Life in the Soil of Discipleship

Are you following Jesus in the midst of a challenging life or are challenges arising in the midst of following Jesus?

Jeremiah 18:1-11
Psalm 139:1-5, 12-17
Philemon 1-21
Luke 14:25-33

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on September 7, 2025 at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the message may be found here. 

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

Holy Apostles, let me just say it from the start: this Gospel lesson is a doozy. It’s one of those moments when you half-expect me to stop reading, look up at you all, and say, “Wait, do we really want to keep going with this ‘Good News’?” Jesus tells the crowd, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even life itself—cannot be my disciple.” Yo, Jesus who soured your wine? Who burnt your bread, buddy? It appears that Our Lord is coming in hot.

 

This instruction to hate is not exactly the stuff of inspirational posters. It’s not the message one should take to this year’s Thanksgiving dinner: “Pass the turkey, Mom… also, Jesus told me to hate you now.” Awkward, right?!

 

But, this passage is here, which brings us to a larger question: how do we read Holy Scripture? It might be tempting, but as faithful followers of Jesus we don’t get to skip the challenging verses, we don’t soften them, nor do we pretend they aren’t there. Instead, we do what disciples have always done: wrestle with the difficult stories, pray for God’s wisdom, and ask each other what God is saying to us here and now. And sometimes—thanks be to God—together we receive deeper understanding and even get to laugh along the way.

 

A further insight about how we engage Holy Scripture before refocusing on this particular passage. As ones who follow the Revised Common Lectionary, over the course of three years on Sundays we get most of the books of the Bible. This means that if you show up for 156 straight Sundays you’re going to have heard the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of our most sacred text. We cannot hold all of it together without some of it contradicting itself. Our work, with each other and most importantly with God’s help, is to carefully discern how Holy Scripture molds, shapes, and directs our lives. 

 

Think of it this way: We cannot take a cafeteria line approach to reading the Bible where we pick and choose what we want to follow. Instead, together we use our hearts, souls, strength, and yes our MINDS to determine what the Spirit is saying to us the Church through the Living Word of God. 

This means we take the Bible far too seriously to simply take it literally. It’s not an instruction book—it’s a series of varying books about God’s love affair with Creation, specifically human beings. And, it requires the love of Christ (self-giving, sacrificial, extravagant, eternal, and unconditional), it requires this love to serve as the interpretative key. Without Christ’s love it’s not going to make sense! Now, back to our passage, which seems to be lacking in love.

Jesus gives us two little parables about “counting the cost.” A man about to build a tower first sits down and figures out if he has enough to finish it. A king about to go to war first checks whether he has the soldiers to stand a chance.

 

I’ve built a few things in my life—not towers, mind you, but Ikea bookshelves. Even with those, I usually end up with a few pieces left over and a slightly lopsided shelf that looks more like modern art than storage furniture. If even Ikea requires counting the cost, what do you think about the cost of following Jesus? 

 

What Jesus is saying is clear: discipleship (being a student of His Way of Love) is not something you stumble into by accident. Maybe it starts that way, but eventually it takes intention. It takes sacrifice. It takes putting him at the center, so that everything else in your life—family, work, money, politics, even your identity—lines up around him.

Now, that we understand those mini-parables a bit more, what about that “hate your family” line? Jesus is not giving us permission slips to bail on family dinners or to ignore our kids’ soccer games. The Greek word here could be rendered “love less than.” It’s a way of saying: your ultimate loyalty belongs to God. Even the most precious human relationships cannot outrank the call of discipleship, and I always think it’s important to point out: one way to love God is to love your family well. They aren’t mutually exclusive!

 

So, no Jesus isn’t anti-family. He’s pro-clarity. He’s saying: be clear about what’s first. If the Great I AM is first, then everything else finds its rightful place afterward. (Watch this from Stephen Covey about "Big Rocks First" for a visual example of this!)

And, here’s where this hits home. You don’t need me to tell you that life is complicated. I look out at this congregation, and I know:

• Some of you are caring for aging parents, juggling doctor’s appointments, prescriptions, and your own fatigue.
• Some of you are living in the tension of strained or complicated relationships.
• Some of you are raising children in a world that feels less certain, less safe, than the one you grew up in.
• Some of you are working so hard just to make ends meet, and wondering if it will ever get easier.

