I Hate That But I Love Jesus

I Hate That But I Love Jesus

Luke 14:25-33

One of the reasons college football is so much fun... it teaches you to hate, with style.

Your state or conference rivals are teams, schools, drunken visitors you just love to hate. It's good for you.

For the longest time, we Tennessee Vols hated Alabama the most. 

And then Nick Saban came and we just figured, "What's the point?" 

Except in 2022, when we put the goal post in the river. Good times. 

I know y'all are going to hate hearing this, but We're "Gator Haters." But after Steve Spurrier left it wasn't as much fun. 

It was so easy to hate Steve, with his little hat with the hole on top. Apparently he willed that to Lane Kiffin. 

We also hate Lane. Probably more.

I was surprised to find Trinity's such a melting pot of FBS hate.

You got your fans of Alabama, Auburn, Georgia, Clemson, LSU, Ole Miss, Florida.

South Florida.

Muahhahahaha.

When I came here, I was told, Yes, And I was told, (and this is verbatim): 

Yes, Trinity has fans from all over the nation, but we can all agree on one thing: 

We all hate Tennessee.

That's just hateful.

Shame on you.

It's OK. You can't wear that shade of orange and not have thick skin.

This is America. 

Land of the freedom to love and freedom to hate whoever you want. 

And, hate to say it, but lately, we're getting real good at that hating part.

What do you hate? 

We say we hate stuff it all the time. 

For instance, I hate Lima Beans. 

Lima beans, butterbeans, kidney beans, pinto beans, garbanzo beans and those deceitful black-eyed "peas." 

An insult to the pea team.

Does that make me species-ist? 

Anti-legume-ist? 

I don't dislike all beans. 

I have bean friends. 

I like peanuts. 

Look it up. They're beans. Just with a monocle. 

I like them Salted. Cocktail. Dry-roasted. Chocolate-covered. 

I'll even go for hot boiled peanuts. 

But only from an Andalusia gas station.

What do you hate?

• Mosquitos.

• People who don't use their blinkers.

• A heat index over 100.

• Sand in your swimsuit.

• Smart phones.

• The itchy spot right in the center of your back that arms are not made to reach.

• Cybertrucks. And Elon.

• When nobody remembers the wifi password.

• Liberty Mutual ads. They're on all the time. Not even funny.

• Melting icebergs.

• Squirrels. (My dog told me that one.)

We all have things we hate. 

Even if we hate to hate. 

We hate hating that we do hate. 

I hate that.

So, maybe, when you hear Jesus saying you should hate your family... and your friends… life itself... maybe you do. 

Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy.

Take your meds, grampa.

But for Jesus to say, "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…" 

For words like that to come out of Jesus's mouth you wonder, "Seriously?" 

"Does he really mean that?" 

"Was he just having a really bad day?" 

"Did Mary and Joseph ground him for no good reason?"

It sounds just about as anti-Jesus as Jesus could be. 

Jesus WANTS us to hate???

Did JESUS hate HIS family, his disciples, even life itself? 

Is that what it really takes to be his follower?

---

This is one of those scriptures that makes you say "Ouch" instead of "Amen." 

Makes you say, "Whaaaaat?"

I don't like it. 

I might even say I hate it. 

I read five or six different commentaries on this scripture. 

Honest.

Every single one said the same thing, "Oh, he didn't REALLY mean HATE-hate."

They said: Jesus was exaggerating to make a point. 

Jesus was speaking figuratively. 

He knew the commandment to honor thy father and thy mother. 

He was always good to Mary. 

He cared for his disciples. 

He even loved his enemies and told us to do so, too. 

So, when Jesus said hate, he didn't really mean hate the way we do. 

Maybe it's a bad translation. 

I hate preaching on this one.

Because, I confess, making excuses for Jesus is my first response, too. 

I want to find logical, reasonable, scriptural ways to explain away this weird and troubling part of the Bible. 

And you can do that. With all of them.

You can pretty much make the Bible mean anything you want if you do enough theological gymnastics. 

Like those people who can contort their bodies so they can fit in tiny little boxes. 

You can contort the Bible to fit your box. 

It's easy.

We do it all the time. 

Conservatives make it conservative. 

Liberals make it liberal. 

Nationalists make it national. 

Individualists make it individual. 

I wish the Bible – I wish Jesus – would just say… 

well, I wish they just said what I want them to say. 

If I'm being truthful.

I would say that anyone who tells you the Bible is simple to understand hasn't read much of it. 

At least not much more than their favorite parts. 

Because there are parts of the Bible – 

there are things even Jesus said – like this one – 

that I wish weren't in there. 

