Luke 1711–19 ESV – Bible Gateway

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This passage continues Jesus’ travel narrative as he passes through Samaria onto Jerusalem. When he enters a village, ten lepers shout out at him from a distance. As we learn, one of these men is a Samaritan. There is an interesting dynamic here, as the Navarre commentary references. “There was no love lost between Jews and Samaritans (cf. Jn 4:9), but shared pain, in the case of these lepers, overcame racial antipathy.”[1] When pain or sin brings us low, we reevaluate our assumptions. So often, these assumptions are mostly made up of what separates us from others. Characteristics that are of no real importance are emphasized over our common humanity. Even when there are serious theological disputes, this should not prevent us from seeing others as persons. Pain can sharpen our awareness not only of our own humanity but look beyond ourselves to see others more fully.

It seems likely that this group of lepers had heard stories about Jesus, the miracle worker. That he was something more than those who claimed to be able to do the same.

Peter Kreeft puts this succinctly:

Although only this one of the ten lepers added praise and gratitude to faith, all ten lepers were healed by their faith in Jesus. That faith was shown when they met Jesus’ test. Jesus did not heal them then and there, as soon as they asked (also in a loud voice—the text says they “raised their voices”) “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” The fact that they come to Jesus for a healing expresses one level of faith. The fact that they call him “Master” expresses a higher level of faith. But the fact that they all obey him and go off to show themselves to the priests who will certify that they are cleansed—the fact that they do that before they are cleansed; the fact that it is only on the way to the priests that they receive the miracle—that shows that their faith was on a still higher level. They trusted Jesus so much that they believed they were to be healed, and acted as if they were healed, even before it happened.[2]

The leper’s response is amazing in that they had a level of faith that did not demand an instant cure and proof that something momentous had happened in this encounter. They trusted in him and acted as if they had already been healed.

John Bergsma notes the reason that Jesus gave the command he did to them:

In this, we note the fact that Jesus upholds the written law of God and the authority structure of the Old Covenant, while it stands. Jesus was well aware of corruption in the priesthood, and several chapters earlier (Luke 10), he told a story of a priest and Levite who just “passed by on the other side” (v. 31, 32; RSV2CE). Despite that, the written word of God by Moses had a procedure for the cleansing of leprosy, and Jesus follows it. There is a lesson here. Jesus understands authority and authority structures. Individuals may be corrupt, but that doesn’t justify anarchy in society or in the Church.[3]

We are also a long way off from Jesus when we sin and stand at a distance from him. He hears us when we shout in our pain and bids us draw closer to him. For us, he does this through the Church and the sacraments. There are multiple levels of healing that can occur when we do so.

This story in Luke goes on to illustrate a distinction between the leper from Samaria and the other nine.

Brant Pitre points out a couple of notable differences in their reactions:

And so what happens is one of the ten lepers, who happens to be a Samaritan, realizes that the person he needs to thank for being cleansed is Jesus of Nazareth. So he turns back and he goes to Jesus. Notice what he does. He praises God—literally glorifies God—and gives thanks to Jesus by falling at his feet.
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He does something kind of striking, he falls on his face. In other words, he gets prostrate before Jesus. That’s a strange thing to do either for a Jew or a Samaritan. Because by the first century AD, Samaritans—like the Jews—are monotheists. They only believe in one God. They actually have accepted the five books of Moses as Scripture and they worship the One God in their temple at Mount Gerizim. And so Samaritans, just like Jews, they’re not like pagans. They don’t fall prostrate before other human beings and take on a posture of worship to another human being.[4]

The Venerable Bede comments on this passage:

He fell upon his face, because he blushes with shame when he remembers the evils he had committed. And he is commanded to rise and walk, because he who, knowing his own weakness, lies lowly on the ground, is led to advance by the consolation of the divine word to mighty deeds. But if faith made him whole, who hurried himself back to give thanks, therefore does unbelief destroy those who have neglected to give glory to God for mercies received. Wherefore that we ought to increase our faith by humility, as it is declared in the former parable, so in this is it exemplified in the actions themselves. [5]

This action of one leper is an echo of the healing of another leper.

