The Cost of Discipleship

In June of 1939, the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer returned to Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He had visited and studied there in the 1930–1931 school year and was returning as a potential lecturer. In the years between those visits, Bonhoeffer had been a founding member of what was called the Confessing Church, a movement of committed Christians—clergy and laity—who were resisting the state church’s alignment with the government of the Third Reich.

Bonhoeffer had been offered several opportunities to leave Germany to teach and preach elsewhere in safety. When he came to the United States in 1939, he was doing so for his safety and to escape conscription into the German army. He was in the U.S. for two weeks before he realized he’d made a mistake.

He wrote to his friend and fellow theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, these words:

I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America this time. I must live through this difficult period in our national history along with the people of Germany. I will have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christian life in Germany after the war if I do not share the trials of this time with my people... Christians in Germany will have to face the terrible alternative of either willing the defeat of their nation in order that a future Christian civilization may survive, or else willing the victory of their nation and thereby destroying our civilization and any true Christianity. I know which of these alternatives I must choose, but I cannot make that choice from a place of security.

Bonhoeffer’s seminal work, The Cost of Discipleship, was published just two years before in 1937. In that book, he wrote about the idea of followers of Jesus who take the commitments of discipleship too lightly. In the words of today’s gospel reading, Bonhoeffer was watching many who called themselves Christian say yes to Jesus but then fail to do the very things that the Savior commands in daily living.

One of the most famous passages from The Cost of Discipleship is this:

Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like cheapjacks' wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices… The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing. Since the cost was infinite, the possibilities of using and spending it are infinite. What would grace be if it were not cheap?... Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without personal confession. Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.

In 1939, Bonhoeffer felt that by coming to the United States, he had availed himself of a kind of cheap grace. In less than a month, he was on a boat back to Germany. He continued to preach, to train up new pastors and vicars in the Confessing Church, and to try to rescue Jews and others condemned to die. The latter is what eventually got him arrested and then hanged in a prison camp.

When Bonhoeffer wrote about cheap grace, he did not mean that the Church should fail to offer God’s assurance of forgiveness or the consolation of the sacraments. He was specifically addressing the idea that people who consider themselves disciples of Christ cannot do whatever they want, say whatever they want, live however they want, and then say, “But I am forgiven by the blood of the Lamb.”

To understand the cost of grace, in Bonhoeffer’s mind, one must be doing absolutely everything in one’s power to live in accordance with God’s will. In that willingness to take up the cross every day, one will stumble or make a mistake. It is then that the grace of God covers us—not through erasing harm caused through carelessness or intention, but pain caused by accident in the effort to do what was right.

And Bonhoeffer understood that intention cannot override impact. His intent by going to the United States was to be able to write, preach, and offer encouragement, but he realized the impact of being so far away from those who were suffering in the day-to-day was too great. The pain of receiving sermons from safety would cause a wound greater than his words could heal among the people whom he loved.

This same tension is evident in our readings today. The people listening to God’s words through Ezekiel cry out about the unfairness of the Lord. The Creator responds with wonder at how humans can think Divine action is unfair when their days are filled with injustice, destruction, and unfaithfulness.

The religious elders ask Jesus a pointed question, but not because they’re curious or want to learn. They want to protect their turf, their system, and their fragile peace with the Roman Empire. Jesus answers them with parables about obedience, truth, and heart-change. But the deeper question underneath their interrogation echoes down to us: Where does authority come from, and what does it look like when it is handed to us?

Paul gives an answer in his letter to the Philippian followers of Jesus. In observing the Christ, we see a different way of being, a different kind of authority: Though Christ was in the form of God, He did not count equality with God something to be taken advantage of or exploited. Instead, He emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.

Worldly authority says, “Get yours and hold on to it. Climb to the top, protect your power, and command others.”

Christlike authority says, “Hold everything lightly for the sake of the gospel. Descend into the mess, wash feet, empty yourself, and love to the point of cross-bearing.”

The authority Jesus gives His followers is never a badge for domination, status, or spiritual pride. It is an authorization to love sacrificially, to speak truth to power, and to serve a broken world. It is instruction, equipping, and empowerment to make choices that reflect the cost of God’s grace and our understanding of that cost.

When Paul says, “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure,” he does not mean that we have to make our own salvation happen. He is reminding those who hear his words to continue to strive every day to understand the gift of salvation, to live into it, and to pray once more to have joy in that gift.