And in the middle of all this, here comes Jesus with his cross, saying: “Follow me.”

But, when we go about our lives in this way, we are living out of order. For the heart of this Gospel message is this: You aren’t following Jesus in the midst of all these challenges, as though your life is primary and Jesus is the side project. No—the challenges arise in the midst of following Jesus.

 

Maybe it seems like a slight shift, but it makes all the difference. My mom used to have a shirt, by the way it read: Do you have change for a paradigm? This shift means that discipleship is not something we squeeze in around the edges of our busy lives. Discipleship is the soil in which our lives grow. It’s the ground we stand on. Everything else—our families, our work, our challenges—sprouts up from that holy soil.

That means the tough stuff isn’t proof that you’re doing it wrong. Life is hard. And, that difficulty is simply part of life in the soil of discipleship. Following Jesus doesn’t exempt us from hardship. But it also isn't the last word!

Take Paul’s letter to Philemon today. Paul is writing from prison, urging Philemon to receive Onesimus—a runaway slave—not as property, but as a brother in Christ. Whoa, that’s a costly word! That wasn’t the way of the world—Paul was upending social norms, disrupting economic stability, and challenging Philemon to see his life not through the lens of Roman law but growing from the soil of discipleship.

 

This, friends, is exactly what we are trying to live into together as a congregation right now, in this soil of discipleship. We’re entering into a season of envisioning—asking who we are, what values shape us, and what mission God is calling us to in the next three to five years.

 

It might be tempting to think: “Once life calms down, once the budget is easier, once we all agree on everything—then we can get serious about following Jesus.” But that’s not how it works.

 

The Gospel says: we don’t wait for the perfect conditions. We start here, now, with the lives we actually have. Walking the Way of Love is not something we tack on after the fact. Discipleship is the ground on which we build.

 

So as we dream together—about values, vision, and mission—we’re not inventing something new from scratch. We’re tending the soil that’s already beneath us. We’re asking: what does it look like to live more deeply into our identity as students of the Divine, the Incarnate One we call Jesus?

And, y’all want to know the really good news? The challenges you carry—caring for parents, raising kids, navigating brokenness, making ends meet—these don’t mean you’ve failed at discipleship. They are indicators that you are engaging in tilling and tending to that soil, so that something remarkable will grow with God’s help.

 

Think about it like gardening. If you’ve ever planted vegetables, you know: some years the plants thrive, other years they wither. Sometimes you get blossoms and no fruit. But the soil is still the soil. And so, persistent gardeners keep at it—composting, watering, weeding—because they know eventually the soil yields abundance. 

 

So too with us. Following Jesus is about tending the soil of our lives. Some seasons are lean. Some are abundant. But the soil is still holy. And God still scatters seeds in our soil.

Now, does this mean it’ll all be smooth sailing? Hardly! If you think discipleship is easy, try putting together a piece of Ikea furniture with your family. That’ll test the holiness of your soil right quick.

 

But the good news is that Jesus walks this road ahead of us and with us. He carried the cross first. Now He shows us that the way of sacrifice is also the way of life, the way of love, the way of hope.

 

And if Jesus can redeem the cross, then surely he can redeem our family struggles, our weariness, our loooong meetings, and yes—even our half-built Ikea purchases.

So friends, let’s not get spooked by this Gospel’s intensity. Let’s hear it for what it is: Jesus calling us to clarify our lives. To make him the soil in which everything else grows.

 

Let’s count the cost together—not to scare ourselves away, but to remember the amazing gift of what we’re being invited into: life with God, life in Christ, life rooted in love that no challenge, no hardship, no brokenness can uproot.

 

And as we take up our envisioning work, may we do so with that same clarity. We don’t follow Jesus in the midst of our challenges. These challenges arise in the midst of following him. And that shift makes all the difference.

 

So, let’s follow. Let’s have change for our paradigm. Let’s dream. Let’s live as students of the Divine, the Incarnate One, who is our soil, our center, our life.

