kind of danger: they avoided the condemnation of their peers and persecution by the authorities. They didn't believe that what they had was temporary and untrustworthy. And so, to mix a metaphor, they bet on the wrong horse. One generation after they put Jesus to death the city of Jerusalem, the temple, and the nation were all destroyed. The only thing remaining of Herod’s magnificent work today is the Wailing Wall.
Prophets live dangerously, but people who listen to the prophets live dangerously as well. Because those same people who turned on Jesus will also turn on his followers. “If the world hates you,” Jesus warned his disciples the night before he died, “be aware that it hated me before it hated you. If you belonged to the world, the world would love you as its own. Because you do not belong to the world, but I have chosen you out of the world-- therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you, ‘Servants are not greater than their master.’ If they persecuted me, they will persecute you.” [Jn 15:18-20]
There is no middle ground. For a long time it has been possible to straddle the fence, to pay lip service to both worlds and to stay under the radar. But Jesus warns us that there will come a time when if you haven’t made your decision it will be made for you, because the door will be shut. As Paul wrote to the church in Philippi, “Brothers and sisters ... many live as enemies of the cross of Christ; I have often told you of them ... Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.. [Phil 3:17-18]
Many people are intrigued by the promises of Jesus, perhaps even teetering on the edge of saying yes to the patient lover, but are afraid of commitment, or can’t believe he really is who he claimed to be, or want to wait for a better time when life is less chaotic and demanding, or when their heads are more together, or for some other un-known condition to be met. Fear of commitment is really fear of life. What is life for if not for relationships? If you do not take a risk and invest yourself, you will get nothing in return. But your return will depend on what you sign up for. Of course you have to take your choice seriously. Verify the claims, check the credentials, read the fine print. Jesus can stand up under scrutiny, and the ROI is eternal life. But his offer doesn’t last forever. The door will close.
But the question is really very simple. Would you rather live with God, or without him? Close your eyes, and settle for what you have now, or open them, and choose what you can have forever.
“See, your house is left to you. . . . you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’” [v. 35]
