The call to reorder...from crowd to disciple

Recently, to my horror and surprise, Mac actively started using the word hate. When he’s frustrated with me or Thomas, or when he’s asked to do something he doesn’t want to do—get ready for bed, brush his teeth, turn off Spidey—he’ll look at us and sometimes yell, “I hate you!” Or, even scarier, when he narrows his eyes and kind of whispers, “I hate you…”

I don’t think he really understands what that word means. And as much as I might wonder where he picked it up, I know he doesn’t actually hate us. His love runs deep, even when his strong feelings bubble up. But in his own way, he’s showing me something about the word hate. For him, it doesn’t mean despising someone—it means asserting himself, claiming his own independence, insisting on his own way. That small, everyday act of self-assertion reminds me that following Jesus isn’t about eliminating our natural loves or desires, but about learning how they can be shaped and transformed.

Because what we just heard in the Gospel today can feel shocking. Jesus turns to the large crowd traveling with him and says: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, spouse and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

At first, Jesus’ words can sound harsh, almost as if he’s commanding cruelty or setting us against the very people we love most. But perhaps he’s pointing to something closer to what Mac shows in these moments of insistence. Jesus is inviting us to let our natural loves be transformed. Following him doesn’t diminish our love for family or for life itself; it reorders it so that all our love flows from God’s love, rather than taking God’s place.

In the language of Jesus’ time, “hate” didn’t always mean what we mean by it. It could mean to put second, to love less. Jesus is not telling us to despise our families. He is saying: if you want to follow me, your deepest loyalty must be to me. Your love for me must come first, even above the ties that feel most natural and powerful. That is costly.

For some, it might mean loosening our grip on identity shaped by family expectations or career accomplishments. Or it might mean choosing Jesus’ way of compassion over popularity or belonging to the “in” crowd. Or seeking to belong in ways that draw you closer to Christ’s call to justice and compassion.

In this case, the word “hate” isn’t about cruelty. It’s about reordering. It’s about saying: Christ comes first. And that’s why Jesus doesn’t stop with the word “hate.” He calls the crowd deeper — from being curious admirers to becoming disciples.

You see, even in our time, anyone can join the crowd. Crowds are curious, excited, caught up in the moment. They don’t require much. You can stand in the back and watch without risk.

But discipleship is different. Discipleship means drawing close, walking in Jesus’ steps, and living by his way of love. Discipleship means moving from watching to participating, from admiring to following.

And that difference matters not just for us individually, but for communities. A church shaped only by crowd-energy is a place of casual belonging, a place where it’s comfortable to stay on the surface. But when a church becomes a community of disciples, it is transformed into a place of radical love, courageous justice, and deep belonging.

And I want to pause here, because I think that’s what I see happening in this community. We are not just a crowd gathered around Jesus out of curiosity. We are moving toward becoming a community of disciples. That is exciting. It means our shared life is taking the risk of going deeper: listening to Christ, ordering our priorities around him, letting go of comfort for the sake of love. It is a hopeful, powerful thing to witness and be a part of.

Jesus is clear that discipleship is costly. He warns us with images of builders and kings — count the cost before you begin, he says. Don’t start the tower if you’re not ready to finish. Don’t rush into battle without weighing your strength.

Following Jesus means letting go of certain securities: the security of being liked by everyone, the security of having our possessions define us, the security of believing life will always be smooth and easy.

But here’s a pastoral gift in this passage: Jesus doesn’t demand instant decisions. He honors the pause. He gives us room to be honest. Some of us may still be in the crowd, curious, not yet ready to take the next step. And that’s okay. Even that honesty is part of the journey of faith.

Because while discipleship is urgent, it is not a snap or one-time decision. It is a lifelong reordering. And Jesus welcomes us into that process — whether we are stepping forward boldly or still holding back in discernment, or some combination of both.

And here is the hope: the world is not transformed by crowds who remain spectators. The world is transformed when crowds become communities of disciples, when we pursuit the call of discipleship together. When our shared energy is rooted in Jesus’ way of love, when together we put him first and follow where he leads.

When love is reordered around God, it does not just change our private lives. It changes the way we live in the world.

When God comes first, we see people on the margins not as strangers but as beloved neighbors. When Jesus comes first, we hold possessions loosely, so they can be shared generously. When Christ comes first, we refuse to stay silent when racism, violence, cruelty, or environmental destruction are treated as normal.

Discipleship costs something because it changes the world. It disrupts injustice, it loosens the grip of greed, it resists the powers that profit from fear. And that kind of discipleship has always been costly. But it is also what makes communities of faith alive.

This is not just about what we give up. It is also about invitation. Jesus is not asking us to give things up for nothing — he is inviting us into something greater.

He is inviting us into community. Into a family bigger than family, into belonging deeper than being liked, into life more abundant than possessions or achievements can provide.

That might mean freedom from the endless pressure to prove ourselves. It might mean discovering that Jesus gives us a place at the table that no popularity contest can take away. Or finding that our worth isn’t in grades, achievements, or career paths, but in God’s unshakable love — and that discipleship can reorder how we choose friendships, studies, our calling, our hope for the future. The crowd offers excitement, but only for a time. Discipleship offers community that endures.

So today the question comes to us, as it came to the crowd long ago: Will we stay with the crowd, or will we step into discipleship?

To reorder love is costly. To put Christ first requires letting go. To move from crowd to disciple means risk. But it is also the way into deepest belonging, boldest justice, and abundant life.

And if we are not ready yet? That’s okay. Jesus welcomes the honest watcher as well as the bold disciple. He gives us space to count the cost, to discern, to prepare. And he keeps the invitation open.

Which brings me back to Mac. When he tells me he “hates” me in a moment of asserting his independence, I know it’s not the whole truth. I know love is still there. And I also know his words reveal something real—his desire to claim his own way, to have his needs and perspective recognized. Aren’t we the same? Our tantrums might just look a little more dignified. We may not always understand the call to reorder the way Jesus does. We may push back, question, struggle to let go. But our love is still there, and so is God’s. And in the end, discipleship is not about getting it perfect in one moment. It’s about learning, again and again, to let Jesus reorder our love, until what comes first is him. Thanks be to God. Amen.