The miracle thus recalls Elisha’s healing of Naaman the Syrian (4:27), who likewise was cleansed from a distance after obeying the command of the “prophet in Samaria” to “go” (2 Kings 5:3, 9–14). … Similarly, Naaman had returned and confessed the true God (2 Kings 5:15). Jesus is thus a prophet like Elisha. Moreover, the man also thanked (Greek eucharisteō) Jesus: glorifying God and thanking Jesus are now linked together. In doing so, he literally fell “on his face” (RSV)—like the earlier leper (Luke 5:12)—before Jesus.[6]

The other lepers perceived Jesus as a prophet, an instrument of God. They had turned to God for healing and received it. They had the virtues of faith and hope. Still, they were standoffish in their relationship with God. God had always intended a personal relationship with his people, but the Israelites balked at this, preferring mediators like Moses to go up to the mountain to interact with him. The leper from Samaria perceives something more and provides worship and glory to God. He is moved to love God directly in the personhood of Jesus. The others were thankful to God in a generic sense, this leper is moved to the theological virtue of charity and loves God directly.

Jesus says to him, “Rise and go your way; your faith has made you well.” This leper thus receives even greater healing. Jesus had already noted that the ten were cleansed, indicating the curing of leprosy. The greater cleansing is to be freed of our sins.

It is not indicated that the Samaritan leper goes on to fulfill Jesus’ command to show himself to the priests. Perhaps he perceived, in some way, that Jesus was the true high priest and that by returning to him, he had done as Jesus ordered. Still, the parallel for us is that when we have sinned gravely, we can go directly to Jesus and make a perfect act of contrition and be forgiven, but even then must avail ourselves of the Sacrament of Reconciliation as soon as we are able.

Sources

• Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers, Volume 3: St. Luke – Verbum
  Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)  ↩
2. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩
3. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
4. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre  ↩
5. Venerable, Presbyter and Monk of Yarrow, A.D. 700. Catena Aurea: Commentary on the Four Gospels, Collected out of the Works of the Fathers: St. Luke  ↩
6. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩

Luke 16:1–13 ESV – Bible Gateway

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This passage from the Gospel of Luke has had a range of intepretations historically and seemingly more so in recent times. Some efforts, it seems to me, try to explain away instead of explain what seems to be Jesus praising the actions of the unjust steward. Brant Pitre often gives a reminder that Jesus’ parables often include a twist. Something unexpected to make a point. This parable likely has a double twist or an added stinger.

To start with let’s look at the historical context as pointed out by John Bergsma:

The role of steward in a large household was one of great responsibility but also one of wealth and prestige. The job went to the master’s most trusted male slave. As a result, enterprising young freemen in the Roman empire sometimes sold themselves as slaves to wealthy men in order to become stewards of their households.[1]

There are some interesting connections with some of the other parables in Luke as Brant Pitre writes:

… the Greek word for wasting, diaskorpizō, is the same word used of the prodigal son in Luke 15, who went off and wasted his father’s property. In fact, that’s the word that gets translated as “prodigal” in many of the older translations, so that’s why—following Fr. Anthony Giambrone, he’s a Catholic Dominican biblical scholar—he calls this the parable of the prodigal steward, because just like you had a prodigal son, here you have a prodigal steward, who’s wasting not his father’s money, but his master’s money … Now remember here that the Master’s money—the word for Master in Greek is kyrios—so he’s stealing from the lord, it’s the same word for lord.[2]

We can, to an extent, imagine the situation the steward finds himself in. The steward has been doing well for himself by mismanaging his master’s money purposely to his own enrichment. He was not living a life of hardship of day-to-day laboring continuosly seeking employment. He is too prideful to work as a common laborer and will continue on the same path that got him into trouble in the first place.

He’s not suited to any other way of making a living, and as a slave, he has no estate of his own. He’s been used to socializing with his master’s peers, although he is not truly their social or legal equals.[1]

In his panic, he plots what he can do to ingratiate himself with others so that he will have an opportunity to maintain his current lifestyle. There is no reflection on how his own dishonesty has led him to this point. Deciding to further defraud his master by reducing the debt owed by his master’s debtors. These debtors know what is going on and are willing to take advantage of this opportunity, but they also now know the dishonesty of the steward. The steward is fooling himself that he will find employment with them now that they know his corruption.

