“He Never Promised Us a Rose Garden”

Matthew 10:34-39

A true story gleaned from the weekly newspaper of a small southern town: one of the wedding announcements contained this line, “After the minister officially declared that the happy couple were now husband and wife, the bride turned to the groom and sang, ‘I’d Rather Have Jesus’.”

This was most likely one of those unplanned moments that make weddings so memorable as well as amusing. Planned or not, the story makes a rather significant theological statement. Christians should always prefer Jesus above all others, even those nearest and dearest to us.

There is that line in the wedding service about forsaking all others. Married people really are supposed to do that. Those others we forsake include our parents. The needs of one’s spouse, and later one’s children, must ordinarily take precedence over the needs of other family members.

No one, however, is to come between Jesus and us. Not daddy, not mama, not son or daughter, not the closest friend, not even our spouse. If or when anybody puts us in the position of having to choose between them and Jesus, there can only be one choice – Jesus. He is our one and only Lord and Savior. He is Emmanuel, the God-with-us, who is to be the only God of our lives.

That is part and parcel of Jesus’ demand that we be willing to take up our cross and follow him. We must be ready to sacrifice anything and everything, including life itself, for the sake of Christ and the Gospel.

In the abstract that doesn’t look like all that big a promise. Within the comfortable confines of a church sanctuary, surrounded by our brothers and sisters in Christ, it's easy to sing that good old hymn “I Have Decided to Follow Jesus… no turning back, no turning back.” But we don’t live the life of faith in the abstract. Faithfulness can require more of us than easy promises made during easy times.

We live our Christian lives a world that has historically been at odds with the Gospel. There are cultures around our globe in which becoming a Christian means being thought of as dead by family and friends. Those relationships are lost and gone forever.

There are places in the world where claiming Jesus as one’s Lord and Savior can result in imprisonment and execution. Islamic cultures don’t take kindly to those who reject Allah. Communities in India where the vast majority of folks are Hindu can be hostile places for those who turn their backs on Vishnu. There was a time in the state of Utah when non-Mormon communities were actually massacred. Hitler’s Germany, Stalin’s Russia, and Mao’s China did not tolerate those who put following Jesus ahead of kowtowing to their particular brand of socialism.

In Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of today’s text, Jesus’ opening words to his disciples are, “Don’t think I’ve come to make life cozy.” Or to quote that old country song, “I beg your pardon; I never promised you a rose garden.” Jesus made it clear that following him could disrupt one’s relationships, bring drastic changes into one’s life, and put one in harm’s way. The coming of the Prince of Peace was, and still is, a source of great conflict.

Nobody knew this any better than Jesus himself. In faithfulness to his Father he walked away from his family, his hometown, and the family business. Sometimes his family wasn’t really happy about that. They even came to fetch him back to Nazareth one day, claiming that he was surely out of his mind. Insanity had to be the only explanation for Jesus’ rejection of a normal lifestyle. He was obviously disturbed.

We know that he wasn’t. Jesus was the only truly sane and healthy human being ever to walk the earth. He wasn’t disturbed. He was disturbing. He rocked the social boat. He stirred the theological pot. He turned conventional wisdom on its head. He broke many of his culture’s taboos. He criticized existing norms. He clashed with the religious and other powers-that-be.

He never, ever went along in order to get along. He named sin for what it was no matter who might be committing it. He saw through hypocrisy and false piety, and then said so. He refused to hate the Romans, going so far as to urge his followers to go the extra mile, turn the other cheek, and forgive the trespasses of others seventy times seven.

Some people hated him. Some feared him, and rightly so. He threatened their belief systems, political leanings, and financial stability. He shined a bright light on the darker recesses of the human heart. He told the devil’s minions to go to hell. He was a dangerous man of cosmic proportions. He had to die. An example had to be made.

Jesus knew where his ministry was taking him. He knew exactly how much he was going to pay for his faithfulness. There was a cross in his future. To be sure, there would be resurrection, but first there had to be a crucifixion. A cross - his cross - had to be carried all the way to Golgotha. To follow him involves a willingness to walk that same path.

Several years ago a young man, himself the son of a Presbyterian minister, was being examined for ordination. While sharing his faith journey and sense of call, he told of going to his dad and telling him that he was pretty sure that God was calling him to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament. His dad responded by telling him to go take a cold shower.

What his dad was really telling him was to count the costs. Presbyterian ministers rarely get to stay in their hometowns. There’s that three-year disruption of life known as seminary. One’s life between ordination and retirement can be a gypsy-like existence, one with several moves hither and yon.

The demands of ministry can put a severe strain on one’s marriage. Some children of ministers come to resent the time and energy demanded by ministry, time and energy on which those children have a more than legitimate claim. On at least two occasions, when I was tucking my daughter into bed after returning home from one more of those seemingly endless church meetings, she said to me, “I wish you weren’t a minister.”

That’s hard enough to hear, but imagine what it would be like to hear your child say, “I wish you weren’t a Christian.” Or to hear you spouse demand, “You have to choose between me and Jesus. You can be married to me, or you can be a Christian. What’s it going to be?” Or to hear your boss say, “Christians can no longer work here. It’s Jesus or your job. You can’t have both.” Or to be told by a realtor, “Christians aren’t allowed in this neighborhood. If you want this house, you must first renounce Christ.”

How absurd that sounds to us? We Presbyterian Protestant Christians living in America can’t even imagine such situations arising. In that way we are truly blessed. But for better or worse, we’re also insulated from the harsh realities some of our brothers and sisters face on a daily basis. We’re cozy. We’re comfortable. American Christianity is a rose garden of sorts.

Maybe we’re too cozy. Maybe we’re too comfortable. Maybe we have lost touch with the thorns that most often exist side by side with the roses. The worship service goes longer than an hour, and we feel inconvenienced. The Session challenges us to tithe, and we feel insulted. The pastor dares to assume that confessing Christians will attend worship on a regular basis, and we feel as if our personal space has been violated. A special church service means having to forego the weekly dinner at grandma’s house, and we think that having to make such a choice is totally unfair. This Christianity business sure is demanding, or so we think.

We don’t know the half of it. These great inconveniences about which we get so huffy are mere trifles. If being a Christian involves the risk of a dollar’s worth of pain, then we haven’t even begun to experience our two cents worth. What if we really have to choose between following Jesus and hanging onto that which is most precious to us? What if Jesus ever asks us to carry a real cross? Then what are we going to do?

If ours is a faith worthy of a disciple of Jesus, we will do whatever it takes to follow him. If Jesus is truly Lord, there is no other choice. Amen.