Years ago, I was in a church meeting in a different congregation. The young child of one of the council members was playing with cars on the floor next to me as I sat at one end of the table. I heard him talking, but when I turned to look at him, I realized he was speaking to me. I hadn’t recognized that before because he wasn’t saying my name.

“Jesus, Jesus!” he said, looking at me.

“Are you asking me something?” I said to him.

“Yes, Jesus,” he replied. “Watch this.”

He then sent a car flying down the ramp of the toy garage.

We corrected my identity later, but I have always known that for children, the role of the pastor can sometimes be conflated with the role of God. The same goes for parents, elected officials, community leaders, or ever-present volunteers.

Anyone who takes action and is known as a follower of Christ will be assumed to be acting in accordance with their faith. Someone is watching us and either recognizing Jesus in us or not.

And I know some of you are thinking, Not every action has to do with my faith in Jesus. Sometimes it’s just buying an apple, getting my car washed, or venting with a friend.

That’s the thing about costly grace, though. If we believe in it, if we do not wish to cheapen it, if we want it to change the world in us and through us, then it does and it will affect everything.

Our yes to Jesus in song and devotion in the sanctuary means very little if it becomes a no in the vineyard of God’s world.

A no to Jesus, coupled with the right actions, means very little in terms of our evangelism and pointing toward the One who knows and loves us best.

We all must come to the same understanding as Bonhoeffer in June of ’39. Our words and our deeds must match, and they must do so for the sake of Christ in our neighbor.

The grace of God is free, but it will cost everything we have to understand its worth. And it is by living out that value in every aspect of our lives that we can be part of how the irresistible grace of God continues to redeem the world.

Amen. 

Carrots, Ranch, and Something Else

This might be a post about ranch dressing. Or maybe not. 

Last September, I was so sick. I felt awful and not being well kept going on and on. I tried to hide it as best as I could, even downplaying the situation when I told people that I wasn’t well or when I had to step back from a responsibility. 

It wasn’t that I don’t know how to stop. It was that stopping meant time to consider how bad things were. I didn’t want to. 

Eventually, after not quite two months, I was diagnosed with celiac disease. There were many medical tests and a lot of contradictory advice that finally led to the diagnosis. By the time I was diagnosed, I felt weak, sick, and confused. An autoimmune disorder was better than what we had thought might be happening, but learning the shape of my new life seemed like a climbing a mountain shrouded in fog. I could keep climbing, but I had no idea what would come next. 

I had been in a place before where I thought I might choose to walk down a path and not return. I knew how that felt. I needed something as a marker for myself: I will do this every day. It may be the only thing good in my day. If it is, it is still one thing, one gift, one perceived grace. If it does not bring me even a little joy, I must ask for help. 

Carrots and Litehouse Buttermilk Ranch. 

This was my emotional cairn. So many foods and so much convenience and so much history felt taken from me. And after years of not feeling well and two months of acute pain, I needed a very small joy, and it needed to be easy to replicate every day. 

So, every day, I sat down to carrots and ranch in the afternoon. Every. Single. Day. 

And I paid attention while I ate. The sharpness of that specific brand. The crunch of the carrots. The combination taste. A tiny ritual that became an oasis of hope that things would get better. 

Every day I would ask myself: Am I okay? Is this okay? Do I need to call? 

As long as I could taste the carrots and the ranch, I was okay. If they became tasteless, that was my signal. 

I have a therapist. I have praying friends. I had gotten a doctor I trusted. I have used 988 for other people. I did have a plan for help.

The taste didn’t fade. A very slow journey toward feeling better took shape. 

There were tears and very hard days and other difficulties along the way. No one’s life is the same on the inside as it looks on the outside. 

Prior to last fall, I did not buy ranch dressing. I liked it, but not enough to have it around. Ranch dressing did not save my life, but it gave me a way to help myself stay in touch with me. 

It is easy for me to think my value is only in my brain and intellect, but my body matters. My whole self is a gift from God. 

Carrots and ranch help me remember that. Mystic, sweet communion indeed. 

If you have lost sight of joy, if what was meaningful to you just isn’t anymore, if the pain feels like too much- please reach out and let someone know. Please tell a friend. Please call 988 or a trusted helper. Please know that life does not have to feel that way. 

Call me. We can have carrots and ranch together. 

Next Steps to Saving a Life

What’s the next step when you pull up to a gas pump? 
What are the steps to making pasta? 
What order do you put your clothes on (provided you’re not Superman)? 
What happens at a stop sign? 

