Jesus came to call people to follow, to believe and follow: only believe, just follow.  If they weren’t sure whether they believed, Jesus told them to follow and see.  “Trust me; I’m here to save you.  I’m the only one who can.”  We get it wrong; Jesus will make it right.  A man came scrambling up to Jesus, before it was too late, before the moment passed, fell at the feet of Jesus, and, eyes watering up, said, “Teacher, I will follow You wherever You go” (8:19).  Beautiful!  Wonderful!  Praise God!  Even more because this man, as Matthew tells us, was a scribe.  The scribes would have been the last people on earth to believe that Jesus was anything other than a slick charlatan.

The scribes spent their lives mining deep into God’s Word, formulating rules and regulations to ensure that there would be no breach of God’s law—no impurity creeping in!  The scribes formulated the voluminous regulations in all their exacting minutiae.  The Pharisees then did their utmost to carry out every regulation, flawlessly.  Scribes and Pharisees were never far from Jesus, yet so many were farthest of all.

Maybe all that time immersed in the Word of God had finally had some good effect in the life of that scribe at the feet of Jesus.  Somewhere along the way, all that time in the Word had become time listening to the Word.  The Word had an effect in that man’s life.  Glorious, Amen!  “I will follow You wherever You go.”  Beloved, where is Jesus going, and how is he getting there?  You know he’s going to a tomb by way of a cross?  Or did you maybe jump straight to the glory and the clouds and the angels and the forever?  The destination matters, so, too, the journey and the means.  Jesus goes to the tomb by a cross along a way of criticism, arguments, complaints, insults veiled and open, threats, investigations, and rejection.  Anybody want to come along?  Well, there were the apostles, but by the time we get to the cross part, where were they?  One had denied, another had betrayed, and the rest were nowhere to be found, except, maybe, for one, trying to blend in there in the crowd as close to the cross as he dared.  And as for the tomb, who was going to hang around, there?

The road to glory is strown with the stones of hardship and thorns of sorrow.  With Thanksgiving this close, my prayer for each of us is that God would be pleased to make this year’s celebration particularly poignant: that we would all begin to feel the fullness of what God has done for us, and so begin to feel what fullness of gratitude to God truly feels like.  It’s crushing, and beautiful.  It just demolishes you and makes you want to pray, invite, and share.  Is there room, at your table, for one more?

But what of that scribe, who didn’t want to lose the moment?  “Jesus said to him, ‘The foxes have holes and the birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head’” (7:20).  Well, that’s . . . encouraging?  What is that?  I don’t much care to hear anyone say, “I promise.”  I’m of the Nike school of thought: Just do it.  That scribe is saying, in effect, “I promise I’ll never abandon you.  I promise that, no matter how difficult it gets, no matter how much everyone around me will tell me you’re wrong and they’re right, I will stick with you.”

Jesus says think.  He says consider.  Did he say no, you can’t follow me?  No.  Did he say go away?  No.  He was saying to that man: your words are fine words, and they make me truly glad.  So let me tell you what it will mean to follow me on this earth: it will mean rejection and loss; it will mean carrying with you throughout this life always a deep, aching sense of homelessness.  There.  I’ve told you.  He then leaves the matter with the man who just said he was ready and willing to sacrifice everything for Jesus.  All that trash he used to value more than God’s Word—you know, a nice house, a nice family, nice friends, nice investments, a little more or less harmless fun on the side, the approval of the people who mattered to him, you know: those who could do things for his benefit and advancement.

Jesus didn’t tell him to sell everything and give it all to the poor.  He only told the man to be prepared to be unwelcome in this world, just as Jesus is unwelcome in this world.  An English theologian wrote long ago that, “Jesus’ life began in a borrowed stable and ended in a borrowed tomb.”[1]  Talk about relying on the kindness of strangers!  Only, Jesus also has a way of making strangers into friends.  Jesus never said “mine” about any object or thing.  He said it only of those who came to believe and follow, follow and believe.

The question is as electrifying now as on that day so long ago: what are we prepared to give up for the sake of following Jesus, wholeheartedly, undividedly?  Sin?  Sure!  Well, I’m trying, anyway.  The old life?  Definitely!  The new life for me!  Strange, though, how that old life wants to cling, like the former lover, begging.  Those matters we’re ready to cast aside.  How about a home?  How about family?  William Barclay reminds us that Jesus “had no home of his own; he had nowhere to lay his head.”[2]  Jesus didn’t exactly receive a warm welcome the last time he went to his hometown, back home.  His family—dear Catho-terians, shall we exclude Mary?—his family is mostly convinced he’s out of his mind; they try to stop him, then want as little to do with him as possible.