 

Amen.

Why Do We Keep It?

Where are you keeping your treasure?

Isaiah 1:1, 10-20
Psalm 50:1-8, 23-24
Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16
Luke 12:32-40

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen. 

 

“Why do we keep it?”

 

That question—posed by David McElroy—has lingered in my spirit this week. It floated into our weekly Bible Study like a wisp of incense and stayed there, hanging in the air and in my heart.

 

Why do we keep it?

 

The box of mismatched A/V cords in the drawer. The dusty kitchen gadget we swore we’d use. The clothes that no longer fit. The stacks of papers, just in case. The inherited china we don’t like, but feel guilty giving away.

 

Why do we keep it?

 

Perhaps that’s the very question Jesus wants us to ask ourselves today—not just about our closets, our garages, or our family estates, but about our hearts. “For where your treasure is,” he says, “there your heart will be also.”

 

But Jesus doesn’t come at us with guilt or shame. He isn’t yelling from some mountaintop, wagging his finger. He speaks tenderly: “Do not be afraid, little flock…” In the Greek, it’s even sweeter, translating to something like: my little flocklet. My dear ones.

 

In this passage, we observe a trend persisting in Luke. Jesus continues his teachings on possessions, anxiety, and faithfulness. And he offers not just advice, but a reorientation. A new direction for our hearts.

 

“Sell your possessions, and give alms,” he says. But this isn’t only about money. This is about anything that has a grip on us. Anything we cleave to more tightly than we cling to God. This is about the things we’ve made into idols—comfort, control, prestige, self-image, and security (just to name a few).

 

In last week’s reading from Colossians, Paul called greed a form of idolatry. And it’s true: when we grasp so tightly to our stuff, our power, or even our public image, we place ourselves in the position of God. Or, we take things—possessions, accomplishments, people—and use them as if they exist for our gain. We use people and love things instead of loving people and using things.

 

But Jesus is not inviting us to deprivation. He’s inviting us into liberation. He’s beseeching us to let go—so we can receive.

To let go of scarcity and fear…
To let go of pride and performance…
To let go of fool’s gold, so we can make room for treasure that truly lasts.

 

That’s what he means when he tells us to make “purses that do not wear out”—to store up unfailing treasure in heaven. That fortune isn’t tucked away in some far-off realm. That reward shows up here and now:
– in the love of family and friend
– in acts of justice and mercy
– in moments of wonder, awe, and compassion
– in giving away the gifts that the ego so desperately tries to hoard
– in the light of God’s image shining in the face of someone we used to overlook.

 

This is the good stuff—the kind of treasure praised not just by Jesus, but also by the Torah, the Prophets, and most every world religion: lifting up the lowly, caring for the vulnerable, honoring the present moment, living in love.

 

But it’s hard, isn’t it?

Hard to let go.
Hard to trust.
Hard to stay attentive to this work.

 

That may be why Jesus shifts his metaphor so quickly in this Gospel passage. One moment he’s talking about treasure; the next he’s urging us to gird our loins and keep our lamps lit, like servants waiting for the master to return.

 

It may seem like a narrative jump, but I think Jesus knows how easy it is for us to fall asleep to the truth. To numb ourselves with stuff. To be lulled by comfort. To keep quiet instead of confronting injustice. To walk right past the God who comes to us disguised as those ones who irritate us the most.

 

The hard truth is this: Jesus talks about money, wealth, and greed more than almost any other topic in the Gospel accounts. And yet, in the Church today, we’re often hesitant to talk about it at all.

 

Why? Maybe because we know he’s right.

 

We’ve created whole systems that reward greed and punish poverty. We elevate wealth as a virtue, as if it proves someone’s worth. We baptize comfort and crucify sacrifice. And all the while, we make idols of ourselves.

 

But Jesus says, Stay awake. Watch for the places where God is showing up—in the neighbor who annoys us, in the person who needs us, even in the shadowy parts of ourselves that we’re scared to examine.

 

This is no passive waiting. It’s an active, hopeful, humble vigilance.