For most of us, the way we do these things is ingrained in us. We’ve done them so many times, we probably don’t think about them anymore. 

There are other situations that occur less frequently for which we need to memorize what to do. 

What are the signs of a heart attack in a man? In a woman? 
What are the signs of a stroke? 
What to do if a rancher says the hospital might be necessary? 

We CAN learn what to do in each of these situations and we should. You should know what your first, second, and third steps will be. There are fridge magnets, flyers, and all kinds of internet guidance for these situations. 

Do you know what your next steps are if someone tells you that they don’t want to be alive anymore? Do you have a plan for if a friend says, “I just wish I could go to sleep forever”? Have you thought about what to say to the friend who is always funny and has now gone quiet? Have you practiced how to check on a friend who has made an attempt before? 

September is the month for a very specific kind of a prevention. A time to remind people that we want them to stay alive, to be with us, to make it through to see what comes next. It’s a month to practice what your steps are. 

Call 988. 
Phone a trusted mental health counselor or someone who can connect you to one.
Stay with a person. 
Phone another friend and tag team keeping company. 

There’s a word I am not using in this post, not because saying it can make it happen. No word has that kind of power. It’s because using the word will sink the post and keep folks from seeing it. And the point of this post is eyeballs on the words and making a plan. A plan to help. A plan to accompany. A plan to keep more beloveds alive. 

Already this month I made two posts about the same subject and they were barely seen. I won’t have that. 

I see you. I care about you. I want you to be here. I want to help you help the ones you love to stay as well. 

Let’s work together to memorize those next steps. Be the one who knows what to do. Be the one who helps someone stay. 

Dead Prayers

In general, other than at a funeral close to the time of death, I do not say prayers for people who are already dead. I pray for the grieving, for those who continue to mourn, for those with unspoken pain, for the currently dying, for caregivers, for those with vocations surrounding the realities of death, for those tending to the many tasks that come with death. All of that, yes, but almost never directly for people who are long dead. 

That changed this summer as I visited cemeteries, happened upon graveyards, viewed countless war memorials, paid my respects where markers had worn away, and stood in places where blood watered fields. 

I went to the cemetery that holds the mass graves and some individual plots for the victims of the Lusitania disaster. I wept at markers for the dead of the Great War (WW1) and the Second World War and stood quietly at markers for the lost in individual battles. 

My son and I read through names on a memorial marker to the enslaved workers at Catoctin Iron Furnace, looking into the rippled ground under the trees where no markers still stand. 

We walked among marble and granite markers at Gettysburg and at other battlefields, where even unknown dead are acknowledged. 

In Iceland and in northern Scotland, I saw the many markers for children who died so young from things we can now prevent with vaccines. If we want to. One of the saddest sights for me will always be the tombstone of a man who outlived his beloved wife and children. By years. There are often many things we take for granted that he would have given anything to have. 

The Mule Shoe Salient at Spotsylvania is where I finally walked into the woods and cried so hard that I choked on my tears. It was not the first place I cried nor the last, but the air there is not peaceful. And I was finally exhausted, not from travel, but from the accumulation of sites and information about people who would rather die than let someone else be free. 

And this is where I tell you that early in these travels, in a very un-Lutheran way, I began to pray for the repose of souls, for light perpetual to shine on the dead, for those who died in bondage or pain to receive the deepest renewal of God’s peace. 

Theologically, I believe people are already at rest in God’s care. 

Psychologically, though, it was easier to pray for the dead than to pray that the living would learn from history. It was easier to pray for perpetual grace for those already gone than to pray that the folks who currently walk the earth would open their minds, soften their hearts, and love their neighbors in word and deed. War monument after war monument, battlefield after battlefield, tiny marker after tiny marker, it was easier to speak to the Divine about the dead than to, once again, plead for a world where we truly intend to do for one another what Jesus would have us do. 

I have rarely, if ever, taken the easier way in my life, but I did in these recent moments. It was just easier than accepting that we haven’t learned, we haven’t changed, and maybe we don’t want to. I won’t quit my work and I won’t quit praying, but I hope that someday someone will pray for me. Easy rest comes from God. Because there are people who will disturb it if they think they can. 

Tools from Jesus

Note of caution: The opening story for this sermon touches very briefly on infant loss.  

