The Cost of Discipleship

Not a very theological theme today. But here’s what you get after a week of vacation.

Leaving vacation at the beach last Saturday was, as usual, inevitable yet excruciating. For me, the bottom line had as much to do with returning to work and reality as anything else. The rhythm of the waves, salt air, and near constant breeze of the Atlantic was invigorating. I didn’t want to return.

For me and my family, though, the real problem was leaving family. We stayed at Myrtle Beach with my in-laws, my kids' grandparents, aunts, and uncles. We hadn’t seen most of them for over a year—and one of them for over two years! Spending the week with them was wonderful, though not without all those little family hiccups that we’re all familiar with. And I’m willing to admit that the family hiccups are one of the things that make the experience so great.

Yet the time came, once again, to leave. As the week wore on we could feel it coming. By Friday, even the fun activities we did were tinged with sadness. We made statements like, “well, it’s our last trip to the beach,” and, “let’s hit the hot-tub one more time before we leave.” And by Saturday, we sort of waited for the inevitable moment when we’d drive away in different directions, not knowing when we’d be together again.

Myself…I’m used to it. I grew up a preacher’s kid, so I know what it is to say goodbye to family. In fact, I was always surprised to meet people who’d lived near their grandparents their whole lives. As a child, I learned little tricks for how to survive those sad goodbyes. You make jokes, tell yourself you’ll see them again, and talk about how much fun you had. Then you cry silently on the way home.

My kids, however, are still rookies at it. And between the two, my son is the most expressive. I watched this time as we tore them away from grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. My son’s face reflected a sort of depressed acceptance. He tried hard to control his sadness and, eventually, simply lost. He cried with each goodbye hug and nodded at whatever words people tried to comfort him with. My daughter, a few years younger and less comfortable expressing her sadness in public, resolutely held her ground—refusing to cry. She smiled, told silly jokes, hugged everyone , and avoided eye contact. I had to say, between the two I probably behave more like Grace. But Christian expressed my feelings.

When we got in the car and started to drive away, Christian could barely contain himself. He was crying hard. We looked back at Gracie and she had finally given in . Her face was contorted and sad and she was genuinely sobbing. Finally, Christian’s grief turned to anger. He slammed his fists down and he screamed, “I’m sick of living away from my family! I hate it!” We’ve moved them now twice, ripping them from family and friends in our desire to minister.

I didn’t want him to feel that way. But what could I say? Was he wrong to feel that way, if only for a moment? And, did I feel any differently? I didn’t. In fact, Christian and Grace were expressing what we were all feeling. It was the natural pain that comes with being ripped away from people you love. It shreds you inside and tears your heart to pieces. And it begs the question: why? Why walk away from family and friends to pursue a job, a few of the descriptions of which might read:

Little to no job security
Low pay
Unlimited hours
Travel required?

Now, I love my job and I love the church I serve. I am glad to be here and many of my dreams are coming true! But I have to admit that, sometimes, it seems like it would be easier to just quit and go home. It would be financially easier to just get a secure job doing something I’m not crazy about but that paid well. Why do it? Why agree to break our hearts over and over? Why pursue this crazy lifestyle?

I guess, the bottom line is, Jesus promised we’d suffer as Christians. And he promised that doing ministry would hurt. It calls for sacrifice. It calls for pain. It calls for risk. It’s the cost of following. Jesus said that whoever does not hate his father and mother for his sake was not worthy of his kingdom. I don’t hate them. But I’m willing to lose them if he wants me to. And in Philippians 3:8 Paul said that he considered all of the things he gave up when he came to Christ to be skybalon, which literally means crap. He considered everything he lost to be nothing—it’s all sewage—compared to knowing Jesus. And, I believe Paul was right. Even though it hurts to leave, it’s really no sacrifice at all. Jesus is worth it. He deserves it. He deserves a whole lot more than that. So, I guess bring it on. I’m ready to give more.