8/17/25 Sermon

By the time we get to this part of Luke’s Gospel, Jesus isn’t speaking in riddles or gentle stories anymore. The parables of seeds and banquets give way to sharper, more urgent words, almost like someone who knows the clock’s running out. Luke’s been building this tension—reminding us that Jesus is headed to Jerusalem, to conflict, to the cross. And as he gets closer, the language gets stronger.

Historically, what Jesus is about to say here in Luke isn’t a  safe thing to say. Of course, most of what Jesus says falls into that category.  First-century Judea was under Roman occupation, where loyalties were fragile and families were already divided about how to survive. Some wanted to fight, some wanted to cooperate, some wanted to retreat into stricter religion. Everyone wanted peace—but they couldn’t agree on what peace was. That’s what makes these words from Jesus so jarring. He isn’t offering calm or comfort. He’s proclaiming God’s kingdom like a fire tearing through dry brush.

Luke sets this passage right after a series of warnings about watchfulness that we’ve read over the past few weeks—stay awake, be ready, pay attention. It means these words aren’t random. They’re part of the same call: discipleship isn’t business as usual. The kingdom of God disrupts what we’ve known, unsettles what we’ve trusted, and refuses to let us stay the same.

So when we hear Jesus talk about fire and division, it’s jarring—and it’s meant to be. These aren’t easy words. But they’re words meant for us, too. Listen now for the Word of the Lord from the Gospel of Luke.

“I came to cast fire upon the earth. How I wish that it was already ablaze! I have a baptism I must experience. How I am distressed until it’s completed!  Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, I have come instead to bring division.  From now on, a household of five will be divided—three against two and two against three.  Father will square off against son and son against father; mother against daughter and daughter against mother; and mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

Jesus also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud forming in the west, you immediately say, ‘It’s going to rain.’ And indeed it does.  And when a south wind blows, you say, ‘A heat wave is coming.’ And it does. Hypocrites! You know how to interpret conditions on earth and in the sky. How is it that you don’t know how to interpret the present time?

WORD OF THE LORD

I really wish Jesus didn’t say any of this. I want to explain to Him how hard it is to preach on passages like this. People expect to leave church upbeat. They want to go home inspired, maybe even a little comforted. And then I look at the text for today and see that yet again Jesus isn’t offering something light or easy. The prince of peace is talking about fire and swords, about setting family members against each other. And I find myself thinking: “Really, Lord? Is this really what you want us to wrestle with on a Sunday morning? What am I supposed to say about this?”

I’ll be honest: I want to excuse it. I want to apologize for Jesus and say He didn’t really mean it. That He’s exaggerating to make a point, that it’s just hyperbole and not meant to be taken literally. I want to soften it into something more palatable, something that makes us feel safe and secure. Because I don’t want Jesus to bring a sword. I don’t want Him to divide households or communities. I want Him to mend them. I want my Jesus nice and comfy, maybe slightly challenging but not too challenging. I want to hear His words and walk away assured. But today’s reading doesn’t do that. It unsettles more than it reassures.

And that’s hard. Because I also know that we live in a culture where Christianity is often marketed as the opposite. Sometimes I’ll flip on one of the television preachers and hear messages that Jesus wants us to be happy, wealthy, and satisfied. That following Him means things will fall into place and we’ll have everything we want. That Christianity is a family-values program designed to strengthen our homes and make us well-rounded, fulfilled people. And that all sounds really good until you actually open up your Bible and hear Jesus say:

“Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

That doesn’t sound like family values. That doesn’t sound like happiness or fulfillment. That doesn’t sound like a prosperity gospel. It sounds harsh. It sounds costly. It sounds like the very opposite of what most of us want in our lives. Which is why I want to look away, why I want to change the passage for today and pick something easier. But if we try to soften Jesus’ words, we run the risk of a Gospel that means basically nothing.  So, if I don’t get to water it down, if I don’t get to ignore it, what’s left? What does Jesus want us to hear?

It makes me think about one of the most profound theological writings by one of the most profound thinkers I’ve ever read.  Something that made me entirely reconsider my understanding of our faith and realize that no matter how free grace is and no matter how accessible faith can be, it can and should, and maybe even must cost us something. And Dietrich Bonhoeffer knew how costly faith can be because it cost him his life.  For those who don’t know,  Bonhoeffer was a German pastor and theologian in the 1930s and 40s, who resisted the Nazis and eventually was executed for his role in a plot to overthrow Hitler. But Before his death in 1937 as he was serving at an underground seminary, he wrote “The Cost of Discipleship.” And the very first chapter was about what he called cheap grace and costly grace.

Cheap grace, Bonhoeffer said, is grace without discipleship. It’s forgiveness without repentance, baptism without discipline, communion without confession. It’s grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ. Cheap grace is the grace that asks nothing of us, demands no change, requires no sacrifice.