Some interpretations of this passage infer that the steward was only forgoing his own commission in changing these debts. This is just not supported by the text, especially considering that there are different percentages of reductions for the two debtors missing[3]. This explanation tries to explain Jesus’ praise of the steward’s actions in verses 16:8–9. Verse 8 can be easily understood as grudgingly acknowledging the steward’s cunning but not the action. Jesus says elsewhere, “be shrewd as serpents and simple as doves” (Matt 10:16). An interesting aspect regarding this verse is that they are not expressions found in the Old Testament, but are found in the Dead Sea Scrolls. Brant Pitre comments:

“The sons of this world” are the ones who belong to this fallen world, or this sinful world. “The sons of light” are those who are destined to dwell in the new creation, or the “world to come.”[2]

It is 16:9, which gives us an added stinger that has been difficult to understand. “And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings.”

Just what is going on here? I think that both the literal and mystical sense of this parable points to seeing ourselves as the unjust steward. Everything we have has been given us by God, from our very existence to all the graces he has showered us with. Despite this, we often think only of ourselves and how we can use our talents to seek material pleasures. Even when we make attempts to acknowledge our role in stewardship of all he has given us, “We are unprofitable servants: we have done that which was our duty to do. (Luke 17:10)” All that God has given us does not belong to us, and we are meant to use those graces in the service of others. That we can pay down the debt of other people through intercessory prayer and using these gifts in the service to others. How much effort do we put into the salvation of souls and preaching the Gospel? Or is our cunning employed elsewhere? “A disciple who is a prudent steward will paradoxically give away wealth and remit debts, seemingly doing what the dishonest steward did but in reality enacting Jesus’ jubilee program.[3]”

Peter Kreeft writes about this proper ordering:

He tells us and shows us, by his example, how to be realistic, how to practice realism, and how to live in reality. In reality, there are only three levels, three radically different kinds of reality. There is God, who is infinitely greater and better than people or things. And there are people, made in God’s image, who are infinitely greater than things as well as infinitely less great than God. And there are things, all the things money can buy, both goods and services, which are good but not nearly as good as God or as great as people. So, in order to practice realism, in order to live in real reality and not in the false reality that we dream, in order to be sane, we must worship God, love people, and use things. First, we must adore and worship God, not ourselves or each other or things. Second, we must love people and use things, not love things and use people. Third, we must use things, as enterprisingly and cleverly and responsibly as we can, as means to those two infinitely more important ends. … That is living in reality; that is being sane. In other words, sanity and sanctity are identical.[4]

John Bergsma echoes this:

This is perhaps the key teaching of this entire reading. The world encourages an attitude in which we use people to gain things. Jesus reverses this: use things to gain people. If spending money and giving goods can open others to friendship with the Church and ultimately Christ himself, then spend the money, give the goods.[1]

There is some question as to how to consider verses 10–13 and how they are related to the Parable of the Unjust Steward.

… these verses probably aren’t meant to explain the parable that just preceded. Rather, they are a series of general maxims or teachings—proverbs, you might say—of Jesus about wealth, that are linked by catchword and theme to what precedes it.

We often try to divide our attention, trying to serve both God and mammon. We think we are generous when we tithe ten percent, or much less, of our attention to God. This is not the case for the Catholic both/and. I know it is a constant temptation to divide my attention thus and forget what Joshua said: “But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. (Jos 24:15)”

Catechism §2424 A theory that makes profit the exclusive norm and ultimate end of economic activity is morally unacceptable. The disordered desire for money cannot but produce perverse effects. It is one of the causes of the many conflicts which disturb the social order.

A system that “subordinates the basic rights of individuals and of groups to the collective organization of production” is contrary to human dignity. Every practice that reduces persons to nothing more than a means of profit enslaves man, leads to idolizing money, and contributes to the spread of atheism. “You cannot serve God and mammon.”

