“If international calling weren’t so expensive, who would you call?” This is the tag line for the global calling cardPennyTalk, which claims you can call anyone you want around the world for as low as two cents a minute from any phone, even your cell phone. And in the U.S., you can call for one cent a minute. “Call the world. Call now!” they say. But before you call, you might want to read the fine print: “Advertised rates apply to calls made to land lines. Calls made to international cellular phones may incur higher rates. 49 cent connection fee charged at the time each call connects. 99 cent monthly service charge. Standard rates apply for calls originating from Hawaii, Canada, and Puerto Rico. Surcharges apply for calls made from Alaska and from payphones. Cellular surcharges may apply to calls made from cell phones depending on your service plan – consult your provider. $25 minimum purchase required with credit or debit card. Rates subject to change without notice.”

Good to know. We all are familiar with the advertising ploy of “fine print.” Your cable service providers, your cholesterol medication, your, MasterCard, and your favorite “all natural” foods … they all have their fine-print disclaimers. As conscientious consumers, we are only wooed by an appeal that is ultimately as good as its corresponding fine print.

“Follow me” is not a convincing ad slogan, is it? It doesn’t take much to realize that Jesus is not doing a good job of selling himself in the passage we read today. He has his face focused on Jerusalem, on his fate that awaits – and has no concern about whether the Samaritans accept him, or about offending James and John, or even about winning over the affections of three eager, well-meaning, religiously devoted men.

If the gospels are meant to persuade us of the “good news” of Jesus, then clearly Luke failed Communications 101 and never quite succeeded in his advertising internship. Everyone knows that to sell a product, you promote its positive potential, its catchy consumer appeal. And everyone knows that anything that might compromise that appeal – well, that goes in the fine print.

But Luke doesn’t edit Jesus. Luke doesn’t qualify this call or use any fine print to hide the truth of Jesus’ words. He forgets to filter the frank “follow me”s of Jesus. “Follow Me” is as direct as the PennyTalk ad – “Call the world. Call now.” But in lieu of wordy warnings or conditional clauses tucked away in the fine print of footnotes, instead we have a very clear bold-lettered message: “Follow me. Follow me and you’ll have no place to lay your head, you can take no time to bury your dead, and you best look ahead as you forever leave your homestead.” Luke doesn’t qualify Jesus’ call to these fellow travelers on the journey, because his gospel isn’t an ad. It’s more like a Triple Orange Security Alert at the airport. We are warned and informed without knowing any details. We are supposed to trust the messenger, even when we don’t understand the full meaning of the message. Jesus isn’t selling a product to these passersby; he’s inviting people to participate in his passion.

Now you and I have an advantage. Jesus gives the message of “follow me,” and Paul helps us unpack this and show us how to live as followers of Christ. How to form ourselves as individuals and as communities of faith and into disciples of this man, who is himself incarnate love. Take Galatians, for example. It’s not surprising that “love your neighbor as yourself” is the timeless commandment that is an undeniable fact of Christ’s life, personhood, and his call on our lives. As a temple-going Jew, Jesus would have grown up with this commandment written on his heart. So you see, in Luke, when Jesus says “follow me,” he is not just calling us to himself – he is calling us to a lifestyle – to a discipline of love – that puts others above self.

I recently heard a story about a young British man who was taking a train journey in England. Soon after he boarded, he discovered he was sitting opposite one of the most respected archbishops of Canterbury (now deceased). The archbishop was retired and was in his 80’s. He was greatly loved. The young Brit considered himself a religious man and was awestruck by meeting this great Christian leader. They exchanged a brief conversation throughout the journey. At the end of the train ride the young man stood up and went over to the archbishop, shook his hand, and said, with head bowed and only one eye on the archbishop’s aging face, “It’s been a pleasure to meet you. Do take care.”

He got off the train, and the archbishop got off behind him, a bit more slowly. They wandered down the platform and met again at the ticket barrier. And the young man, being a well-bred Englishman, felt he had to go through the whole rigamarole of saying goodbye all over again. He said, “Archbishop, it’s been such a privilege to meet you. And, uh, I do hope all will go well. Do take care.” And with surprising strength, the archbishop took him by the arm and said, “Young man – do not take care. Take risks.”

Take risks. This is exactly what Jesus is saying to these three men who so desperately want to follow this miracle healer and teacher whom they have heard so much about. They want to be part of the fanfare but don’t yet know the cold hard facts about following Jesus. What they don’t know, and what Jesus does, is that this journey to Jerusalem culminates at the cross. Indeed, the road will be long, winding, and full of risks. Do they really want to follow him? Do they really want to sacrifice the safeties and comforts and stability of home for a journey of risks and uncertainties and homelessness?