It reminds me of a lesson I learned the hard way. A few years ago, I crashed while biking. More than once, actually! And each time, it was because I got fixated on the pothole, the rock, the thing I didn’t want to hit.

Turns out, if you focus on the obstacle, that’s exactly where you’ll end up.

But if you focus on where you want to go—on the clear bit of road—you’re far more likely to get there.

 

Jesus wants us to fix our eyes on the real treasure. To stop obsessing over the potholes of fear, greed, and ego. And to aim our hearts toward what lasts. Now let me tell you about someone who knew about what truly lasts.

 

Yesterday, some of us from Holy Apostles traveled to Hayneville, Alabama, for the 29^thannual Jonathan Daniels pilgrimage. For those who don’t know, Jonathan Daniels was a young White seminarian from New Hampshire who, 60 years ago, came down to Alabama during the Civil Rights Movement after he heard the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior’s plea for clergy to help with the integration. Jonathan was arrested for protesting segregation, and shortly after being released from jail, he was shot and killed while shielding a young Black woman named Ruby Sales. The pilgrimage re-membered Jonathan, honored him, and inspired us to follow his witness because…

Jonathan was awake. He was focused on the treasure that lasts. He gave his life not for fool’s gold, but for the eternal treasure of solidarity, justice, and love.

Now, we may think we’re not capable of such courage—and on our own, we’re not. But the good news is that we’re not on our own.

Where we are weak, God is strong.
Where we are fearful, God is faithful.
Where we are asleep, the Spirit stirs us.

 

There is no “I” in church, but there is a you. There is a we. There is the Spirit. And there is the invitation to join in God’s healing of the world—not someday, but today.

 

So, on this day, as we bless backpacks and feast together at our back-to-school cookout, let’s ask ourselves again:
What are we keeping? And, why do we keep it? 

What is keeping us? And, what might happen if we dared to let go, to live more freely?

 

Let us stay awake to what really matters.
Let us fix our eyes on the road ahead.
Let us build up one another, serve the poor, care for the sick, tend to the children, love our neighbors, love ourselves—and yes, even our enemies.

Let us become one Body, rich in the treasure that never fades.

For where your treasure is,
there your heart will be also.

 

Amen.

 

A Few Words For Our Youth

Acts 11:1-18

Psalm 148

Revelation 21:1-6

John 13:31-35

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

There’s a saying I’ve seen on a bumper sticker before that reads:
“Don’t make me come down there — Love, God.”

 

When seeing this, I imagine God with one eyebrow raised, holy hand scratching his blindingly bright beard, standing on a cloud, looking down at our mess and our mischief. But the truth is — God probably doesn’t look like this and more importantly, God did come down here! And not with a lightning bolt, but with sandals and stories and, above all else… love.

 

And today — on Youth Sunday — I’m convinced that the message God came to give through Jesus could not be clearer. In John’s Gospel account, Jesus reclined at the table with his disciples. And in this story of the last night before the cross, there is no Last Supper. Just this:

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you.”

 

Now, let’s pause for a second. When Jesus says something is a commandment, we should probably write that down. It’s not a suggestion from our incarnate influencer—this isn’t a divine recommendation. He doesn’t say, “Try love when you’re feeling holy” or “Maybe sprinkle in a dash of godliness when you want some zest.” No — he says: Love. One another. As I have loved you.

 

And how did Jesus love them? 

Well, he loved everyone—the bold ones and the shy ones. The fishermen and the tax collectors. He loved the ones who understood what he was saying and the ones who constantly asked, “Wait, what?” He loved Judas. He loved Peter — even after Peter denied knowing him. He loved through challenge, through wisdom, through healing, feeding, and sacrificing. And, his love had no exception clause, no footnotes, no expiration date. 

 

That’s the kind of love we’re talking about.

 

And here are two things I want every youth at Holy Apostles to know — and honestly, what I hope all of us remember:

1.    You are loved. Without limit. Without exception. Without end.

By God. By this church. By the people who make up this fun-loving, table-sharing, music-making, prayer-raising, Holy Apostles family.