That I just don't like. 

There are parts nobody really likes. 

Parts you might honestly say, you hate.

I hate that the Bible can't be simpler.

--

Way back in in the beginning. In Genesis. 

Way back when Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of founding father Abraham. 

Way back at the beginning, in Genesis 32, there's the story of Jacob being all alone. 

Trying to sleep.

There's "a man," or "an angel," or God himself wrestles with him. 

All night long. 

And when morning comes, it's kind of a tie. 

And the wrestler tells Jacob his new name shall be, "Israel." 

Israel literally means, "One who struggles with God," 

or "One who contends with God," 

or "wrestles" with God. 

And the people of this faith, Israelites, even Christians, are those who wrestle, who contend with God, with the Bible.

and, quite often, with each other and with the world.

So, from the very beginning of our faith, the Bible tells us: 

This is going to be a struggle. 

This is supposed to be hard. 

If faith were easy, if faith were blind, it wouldn't be faith. 

At least not faith in God, the God of Israel, the God of Abraham, and… the God of Jesus. 

"Jesus loves me, this I know." 

Even a child gets that. 

But once we grow past childish ways, as Paul says, we see things differently. 

Through a glass darkly. 

Faith is a struggle. 

Some days we have it in our grasp. 

And some days, it's a love-hate relationship.

Some days we might even doubt the whole thing.

Let me say this. 

If anyone has ever told you that if you question God, if you question the Bible, if you doubt your faith – at all – 

you're a sinner, you're bad, and you might just be going to hell – 

if anyone has ever told you that – 

THEY. ARE. WRONG. 

They're trying to scare you into believing what they believe. 

It's manipulation. 

Crowd control. 

It's untrue. 

It's hateful.

And if that kind of thinking has ever made you hate yourself, hate your family, hate the church, or even hate Jesus – 

I am so sorry. 

I hate when that happens. 

And I'm OK with hating that.

On the other hand, when people – 

we preachers, people who write commentaries – 

are quick to jump to rationalizing, when we're clearly too fast to explain away the hard parts of the Bible – 

we have stopped being wrestlers and turned into couch potatoes.

Faith. Knowing God. Knowing Jesus. 

Being a good family member, a good friend, a good citizen of the world – is a lifelong process. 

Otherwise we could just come to church once, get it, and never need to come back again. 

Faith – any faith – is a lifetime of wrestling. 

Sometimes you've got it wrapped up with a bow. 

And sometimes it's got you in a headlock. 

But even if you tap out, you can still get back in.

There's that wonderful image of Jesus carrying the lost sheep around his shoulders. 

The God we wrestle with is also the God who brings us home, who struggles with us when we wander off. 

And I sure don't hate that.

--

A couple of Communions ago, I confess, I was not at the top of my game. 

I hadn't slept well. I guess my mind had been wrestling with things.

We had the elders up here, and I messed up. 

I handed the juice to the elders, and then realized, oops, the bread goes first, 

you big dummy. 

So, Jean & I had to politely retrieve the trays of juice, and then hand the trays of bread, and then do the juice in the right order.

Stand back. I am a professional.

Then, when I was serving the elders, I picked up a tray of bread, and didn't hold it flat. 

The bread slid right off the tray and into the floor. 

"Oh no," thought I. 

Actually, I thought something I can't say in church. 

Thankfully, we have other trays of the Body of Christ. 

Communion was able to go on, the congregation was served, and hopefully, Jesus laughed at me. 

I don't know. 

Maybe Jesus smacked his forehead and wept. 

But I hated – I hated – knowing that I messed up. A sacrament.

Sometimes we wrestle with God. 

Sometimes we wrestle with our own mistakes. 

I really don't think Jesus hates us for that. 

Might wish he could smack us upside the head.

I don't think God hates us when we can't understand why we do the things we do. 

I don't think God hates us when we can't undo the things we did that keep us awake at 3 in the morning. 

I don't think God hates us when we're not on speaking terms with God.

Sometimes Jesus asks us to do things we just can't. 

Or won't. 

Or we fail.

Despite all our failures, I believe Jesus STILL calls us his disciples. 

Whether we carry the cross, or fumble it. 

There may BE things Jesus wants us to hate. 

But I don't believe for one minute that Jesus hates us. 

We're all on the wrestling team. 

And I believe he's cheering for our team. 

Even if it's Tennessee.

Amen and ouch. 

The Lord we humans crucified sees us. 

He probably says both. 

Ouch. Amen. 

And... bless their hearts. 

For they know not what they do.

You just gotta love them.

[eos]
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