There was a man. A great man. And this man was throwing a banquet. It wasn’t just any banquet. It was a lavish one. A feast so overflowing, so abundant, that to miss it would be unthinkable. But people missed it. They were invited. They had a seat. The table was set. And yet –

 

“I just bought a field.”

“I just got some new oxen.”

“I just got married.”

 

Investments. Business. Love. They sound reasonable, don’t they? Good things. Necessary things. Things that make life stable and secure. Things that make it feel like we’re progressing. But something is happening here. Something deeper. That’s why the man throwing the banquet becomes furious. He sends out new invitations. Not to the elite, the busy, the ones entangled in their own agendas, but to the poor, the crippled, the blind, the outcasts. And then, he issues chilling words: “None of those who were invited shall taste my banquet” (Luke 14:24)

 

Sounds a little overboard, doesn’t it? Until you recognize that it’s not about the land or the oxen or the wedding. It’s about what they represent. They reveal what comes first. They reveal things that become idols. Which makes them problematic. Because Jesus isn’t to be just another priority on a long list. He’s not something you add to your life after you’ve secured the job, the house, the marriage, or the life you’ve dreamed of. Jesus is to be The Thing. And if He’s not The Thing in your life, then this story tells us you won’t be at the banquet.

 

Chilling, isn’t it?

 

If that doesn’t wreck you, maybe this will. Jesus, after the banquet parable turns to the great crowd accompanying Him and says something that I’ve often skimmed right over. What he says is uncomfortable. It doesn’t fit neatly into a Sunday school story:

 

“If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:26)

 

Wait. Hate? His own family? His own life?

 

This is where we start looking for loopholes. I mean we’re talking about Jesus, right? The one who preaches love? The one who tells us to honor our parents? The one Paul uses to teach husbands how to love their wives? We start scrambling for softer explanations. “He didn’t actually mean hate. It’s just a metaphor.”

 

Sure. But don’t miss the weight of it. Jesus is not just saying, “I must be first.” He’s saying “I must be so far above everything else that, by comparison, every other love looks like hate.” This is an all-in kind of deal. Yet we gloss over these things because we like to domesticate our discipleship. We’ve made following Jesus something you do on Sundays. Something you sprinkle into your life. Something you add to your schedule in between work, family, hobbies, sports, entertainment, comfort. We say, Jesus, I’ll follow you, but…

 

But I have a career to build.

But I have a family to raise.

But I have my own dreams and desires.

 

Sound familiar?

 

Then Jesus, probably knowing the excuses, the loopholes, the escape routes running thru minds doubles down: “Whoever doesn’t bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:27)

 

There it is. The cross. Not just as something He carried. Not just something we wear around our necks. But something we carry as we march to death. Our own death. The death of our plans, our contrived purpose, our own concocted dreams and desires. They must die so we can follow Him. So we can imitate Him. So we can put Him high above every other thing in our lives.

 

When you break it down this all sounds pretty awful. It sounds like death. Because it really is. And, that’s why Jesus told the crowd to consider what they’re about to enter: “Which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost?” “What king, going out to encounter another king in war, does not first sit down and deliberate whether he is able to win?” (Luke 14:28-31).

 

He’s saying: Don’t start if you’re not going to finish. Don’t raise your hand at an altar call just to walk away when it gets hard. Don’t sing the songs and read the verses if you’re not actually going to live them. Because if you’re half in, you’re not in at all. This is an all-in commitment. Not part-time. Not convenient Christianity. Not a weekend hobby.

 

You want to follow Him? It will cost everything. That’s the deal. The reason we gloss over these verses or read them without taking them to heart is because it’s not what we’re used to hearing. Which makes Jesus’ words sound extreme. Yet His words couldn’t be more true. Because this isn’t a casual decision or something you can just try out. It’s meant to be a life altering, everything rearranging, nothing will be the same again kind of call.

 

That’s because Jesus is worth it. He’s worth us placing Him far above everything else in the world. He’s worth our absolute, one hundred percent, best love. He’s worth us dying to ourselves so we can mimic His life. Because He’s so much better. So much better than anything else in the world. And His love? Well He loves us with an absolute, one hundred percent, best love. And, if you end up dropping everything to follow Him, to know Him, to do life with Him, you’ll wonder why you ever had anything above Him in the first place.