 

2.    And — here's the second part — that love is not a souvenir. 

 

It’s not meant to sit on your shelf like your 3rd place ribbon from the science fair (although, well done!). It’s meant to be shared. Worn. Passed on. Like glitter at Vacation Bible School — it sticks to everything and everyone, and you can’t get rid of it.

 

You’re called to live out that love in real ways. In how you treat the new kid. In how you respond to hate or bullying. In how you show up when someone’s having a rough time. In how you include, rather than exclude.

 

Because, as Acts reminds us today — this love of God is for everyone. Peter has that weird picnic-blanket vision — you know, the one where animals come down from the sky like a heavenly food court — and it becomes clear that God's love is for all people. No one is unclean. No one is left out. Love has no border.

 

And Revelation paints the vision even more beautifully: a new heaven, a new earth, a world where every tear is wiped away. That’s where all this is going. And between now and then, our job is to love like that future is already true.

 

So — if you forget everything else from your years at Holy Apostles (even the doughnuts at Sunday School), I hope you remember this:

You are beloved. Always.
And your life’s work — wherever you go — is to love like Jesus. Loudly. Boldly. Graciously.

Not because it’s easy. But because it’s who we are.
And because the world needs it.

 

And remember — when in doubt, just love. You’ll be doing the holiest work of all.

 

Amen.

 

Bonus Good News: A Feast for the Heart

Today's Gospel lesson comes after the original ending of John, so what do we do with this bonus good news?

 

Acts 9:1-6, (7-20)

Revelation 5:11-14

John 21:1-19

Psalm 30

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

This sermon was preached at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL on the Third Sunday of Easter. A video of the message may be found here. 

Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

At the end of last week’s Gospel lesson — right before today’s story — we heard the following: “But these [things] are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” Boom! Resurrection, belief, and new life. End of story. Roll the credits.

 

Except… not quite. It’s like in an infomercial: But wait! There’s more!

 

Today we hear a bonus, post-Resurrection encounter — it almost feels like a surprise scene after the credits of a movie or a hidden track at the end of an album. In this Gospel lesson, John sneaks in one last story about the Risen Christ, it’s a secret epilogue of grace. As though, God is saying: You thought I was finished? I'm just getting started.

 

And what is in this bonus good news? What is it that God is just getting started?

 

It’s a beach breakfast, a miraculous catch of fish, a conversation about love and forgiveness, and—surprisingly—a challenge… to not just “believe,” but to live differently because you believe. 

 

Now y’all, I know that change is challenging. Even when that change comes from experiencing the Resurrection. For in the new light of Easter, we experience newfound freedom—knowing that death doesn’t have the last word—but, this new way of being is impossible. At least it is on our own. 

 

So, friends if you hold on to nothing more from these lessons, remember that if you are going to live “life in Christ,” you will need the risen Christ feeding you and transforming you. But, what does this sustaining presence look like? Well, let’s start by looking at a failed fishing expedition.

 

After everything—the empty tomb, the Easter appearances, and the imparting of the Holy Spirit (according to John)—what do the disciples do? Go on a mission to share the Good News? No! Serve the needy of Jerusalem? Nope! Pray unceasingly worshipping God? Nah! Instead, the disciples go fishing. 

 

It's an odd thing. After everything that happened, they just went back to what they were doing before. And, who could blame them? There is not empirical data measuring the stress levels of these 1^st Century disciples, but imagine the mental and emotional load that was upon them. The leader of their movement had been viciously killed and mysteriously raised. It would make sense to blow off some steam by doing something fulfilling and familiar. It’s what we do too, right? 

 

Perhaps we do this by going fishing, but it could also be when we’re golfing, hiking, running, cooking, traveling, or any other number of other productive ways to cope with stress. So, the disciples head to some well-known surroundings to recenter and recognize what had taken place, but…

 

They were terrible at it—at least the fishing. You would have thought none of them had fished before. How did they survive by doing this? Because they fished all night long and caught nothing. Not a single fish! 

 

Then, at dawn, just as the sun rose (or was it the S-o-n that rose?), a stranger on the shore shouted: “Children, you have no fish, have you?” (Ouch! Who is this mean heckler on the shore?)