Grace and peace to you, friends, from the God who sustains us and maintains our connections, through the Holy Spirit, across the miles that separate us. We in Big Timber pray for you this morning and we welcome your prayers for us. 

Almost 14 years ago, when I still lived in Alaska, I was in two very different online groups. One was for women expecting babies in January 2013. Connected through a larger website, we encouraged and supported one another through the experience of pregnancy and early motherhood. 

The other group was a very large, international group for women clergy. This group had existed for years, shifting with the internet, and continued as a su
pport group, sharing resources and even meeting in-person in small groups and for big events. 

In December 2012, a tragedy occurred in my January baby group when one woman went into labor early. The baby turned out to have an unexpected genetic abnormality and passed away very shortly after birth. We were all devastated for our friend. 

As I texted with another mom from the baby group, we lamented how far away we were. I was in Alaska, texting with someone in Minnesota. Our friend was in a third state altogether. I asked if our friend had a pastor or someone who might come for support. 

The Minnesota lady reported that our friend didn’t and said the only pastor she would want was me. I couldn’t get there. No one from our baby group could, but I knew where to find a pastor who might be able to be there. 

In my clergy group, I reached out and asked the three pastors who lived that city if any of them could go to the hospital to offer a blessing and support. One could and did. In the story of a terrible day, two strangers met in person, in a hospital room, and one received help and consolation. 

What does this story have to do with anything? I think of this story each time someone says that the internet is a terrible place. It can be, but it doesn’t have to be. It has been and can still be a place of connection, a place for hope and help, a place where real people reach out and are not alone in their worst moments. 

The internet is a tool, and we decide how to use. And we must decide each time. 

The exact same truth applies to the tool Jesus offers us in Matthew. Throughout this section of Matthew, Jesus expresses concern for how the community of believers will use the tools of fellowship and truth-telling. The community has to opportunity to use these gifts to pay attention to the marginalized, to stop harm, to protect children and other vulnerable members, to speak up and speak out. 

Jesus offers a tool for discipline- not a punishment, but for correction and for restoration to fellowship. The process for speaking to an individual, first, one-on-one offers followers of Jesus a chance to hear one another and, if necessary, to make repair and restitution. It can happen but rarely is one party completely right and the other, completely wrong. 

Jesus’ guidance for correcting harm in the community goes further when a group is needed to be brought as compassionate witnesses to a confrontation. I realize this is a nightmare scenario for many of us- the very word “confrontation” can make some folks very uncomfortable. 

Jesus does not mean an aggressive fight, but a private meeting that has been prayed for and prayed through and has a clear goal, in keeping with the larger mission of the fellowship. Using this tool from our Savior requires everyone present to have a soft heart and an open mind. 

This passage is longest section of scripture cited in our Lutheran constitutions at all levels- congregational, synod, and churchwide. It is a process we are supposed to follow when there is a real, serious issue in the congregation. There is not a flaw in the tool. 

Sometimes, however, the flaw is us. On occasion, church folks “solve” a problem through gossip, anonymous letters, or social pressure. Sometimes we, as the church, ignore a problem because we hope it will go away before we must become too uncomfortable. Sometimes we urge victims to “forgive” rather than doing the hard work of making the ones causing harm stop and repent. And it is entirely possible for church folks to weaponize this tool, confronting someone they wish to silence or to make go away. 

The internet doesn’t have to be a villain; it’s just a tool. In my opening story, it was a tool that facilitated community, consolation, and hope.  

The tool Jesus gives us for how to speak the truth in love and in compassion to one another can do those same things. Jesus must have been concerned about the community of believers and Matthew must have shared that same concern later, which led to preserving the teaching. 

The question for us is whether we share the same concern: a desire for a welcoming community, a hope for reconciliation, a longing for community wholeness, a joy in the truth. Do we have enough of this concern to use the tool Jesus has given us in a judicious manner, with prayer and gentleness, with truth and discretion? 

Are we willing to apply this tool not just in our work together as the church, but in all our doings so that anyone and everyone will see how we conduct ourselves and give glory to our Creator in heaven?

Our Lord, Jesus Christ, has given us many tools to be used for His purposes and to His glory. Let us pray for the insight, the strength, and the courage to do so.

Holy Son of God, we give you thanks for the gift of community and life together. Grant us wisdom and discernment that we may use the tools of discipline and truth-telling for growth, support, and hope in your church and in the world. May all we do be in gratitude and in response to your amazing grace. Amen.