Sources

• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible꞉ The New Testament
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
2. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre  ↩
3. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩
4. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩

Luke 15:1–32 ESV – Bible Gateway

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My first reaction on reading this passage again was to think what dolts the Pharisees were for not thinking they were sinners also. This was because I saw this in light of my modern understanding of the term. Brant Pitre points out:

But that’s not what the word “sinners” means in the gospel. In the gospels, when you hear them talk about sinners, it’s a technical expression. It refers to people who were violating the Law of Moses, who were violating the Torah, and they were doing it in a public way and in a grave way. So people whose sins were both public and grave. [1]

Tax Collectors also routinely extorted money from people, and so the term “Tax collector and sinners” was meant to be a term related to those violating the Law of Moses. Where the Pharisees erred was in mercy in seeing them as hopeless causes and not as their neighbors needing their prayer and help.

They basically complain or grumble (see 5:30; 19:7), just like Israel’s wilderness generation who grumbled against God and Moses (Exod 15:24; 16:7).

Jesus defends his outreach to sinners with a parable—probably referring to all three “lost and found” parables in Luke 15. The lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son correspond to the tax collectors and sinners. The man with the sheep, the woman with the coins, and the father with the two sons are used to describe how God reaches out to such sinners through Jesus’ ministry. Besides the image of finding something or someone lost (15:4, 8, 24, 32), what unites the three parables is the resulting joy (15:5–7, 9–10, 22–24, 32).[2]

One aspect of the parable of the lost sheep is that it sets up a situation so common that normally no attention would be paid to it. A sheep wandering off from the flock was such a common occurrence in the daily life of a shepherd. It is quite a disproportionate response to celebrate the return of one such loss. It is also a common occurrence in life for us to also to wander off from the community that sustains us.

St Gregory the Great’s comments:

“He put the sheep on his shoulders because, on taking on human nature, he burdened himself with our sins”[3]

The following parable of the lost coin is also a common occurrence. The silver coin was a drachma, the value of a denarius, and approximately the value of a day’s work for an agricultural worker.[4] Again, a seeming overaction to run to the neighbors to rejoice about finding it.

Another aspect of the second parable is one John Bergsma brings up:

Someone else is rejoicing in front of the angels. Who is that? God himself. But in keeping with Jewish piety, Jesus uses circumlocutions to speak of the divine rejoicing.[5]

Now we come to what is commonly called the Parable of the Prodigal Son, and there has been plenty of homilies and commentaries and why the common title might not be the best. As Brant Pitre references, “whatever you call the parable has an effect on the way you interpret it because it puts a certain emphasis somewhere.”[6] This is true, and what you read can be narrowed by the interpretive lens you use. Others have come up with titles that emphasize the merciful father or the two sons. Brant Pitre proposes “The Parable of the Lost Son” because it is the last of three parables emphasizing this point, and the language of lost is used in the parable itself. I like the both/and approach here in that all of these titles accurately emphasize parts of this complex parable.

First off, looking at the issue of inheritance, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz, in his commentary, writes:

An inheritance was typically distributed after death (Num 27:8–11), but it was possible, though not advised, to do so while a person was still alive (Sir 33:20–24). However, the younger son takes the initiative here with his demand: give me my share. For him, the father might as well be dead. Under no obligation and despite the shame incurred, the father nonetheless complies out of respect for the younger son’s free decision. Since the firstborn son would receive a double portion (Deut 21:17), the younger son apparently received a third of the property. The remaining two-thirds is destined for the older son, so the father does not exaggerate when he later says, “Everything I have is yours” (Luke 15:31).[2]

The son was willing to sunder his relationship with his father and go off to a far country and live a life of the flesh. To show no concern for his relationships with his family and to be like the Epicureans, who argued that pleasure was the chief good in life. A version of YOLO, ’You Only Live Once.“ As we would expect, this did not go well for him to live a life of dissipation. When he hits rock bottom, He decides that he will arise and return to the father. The repeating of arise or ”get up“ is ”one of the verbs used for Jesus’ resurrection (18:33; 24:7, 46). Thus, by his repentance, the “dead” son is already coming “to life again” (15:24, 32).”[2] He sees the effects of his sin as exile and that it is leading him into despair. He has descended to live as a beast, even envying the very food he feeds the pigs.