But wait—Jesus?  Unwelcome?  Oh, I know, he does find welcome here and there, in one heart and another.  And he is unwelcome in this world.  There are far more who do not follow him than who do.  There’s more than enough room for more, here.  Where are they?  Why aren’t they here?  It isn’t necessarily that those who do not follow are outright hostile to Jesus; it’s just that they have no use for him.  He’s just not that valuable to them.  They don’t understand, don’t see the point.  This Jesus stuff isn’t what they care about or value.  They have other, more interesting, pursuits.

Matthew doesn’t tell us what happened with that scribe, after.  I like to imagine that, hearing what Jesus said about bearing that saturating sense of homelessness in this world, this life, the scribe took up his cross, and followed.  Maybe he did.  Maybe he didn’t.  If you think Jesus isn’t really asking a lot of us, well, let’s you and I sit down together over coffee or tea—I drink tea—and we’ll talk.

That scribe had worked up his resolve: he just felt in his heart that he was ready, felt and knew, knew because he felt: O, what a feeling!  Thinking about that scribe who came up to Jesus filled with conviction, Barclay writes, “Jesus did not want followers who were swept away by a moment of emotion, which quickly blazed and just as quickly died [. . . .] He wanted men to know what they were doing.”[3]  Clear-eyed, clear-headed, heart fixed: steady as she goes.  Have you ever tried to live in pursuit of a feeling you had, once?  O, to feel that way again!  Feelings come and go, sort of like Instagram photos and relationships.  Jesus does not want a relationship erected on a feeling.  He wants a relationship built upon revelation and truth.  Jesus does not want a relationship that begins and ends with the heart; he wants a relationship that takes in the entirety of our personhood: heart, mind, body, and soul—hopes, dreams, choices, actions.

Matthew then tells us of another encounter: “another of the disciples said to Him, ‘Lord, allow me first to go and bury my father.’  But Jesus said to him, “Follow Me, and let the dead bury their own dead’” (8:21-22).  Sounds a little harsh.  Have you ever let an opportunity slip through your fingers, only to regret it, later?  You let it slip, why?  Did it seem too unreal?  Were you frightened?  Were you just not ready, or told yourself so?  Were you on your way someplace else, had something else to do?  Hey, can you wait here for like about three hours or weeks or months, while I wrap up a few things?  And then, you and me, let’s do this!

Promises, promises; excuses, excuses.  I can always find a good reason not to do something, good enough, anyway.  What’s the wildest excuse you’ve ever used not to do something?  One day, a man said he needed to go and bury his father—that guy over there, working in the fields.  I mean, yeah, he’s not quite dead yet, but he will be, someday.

But let’s say it was just as Matthew records it; let’s not make excuses.  Jesus is about to continue on his way, about to go.  He’s not coming back that way.  He says, “Follow me.”  But the disciple’s father had just died, earlier that day.  Funerals in that region were not prolonged or delayed events.  The heat made it expedient to get to burial promptly.  It wouldn’t really be so long, maybe even the next day.  C’mon Jesus—be a little understanding; have a little compassion, a little mercy!  Hey Jesus, don’t judge!  Oh, don’t expose my divided heart!

How is a heart divided that can’t bring itself to go?  Not to go is a decision, too.

Jesus says, “let the dead bury their own dead.”  Well, the NLT softens that, maybe just a little: “Let the spiritually dead bury their own dead.”  If he’s only spiritually dead . . . . Is it too hard, what Jesus asks, too much?  Oh, I know it sounds hard.  It’s the crisis moment: choose, now.  Not choosing, in this matter, is a choice.  Presbyterian pastor Eugene Peterson attempts to express what Jesus says using different words: “First things first.  Your business is life, not death.  Follow me.  Pursue life.”  If you’ve just got to do something before you’re ready or able to follow Jesus, I’m afraid there will always be just one more thing: Oh, let me check the lights!  Oh, let me check the locks!  Oh, let me check the pets!  Oh, where’s my phone charger?  Oh, it looks like it could rain; could we wait, do it another day?  Would that be so bad?  You understand, don’t you?  You see, don’t you?

Yes, Jesus sees, understands, and goes on his way.  There behind Jesus, the man called out, “I’ll follow you, later.”  Oh, it’s pretty to think he did.

               [1] The 19^th century English theologian Alfred Plummer, qtd in William Barclay.  Gospel of Matthew.  Vol. 1.  Daily Study Bible.  1956.  Philadelphia: Westminster P, 1975.  311.

               [2] William Barclay.  Gospel of John.  Vol. 2.  Daily Study Bible.  1955.  Philadelphia: Westminster P, 1975.  80.

               [3] William Barclay.  Gospel of Matthew.  Vol. 1.  Daily Study Bible.  1956.  Philadelphia: Westminster P, 1975.  312.