Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Philemon 1-20
Luke 14:25-33
Psalm 1
Imagine a cartoon drawing of a little boy holding a stick over his shoulder, and near the end of that stick hangs a tied up red bandana. Chances are you will readily understand that the cartoon is a depiction of a young child running away from home and, wrapped up in that red bandana, is everything the child will need for his arduous journey.
I remember a time I was one of those runaway children, however I don't recall that I was wise enough to think I needed anything more than the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. I stopped to pluck a long brittle weed at the side of the road and stuck the green soft part of it between my teeth, the way the big guys did when they were on their way to wherever big guys go.
My heart was heavy as I walked away - purposely walked away from my home, away from parents and siblings, away from the chaos of family squabbling.
It was near the end of summer, late in the afternoon, almost late enough to be called early evening. The fading sun was just above the treetops as I walked slowly up the gravel road, past the gravel pit and beyond the dirt road that led to the city dump. It was only a quarter of a mile to the paved highway but to a small child it was a long and lonely way.
I turned right onto the paved road leading west away from town, into unfamiliar territory - unfamiliar in the sense that I had never walked that stretch of highway before, and certainly never alone. I had ridden over it many times in the safety of the family car, but this was much different. Each small pebble beside the road was something I had never seen before; each shrub along the road was something I had never been this close to before.
I chewed on the long, brittle weed that hung from my mouth and counted every step I took down the road leading me off to wherever it was I going. I did not yet know that I had not "planned" for this trip for I was living only "in the moment" as young children are prone to do.
As I reached the Catholic cemetery, about a mile or two west of town, I began to feel uneasy, and shadows began moving ominously about. From the corner of my right eye I watched the gravestones stretch and shrink and stretch again. Rays of dusky light outlined sharp edges of letters boldly chiseled on granite monuments.
It's going to be okay, I assured myself. Everything is going to be okay. I hummed to nervously to myself. Soon I would be past the cemetery and I would continue on my way - on my way to wherever I was going.
The shadows grew larger and darker and I began to realize that it would soon be dark and I would have no place to sleep except behind a gravestone, out of sight of passing strangers who might mean me harm.
Sleep behind a gravestone? That did it! My heart began to pound and I was suddenly overcome with panic. I turned around, spit the long weed to the ground and ran, crying, all the way home.
I charged up the back stairs and burst into the kitchen. No one was there to greet me or yell at me. Everyone was busy in their own activities and no one even knew I had been gone.
It took a lot of years to appreciate the fact that running away from home is serious business. You ought to have a plan; you ought to know the cost of running away before you go so you don't get in over your head and find out you're not up to the task.
Today's Gospel according to Luke, chapter 14, verses 26-33 gives a stark example of the importance of estimating the cost of following Jesus before we romp off after him, as brave as a child on a wilderness campout in the back yard; before we lay ourselves down to sleep only steps away from the back door nearest the downstairs bathroom.
"Whoever comes to me", Jesus says, "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."
It is the harshness of Jesus' words that reminded me of the time I ran away. It is the realization of the hopelessness I faced at that time when I didn't even know enough to question where I was going and why. Now, with many years of retrospect, I know that if I had really been successful at running away from home, the consequence would be that I would never see my mother and father or my siblings again.
For a while I thought that the only reason a person would have to choose never to see their family again would be because they hated them. The fact of the matter is I did not hate them, and neither did I have a bigger calling that would justify abandoning my entire family, certainly not just so I could sleep behind a gravestone in the Catholic cemetery. I did not estimate the cost of what I was doing or the value of my actions.
I reached a point in my runaway story where I walked away from the computer and took a slow ride on my electric scooter around my rural neighborhood. I plucked a long green weed from the roadside and stuck it between my teeth. I wanted to see if I could re-experience the feelings of running away, of having no plan of where I was going. Would I feel, again, the loneliness of going nowhere?
I noticed pathways made by the wildlife into the undergrowth of the wooded plains. I listened to the birds singing and was surprised to find newly built homes on side streets I had never ridden down before. I saw a turtle sitting on a rock in the Little Elk as it slurped it's way around obstacles on its way to join the waters of the mighty Mississippi River. I felt assured the precious flow of water would not stagnate and it would make its way to the Gulf of Mexico, to return to us again some day as living rain.
I rode slowly, drinking with my eyes. This time I had a plan. First I would smell the flowers and catch a glimpse of the orange and white cat crouched in the tall blades of grass, watching me. And when I had seen what was there to see, I planned on going home again.
It was good to get in touch with the "yesterdays" of my life and find some small sense of what Jesus is asking us all to do. When He tells us to "hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters…", he is not using the word "hate" in the sense that we normally think of it. His language was strong because we don't always listen when He talks gently. The disciples just didn't "get it" and neither do we most of the time.
The Kingdom that is offered to us comes with a cost, a cost that is not for the faint hearted. It must be measured and estimated with careful deliberation so we don't get half way there and turn around in fright, but to go forward with the Peace of God in our hearts. That cost, simply put, is "all that we have, and, yes, even life itself." And we will not be looking back.
Amen.