Do they really know what they are getting into? Well – if they didn’t before … they do now. The questions they ask Jesus are surely a familiar, typical exchange for wannabe disciples of Jesus. They are probably the “frequently asked questions” that Jesus would have printed on a brochure or uploaded on a website or handed out complete with a travel itinerary if he had had the means.

Not having a place to lay your head – being homeless and at the disposal of nature and people; not having the time or privilege of saying goodbye to family or burying your beloved dead – these are the kinds of things that should be in the fine print, that should be found out later … after Jesus has wooed them to come with him. But they are not. It’s almost as if Jesus is explicitly saying, “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. This will be hard, and you will lose yourself to gain the world, and you will follow my Father and me in order to truly be free.”

Many of you are sending your children off to trips and camps this summer. And somehow you feel better doing so when you have an itinerary ahead of time – where they’ll be and what they’ll be doing (with contact information included). You expect a list of “things to bring” so that you can help your child pack. You feel better with a parent letter of FAQs – so that you know as many potential solutions to potential problems as you can potentially think of. Nowadays, it’s unheard of to set out on a journey without being prepared and well-informed.

Yet we all know that whether it’s a choir tour to New Orleans, or a flight to Washington D.C., or a wedding, or building a house – when we set out to do anything that we have planned or where we “expect” things to happen in a certain way, where we hope to “follow” some one or some plan that seems so perfect at first glance – well, we all know that at some point the air conditioner will go out on a bus, inclement weather will delay a flight, you just might run out of cake at the reception (which won’t happen tonight, of course – knock on wood), your carpet may somehow not get on the right truck, and continuous rain may prevent your driveway from being poured.

We all know these things. But that doesn’t make them any less frustrating when they happen.

When Jesus speaks directly to these men with facts harsh enough to be hidden away in fine print, he is only trying to tell them that the road ahead is long and hard and consists of putting others before self, if nothing else. There will be no 5-star hotel or guaranteed housing. There will be times where you will desperately want to do things you feel like you should do, or are obligated to do, that you can’t. There will be times that you will have to turn your back on the familiarity of what you know to face a future that is frighteningly unknown.

We know that as Luke recounts these very human, valid questions and Jesus’ candid responses that he is really foreshadowing the suffering that is to come. There is not much to hem and haw about when it comes to the crucifixion. If Jesus is going to walk the path of persecution to the cruel cross, so must his followers walk that road with him. After all, we are the ones who put him on that path in the first place. We go to the cross so that we can discover an empty tomb. Is this the path we want to take? Will we leave the comforts of home and our “societal” and “familial” obligations if we need to for the sake of our faith? For the sake of others?

Today, are you walking with Jesus? By his side? Reluctantly behind him, glancing over your shoulder? Piously in front of him, “taking care” to do everything right instead of “taking risks” to do everything in love?

Jesus is inviting us on this journey. He never tells these eager followers no – it’s an open invitation – but he does tell them what it will require. Do they have what it takes? Are they willing to sacrifice? Are you?

If you are attached to the comforts of your home, the ease of your life, the familiarity of your neighborhood, the reputation of your school district, perhaps your first step to following Jesus is knocking down those surface structures in order to rebuild a faith foundation that is poured on the wings of the living and nomadic Spirit of God, and not the permanency of bricks and mortar.

If you are clinging to something in your past, perhaps the death of a loved one or a failed endeavor or a regretful decision – if you are living in the midst of an obligatory guilt about something in your past – then perhaps your first step to following Jesus is letting that dead part of yourself go, forgiving yourself and releasing that burden so that you can proclaim the truth of God’s love with enthusiasm and hope in all that you do.

If you are prone to please others, to look over your shoulder for approval, to hesitate to do what your gut is telling you you know is right, to bend to the requests and expectations of others who don’t have your best interest in mind, even if they are people you dearly love … then perhaps your first step to following Jesus is in fact putting one foot in front of the other and trusting that where you are headed in Christ is worthy of all of your attention. No looking back.

The good news is – wherever you are – you are on the path. Jesus is ahead of you. Calling you closer to him … whether you are so close you are stepping on his heels or whether you are so far you can’t even make him out in the distance. Jesus calls with no gimmicks – no “fine print” – he calls with just the faithful fact of his unconditional love for each one of us. And as Paul would add, “if you are following this man, living by his spirit, then you will be guided by God’s Spirit” (Gal. 5:25).

We are all on this path together. As disciples we are called to take risks that won’t make sense to the rest of the world. Despite years of faithful Christians striving to follow Christ, the greatest risk of all – of loving your neighbor as yourself – never seems to fully compute.

It is a lifelong journey, indeed, summed up well, I think, by one of my favorite prayers by the twentieth-century Trappist monk, Thomas Merton:

My Lord God,

I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

And the fact that I think I am following your will, does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

And I know that if I do this

You will lead me by the right road,

Though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore I will trust you always,

Though I may seem to be lost

And in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are with me,

And you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

 

Amen.