This son’s motive to return to the father is still quite imperfect. He was motivated primarily to place himself in a better position as he realized his previous circumstances were materially better. On his way, he is practicing his speech in how he would be able to reconcile with his father. Still, sin has taught him some humility as he is not just blaming the famine for being brought low. Willing to work as a hired worker without any entitlement.

That he had been in a far-off country was no deterrent to his father, who still saw him when he was a long way off. He allows his son to start his apology but quickly moves into celebration mode. He knows his son is not perfectly contrite, but just like with us, the Father takes any movement towards contrition and will give us the grace to make that deeper. Just as in confession, sorrow for sin, even on the level of the fear of hell, is enough to be forgiven. The father’s reaction seems to be overblown, yet this is the level of mercy with which we are all treated. In the wiping away of sin, we also come to life again.

The father’s gifts have many interpretations, and this is a sampling from the Church Fathers.

(St. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, A.D. 374) He rightly returns to himself, because he departed from himself. For he who returns to God restores himself to himself, and he who departs from Christ rejects himself from himself.

(St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, A.D. 396). (de Quæst. Ev. l. ii. q. 33.) Or the best robe is the dignity which Adam lost; the servants who bring it are the preachers of reconciliation.

(ut sup.) Or the ring on the hand is a pledge of the Holy Spirit, because of the participation of grace, which is well signified by the finger.

(St. Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan, A.D. 374). Or the robe is the cloke of wisdom, by which the Apostle covers the nakedness of the body. But he received the best wisdom; for there is one wisdom which knew not the mystery. The ring is the seal of our unfeigned faith, and the impression of truth; concerning which it follows, And put a ring on his hand.

If the parable had ended here, it would have already seemed complete and not as challenging. Jesus then tells of the older son working in the field and hears the celebration. Instead of the joy of seeing his younger brother again, he is filled with envy thinking he was being treated unjustly. He is not willing to acknowledge any relationship with his lost brother. He has followed all the rules and been obedient. Perhaps rather sterile obedience to follow the rules because that was what was expected and not one out of love. Possibly jealousy of the previous lifestyle of his brother.

The father reassures him that everything he has is also his. The parable ends, and we are left wondering about the elder son’s reaction to this. This ties it back to how Jesus was replying to the Pharisees and scribes with the themed parables. How to view this was left to the original audience and for us. It was meant as a challenge when we are also small-hearted and can only see someone’s previous sins. When we are proud of the rules, we keep and have a similar merciless attitude towards others.

At what level do we adopt the father’s generosity?

From John Bergsma’s commentary:

Living in the “new creation” of Christ means operating by the father’s “logic” of love, forgiveness, and familial communion, both in our relationship to God and our relationships with others, both with those who seek reconciliation with us (the younger son) and with those who do not want reconciliation (the older son).[7]

This parable on a meta-level involves a history of the Tribes of Israel where the younger son is the northern kingdom which had split off and quickly started to worship other gods. “The “older son” is Judah (the oldest patriarch not cursed by his father Jacob), the head of the southern kingdom of Judah, which to external appearances was more faithful to the LORD and still lived in the land of Judea, surrounding Jerusalem and the Temple (the “house of the Father”). [7]” The Church Fathers would go on to interpret the younger son as the gentiles, and the oldest as Israel—an interpretive scheme fitting other parables Jesus taught.

If we tie up the parables together, one of the themes we see is the proactive approach to finding those who are lost. The shepherd does not wait for the lost sheep to return, he goes out to find it. The woman does not just wait for the lost coin to hopefully show up later, she actively searches her house. The father does not just write off the lost son. He is actively waiting and hoping for his return. He sees his son returning while he is still a long way off. He has prepared himself for his return by not dwelling on the actual injustice in the way he was treated by him. He receives him with mercy because his heart is already filled with love for him. Instead of a stiff rebuke, he also him refreshments. We can gripe about what is lost, or we can actively work to resolve the situation. St. Monica knew this and followed her son around the ancient world and prayed for him instead of staying home and griping about what an undutiful son he was.

The last parable wraps us telling about the older brother’s reaction.

