"Tell all the truth but tell it slant." Or "The Upside Down Economy of the Kingdom of God."

To be honest, I would rather stay away from the text for today. I want to back away, shake my head no, and reprimand Jesus for being so blunt and so confusing all at the same time. Hating and following Jesus don’t belong in the same sentence. Is this the same person who preached the parable of the sower, who tossed seed willy-nilly all over creation, not bothering to plant it all on a carefully tilled plot? Isn’t this the person who forgave sinners and promised that those who were meek would inherit the kingdom? I spend a lot of time trying to convince myself and others that loving one another is the chief expression of our faith.

"Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” We attempt to wriggle free from what Jesus is saying because it sounds too awful to be real. He doesn’t really mean to hate family members, does he? Probably not. As many commentators, pastors, and most of us would point out – he probably means that following God must be our first priority, above all else. We tell ourselves that God has that priority in our lives, but how often do our lives bear evidence of this? We’re more likely to hate our family than to put God first. God is more often than not relegated to an afterthought: a quick prayer after a near miss or an expression of thankfulness when unexpected blessings come our way. We live as the center of our own worlds, struggling to put anything besides ourselves first. We list all the ways that we defer our own wants and needs, counting the cost at every turn.

Carrying the cross is a costly business. It is a lonely business. Or so we think. We say “it’s my cross to bear” when we receive bad news, when we experience illness, or when struggles refuse to let us go. When we talk about carrying the cross, we jump to carrying our own suffering. Still focused on ourselves, all we can see is our own suffering or hardship. We see ourselves as carrying our crosses, somehow thinking they form an exchange with Jesus: we carry our crosses and our suffering, and, through our suffering, we are redeemed. That from which we have been made free – sin and death – seem to be the crosses we still carry.

We are so good at counting the cost, what following Jesus costs us, and Jesus plays into our hand today. We calculate whether we have enough money to build our proverbial towers or have enough troops to go to war. This part of faith we can do. We can make our tally marks of right and wrong, of good and bad. We can count how many people come to church each week and how much money is put in the plate, but will it measure our faith? What Jesus doesn’t tell us in this passage is that the poor slob who wants to build a tower never seems to have enough money, and the foolish king who doesn’t have enough troops still goes to war. What Jesus doesn’t tell you is that faith is really really bad at math. It costs a person his or her life, but it gives a person his or her life. It places God in first place and in last place at the same time. Jesus preaches a grace so costly we have to receive it for free. Free, however, is not to be confused with “cheap.” Bonhoeffer elucidates this famously in his The Cost of Discipleship:

Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.

Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will go and sell all that he has. It is the pearl of great price to buy which the merchant will sell all his goods. It is the kingly rule of Christ, for whose sake a man will pluck out the eye which causes him to stumble; it is the call of Jesus Christ at which the disciple leaves his nets and follows him.

Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: "ye were bought at a price," and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.

This grace is the grace you can’t afford. You can’t carry enough crosses. You can’t build a tower tall enough to peer into the heavens. For all your wars, the peace of which Christ speaks you cannot negotiate. When we envision ourselves the ones powerful enough to achieve our own salvation, when our crosses become the crosses that save us, we miss entirely what it means to follow Jesus.

How do you count the cost of discipleship, when it costs more than what you have? It costs ultimate allegiance in a world where everything vies for your allegiance. It is the cost that cannot be weighed against others because the math of the Kingdom of God doesn’t work like a checking account or the economy. It doesn’t work with notions of supply and demand, but rather, of gift and grace. It costs too much and too little at the same time. It costs too much because it costs our lives. It costs too little because it is the way in which we discover what it is to truly live. In a world that counts the cost of everything, you are invited to live in the upside-down economy in which the poor receive the kingdom, the hungry are filled, and those who weep begin to laugh. The cross that you are called to carry is the cross of freedom. It is the cross that unbinds our brothers and sisters from whatever keeps them bound. The cross you carry is not the cross of sickness or struggle, reminding you that death is all around you, but rather, the cross of life, that reminds you death’s power has been undone.

Jesus doesn’t answer his question of who would build a tower without estimating the cost or who would go to war against someone with a superior army. Who would tell a man well into his geriatric years that he and his wife would have a child? Who would have a man with a speech impediment negotiate with the Pharaoh? Who would choose an adulterer and a murderer to be the king of Israel? Who would choose the poor to inherit the kingdom? Who would choose sinners to be the ones God would save? You get the idea. As we sit here, counting the cost, trying to decide whether or not it is worth it to follow Jesus, God refuses to count the expense of being human. God refuses to count the cost of human sin, knowing it would take and take and take and take because that is how sin works.

This grace, this cross, this love, is not cheap. It costs everything. In the messed up math of the Kingdom of God, somehow, you all come out ahead. In losing your life you gain it. In taking up the cross, you let go of all the things that bind you. It is a kingdom in which the poor receive what they could never purchase, the hungry have the best seats at the feast, and the mourners laugh so hard tears stream down their face. God is both first and last. Jesus is both host and the one who serves. So maybe discipleship is not really about how well you can count; maybe it’s about the way you count. Faith is either that which costs you everything, or that which gives you everything. If you count the former way, you’ll never have enough; if the latter, there’s more than enough to go around.