But costly grace, he said, is different. Costly grace is the treasure hidden in a field, for which someone will sell everything they own. It’s the pearl of great price. It’s the call of Jesus to leave nets and boats and family and follow Him. It is costly because it compels us to submit to Christ’s yoke and it demands our lives. But it is grace because in losing our lives we find them. In carrying the burden of discipleship, we discover that His yoke is easy and His burden is light.

And suddenly, Jesus’ words about division start to make more sense. Jesus isn’t glorifying broken families. He isn’t saying that His goal is to tear us apart. He’s naming the reality that following Him disrupts the world as it is. Because costly grace almost always collides with our old ways of living, and that collision isn’t smooth. When Christ becomes the center of our being, other loyalties are displaced. Old patterns get upended. Families, communities, even whole nations can feel the ripple. That’s why Jesus talks about division—it’s what happens when costly grace reorders our lives.

I can think of times when discipleship has demanded costly choices in my own life. Choosing seminary instead of law school was one. On paper, law school made more sense. It was more secure, more predictable and the girl I wanted to marry at the time told me she’d leave me if I picked seminary over law school.  Seminary was a leap of faith. I had no idea where it would lead me or what it’d do to my life. And my girlfriend didn’t lie.  She broke up with me when I chose to go.

And then later, when I felt God’s call to leave Indiana and come to Highland Park, it was gut-wrenching. It meant leaving behind what was familiar and people who felt like family in some ways. It was unpopular. A lot of people at my previous church were mad I was leaving. It was costly for my family and for me. And even now, being a pastor comes with decisions that affect my wife and children. They make sacrifices too. That’s what Bonhoeffer meant: grace that really transforms always costs us something.

But this isn’t just about individual choices. It’s also about us as a church, and it’s about us here in Highland Park. What does costly grace look like for Highland Park Presbyterian Church? What does it look like in our community?

Cheap grace would tell us to keep our heads down, to avoid rocking the boat, to enjoy what we have and not ask hard questions. But costly grace looks different. Costly grace is when we stand with our Jewish neighbors in the face of antisemitism—even when it would be easier to stay quiet. Costly grace is when we take seriously the poverty and inequity in a city that contains both extraordinary wealth and families struggling to get by. Costly grace is when we start looking to help our siblings in this community that may be affected by the current climate around immigration and start standing with them. Costly grace is when we refuse to pretend that gun violence doesn’t touch our community and instead we name it and work for peace even when it’s painful.

Costly grace is when we step out of our comfort zones to serve, to volunteer, to give, to advocate. It’s when we put our faith into practice not just in here, but out there—in schools, in city council meetings, in workplaces, in our very neighborhood. It’s when we let Jesus’ call disrupt our schedules, our wallets, our comfort, even our relationships, for the sake of love.

And yes, it’s hard. Because costly grace divides. It divides us from the illusion that life is about our own comfort. It divides us from the easy assumptions of culture. It divides us from old habits that no longer serve God’s kingdom. But  Unlike the divisions that fracture our society today that tend to leave us bitter or broken, this division works differently. It doesn’t destroy—it reshapes, it refines, it transforms us into something new. It isn’t destructive—it’s transformative.

When Jesus says, “You hypocrites! You know how to read the weather but you can’t interpret the present time,” He’s telling us not to bury our heads in the sand. He’s saying: “You can see what’s happening all around you. Don’t ignore it. Don’t act like my call is optional. Discern what is right, and then do it—even if it costs you.”

And that’s where this text speaks directly to us. Because in Highland Park, we can see both beauty and brokenness. We can see division in our nation, greed in our systems, apathy in our culture. We can see neighbors struggling while others live in abundance. We can see fear and mistrust in our politics and violence in our world. The signs are all around us. The question is: will we choose cheap grace that turns away, or costly grace that responds by turning us toward it?

Cheap grace accepts things as they are. Costly grace compels us to act for what God intends. Cheap grace keeps faith private and safe. Costly grace takes faith public, even when it’s risky. Cheap grace looks for comfort. Costly grace looks for the kingdom.

So yes, I wish Jesus hadn’t said these words. But maybe they’re exactly the words we need. Because discipleship isn’t about staying comfortable—it’s about being transformed. Grace is free, but it is never cheap. It divides us from our old selves, from easy answers, from apathy. And that division, though costly, is the doorway to new life.

Bonhoeffer reminds us that cheap grace accepts things as they are, but costly grace compels us to act. And friends, the signs of our time are clear. In Highland Park and beyond we see fear, division, injustice, and need. The question is not whether we can read the signs—the question is whether we will respond with costly grace.

That’s the choice before us: cheap grace that asks nothing, or costly grace that transforms everything. Only one is worth our lives. Only one is worth our church. Only one bears witness to Jesus Christ.

So yes, it may divide. Yes, it may demand. Yes, it may cost us. But it’s also the only grace that can change us, our church, and our community. And that is worth everything.

Amen.