Others of us at Mass are the older brother. We think we are good, not in need of forgiveness, and God owes us something. We resent riff-raff hanging around, and in particular, we don’t want them in our churches or other places where we hang out. We older brothers have no joy in our lives because we really aren’t motivated by love, and we don’t understand the God of love and joy. We need conversion as much as the younger son. We need to recognize “younger sons” as siblings, as family members, and share God’s joy at their repentance and reconciliation. God is not a businessman, rewarding service in a tit-for-tat or quid pro quo manner. God is a father, who wants all his children to share his love and joy.[5]

Prominently these parables show us that Jesus is not satisfied with only the general salvation of souls. It is not a numbers game with him where he is satisfied by some arbitrary number of those saved. That there is an intense love for each and every one of us. If we let him, we can see the view from his shoulder as he carries us home.

As Peter Kreeft comments:

The Church is a family, and a very large family at that. Yet no matter how many good sheep are safe at home in the family, if there is just one lost sheep, ninety-nine saved is too few for the good shepherd and just one lost sheep is too many. Mother Teresa was asked why she didn’t take grants from governments and institutions for her work, and she replied that her work was to do what Jesus did, and Jesus always did his work “one person at a time.”[8]

Lastly, from the Catechism:

§1439 _The process of conversion and repentance_ was described by Jesus in the parable of the prodigal son, the center of which is the merciful father: the fascination of illusory freedom, the abandonment of the father’s house; the extreme misery in which the son finds himself after squandering his fortune; his deep humiliation at finding himself obliged to feed swine, and still worse, at wanting to feed on the husks the pigs ate; his reflection on all he has lost; his repentance and decision to declare himself guilty before his father; the journey back; the father’s generous welcome; the father’s joy—all these are characteristic of the process of conversion. The beautiful robe, the ring, and the festive banquet are symbols of that new life—pure, worthy, and joyful—of anyone who returns to God and to the bosom of his family, which is the Church. Only the heart of Christ who knows the depths of his Father’s love could reveal to us the abyss of his mercy in so simple and beautiful a way.

Sources

• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)
• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd Edition
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time (Year C)  ↩
2. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩
3. In Evangelia homiliae, 2, 14  ↩
4. Navarre, Saint Luke’s Gospel (2005)  ↩
5. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time  ↩
6. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre, The Fourth Sunday of Lent (Year C)  ↩
7. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma, The Fourth Sunday of Lent  ↩
8. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C, The Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time  ↩

Luke 14:25–33 ESV – Bible Gateway

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In today’s Gospel, we see the cost of discipleship. In his introduction to today’s reading, John Bergsma brings up Bonhoeffer’s most famous work, a meditation on the Sermon on the Mount entitled (in English) The Cost of Discipleship[1]. That Bonhoeffer criticized “easy-believism” as “cheap grace”:

Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession… . Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ.

Costly grace confronts us as a gracious call to follow Jesus, it comes as a word of forgiveness to the broken spirit and the contrite heart. Grace is costly because it compels a man to submit to the yoke of Christ and follow him; it is grace because Jesus says: “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”[2]

Large crowds are accompanying Jesus at this point in his final journey to Jerusalem. These people essentially saw Jesus as a miracle worker and wanted these signs and wonders to fix problems in their own lives. While modern Christians now have a more theologically astute understanding of who Jesus is, we share this essential attitude with these crowds. We also must be reminded of the cost of discipleship and the priority of Christ in our life.

Jesus explains the radical commitment required of those who follow him. Three times he sets forth a condition without which a person, he says, cannot be my disciple (14:26, 27, 33). First, Jesus demands a commitment greater than one’s attachment to family members: parents, wife, children, and siblings (see 14:20; 18:29–30)[3]

There are a couple of aspects to the language Jesus is using here. First, he uses rabbinical hyperbole to make a point, “a dramatic overstatement that attracts attention and provokes thought.”[2] The word he uses translated into Greek does translate as hate. Used here primarily, it is used to shock and contrast, but the word for hate in scripture has a semantic range as:

An idiomatic term meaning “to love less” (Gen 29:31–33; Mal 1:2–3). Not even the sacredness of family loyalty should outweigh our commitment to Christ, since we must be willing to abandon even close relationships to follow him (Mt 10:37).[4]

We see this range, such as in Genesis 29, where it says, “Leah was hated,” which means that he loved Rachel more than Leah; he preferred Rachel to Leah. We also see, “elsewhere Jesus criticizes the Pharisees for using a loophole in the law to justify not caring for their parents (Mark 7:11), and Paul rebukes Christians who do not care for their own family (1 Tim 5:8).”[2]

We also see this point made in Matthew 10:37:

He who loves father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me. He who loves son or daughter more than me, is not worthy of me. And he who does not take his cross and follow me is not worthy of me.