“No,” they sighed in reply.

“Cast the net on the right side,” he offered. It is not in any translation, I’ve ever read, but I imagine the disciples rolling their lives and retorting: “Don’t you think we tried that!” But, eventually, they did cast their nets on the other side. And, bam! They hauled in 153 fish. More than they could haul into the boat.

 

It’s in this moment of abundance that the proverbial scales fell from their eyes. John recognized: “It is the Lord!” Simon Peter, never one for half-measures, went all-in, throwing on his clothes and diving into the sea. (Only Peter would get dressed before swimming… I mean, was he worried about Jesus seeing him shirt-less?)

 

When the disciples reached shore, what did they find? Jesus. Already there. Already preparing a meal for them. Already sustaining them! Before he sent them out to feed others, he fed them first. But, we do not live by bread (or fish) alone. For then, came the deeper work of spiritual sustenance.

 

After breakfast, Jesus turned to Peter—remember he was the one who had denied Jesus three times—and in a series of questions that were as tender as they were cutting, Jesus asked Peter three times: “Do you love me?”

Each time Peter said yes, and each time Jesus responded not with “That's nice” or “I love you, too,” but with a commission: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.” 

 

In this moment, we see more clearly that love to Jesus is not just a warm feeling. Instead, it is a choice, an action. And, in the three-fold affirmation of Peter’s love for Christ, we also discover that God’s love is about restoration. The denials of Good Friday morning are undone here at this brunch on the beach. And though we know that Peter still didn’t get it all right, his later mission and martyrdom exemplify a life turned toward the service of others. And here’s where this bonus scene of Good News challenges us. Jesus’ unbinding Peter and his denials is inextricably linked with a transformation—a difference in being and behavior.

 

The priest and author Barbara Brown Taylor once told a story about a seminary classmate from Lebanon who was curious why his classmates did not want this for themselves. He grew frustrated with the other students, saying: “All you Americans care about is justification! You love sinning and being forgiven, sinning and being forgiven. Has anyone ever heard of sanctification? Is anyone interested in learning to sin a little less?” These are hard questions, but appropriate ones. Don’t we want to be transformed? Don’t we want to live in integrity when it comes to the relationships of our lives?

 

The truth is the Risen Christ forgives us endlessly, like we saw in Christ Jesus’ repeated forgiveness of Peter. However, Christ also calls us beyond the hamster wheel of sinning and being forgiven. Christ calls us to be transformed. How do we know this? Well, look no further than our lesson from the Acts of the Apostles this morning. 

 

Saul, the bloodthirsty persecutor, became Paul the Apostle. The adamant victimizer who held the cloaks of those who martyred Saint Stephen, became the evangelist who helped spread the Christian message to the Gentiles. Or, look again at Peter, the denier, who became the rock on which Christ built the Church. 

 

Both were fed by the grace of God, but neither stayed the same. Their lives became acts of penance in the best sense — not as punishment, but as repair. They did not change because they feared God’s wrath (although I think Saul’s blindness certainly put the awe of God in him), instead they changed knowing the freedom of serving in Christ’s ministry. Their faith was not just a listless “I’m sorry.” It was a moving, new way of living: loving, feeding, tending, and serving.

 

This is what sanctification looks like. This is Life in Christ. This is Resurrection! So, what about us? Do we want this?

 

You may feel tired. Maybe your nets have been empty. Perhaps even returning to old sources of sustenance isn’t as fruitful. Maybe you’ve been stuck on that hamster wheel or out in lifeless waters. Perhaps you cannot break the old sinful ways. If any of this sounds like you, look to the shore. See the Risen Christ. He’s already readying a meal for you and for all. Let him feed you. Let him love you first. Yes, here at Christ’s Table, but also in prayer, in the study of scripture, in giving to others, in being loved on by this community, or countless other ways that God is yearning to meet you.

 

And then—because you are loved beyond measure, because no matter what you have done you have been forgiven—get up. Feed his lambs. Tend his sheep. And, love his flock (all his flock). Because the bonus good news isn’t just that Christ is risen. The bonus good news is that you are rising too. Amen.