While his audience would have understood some of these distinctions, what is shocking is that Jesus is revealing to them his divinity. As Brant Pitre references, “Jesus is divine. He’s making divine demands. He’s making demands that only God himself could make of an Israelite audience.”[3]

Jesus continues to shock them by telling them that discipleship will involve carrying his cross. We have gotten used to this imagery and likely have spiritually reduced the meaning. For his audience, crucifixion was a cursed death where you were stripped of all dignity and put on display. To follow Jesus, we also must be stripped of our pride and attachment to the things of the world.

St. John of the Cross in the Ascent of Mount Carmel writes:

“The doctrine that the Son of God came to teach was contempt for all things in order to receive as a reward the Spirit of God in himself. For, as long as the soul does not reject all things, it has no capacity to receive the Spirit of God in pure transformation”[5]

The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible references that:

Discipleship is a serious commitment. It is not about testing the waters or holding ourselves back from God (9:62). A complete surrender to Christ is necessary to complete the tasks of Christian living[4]

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Before mentioning the third condition (14:33), Jesus supports his teaching with two short parables. Most interpreters apply them to his disciples. Because of the commitment involved in following Jesus, potential disciples, according to both parables, should first sit down to deliberate. Following Jesus is not a decision to be made lightly.[6]

The Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture for the Gospel of Luke continues:

In the first parable, about building a tower, the issue is the cost involved. One must have enough financial resources to bring the project to completion, or else face mockery from onlookers. The message of this parable seems to support most closely the third condition of discipleship mentioned in this passage (v. 33), which similarly involves financial resources: deliberation is required before giving up one’s possessions to follow Jesus.

In the second parable, about a king marching into battle against another king, the issue is the number of troops needed to win. The stakes are higher than in the first parable since one’s life is on the line in the decision whether to fight or to seek terms of peace (19:42, same Greek phrase as here). The message of this parable especially recalls the first condition of discipleship (14:26), in which Jesus calls his disciples to love him even more than their own lives.

In this extract from the Gospel, Jesus continues that discipleship requires total renunciation. We don’t get to decide what we want to renounce for our convenience. We don’t get to set the terms. We must strive to know God’s will and use prudence to live that out in our lives. Jesus doesn’t want just part of us; he wants the fullness of ourselves. St. Thérèse of Lisieux said, “You cannot be half a saint. You must be a whole saint or no saint at all.”

Peter Kreeft puts this succinctly:

If we preach Jesus, if we say we are Christians, that’s the deal. Give him everything. Trust him with everything. Your life, your death, your sanity, your happiness, your hope both for this life and for the next, your sex life, your financial life, your home life, your recreational life, your body, your mind, your soul, your feelings, your freedom, your rights, your time, your past, your future, your present. Give it to him now, with no conditions, no strings attached, no footnotes or fine print. Say and mean, “Thy will be done,” and then don’t duck. [7]

Sources and References

• The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C – John Bergsma
• Catholic Productions, Commentaries by Brant Pitre
• The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible꞉ The New Testament
• The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz
• Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C
• Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

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1. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship (New York: Touchstone, 1995), 45.  ↩
2. The Word of the Lord: Reflections on the Sunday Mass Readings for Year C, John Bergsma  ↩
3. Catholic Productions, Brant Pitre  ↩
4. Ignatius Catholic Study Bible: New Testament  ↩
5. St John of the Cross, Ascent of Mount Carmel, book 1, chap. 5, 2.  ↩
6. The Gospel of Luke, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture, Rev. Pablo T. Gadenz  ↩
7. Peter Kreeft, Food for the Soul: Reflections on the Mass Readings Year C  ↩