The Cost of Discipleship
Luke 14:25-35
July 5, 2026
Matt Goodale
Everything we value costs something.
Whether it’s a home or a good meal or a car a really cool LEGO set…everything has a cost—and we are constantly weighing in our minds, do I value this thing enough to pay its cost?
But this extends beyond money and stuff. Everything we value in life has a cost.
If you value a healthy marriage, it costs time, forgiveness and vulnerability.
If you value raising children, it costs you sleep, freedom and that last bite of pizza you’ve been saving but now your two old really wants it.
If you value running a marathon it costs months of training.
If you value your career, it costs you time doing other things you love, maybe it costs you late nights and stress.
Even friendships—if you value friendship, it costs you showing up for someone even when its inconvenient.
Everything costs something.
So when Jesus talks about the cost of discipleship, maybe we shouldn’t be surprised.
It’s easy at first read to hear Jesus’ demand on the cost of following him as being quite ridiculous and a bit much. Especially when we hear him say things like “Unless you hate your father and mother and wife and children and even your own life, you cannot follow me.”
Oof, that’s a price tag most of us would glance at and then run for the door. Not worth the cost.
But Jesus is trying to make a point here. I hope none of us actually think Jesus is asking us to literally hate our family. For one, I probably would not be up here preaching right now, because I love my family quite a lot.
And, that would fly in the face of pretty much all of his other teachings. This is the same Jesus who scolds leaders for using their religion as an excuse for not taking care of their mothers and fathers. This is the same Jesus who tells his disciples to chill out and let the little children come to him. This is the same Jesus who calls us to radical love and compassion, even for our enemies. So what gives? If Jesus doesn’t actually want us to hate our families, what is Jesus talking about here?
Well, Jesus is speaking in hyperbole here to make a point. This was a common teaching tactic in his day. Think about in the sermon on the Mount when Jesus says, “If you eye causes you to sin, pluck it out, or if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off,” he doesn’t actually mean to literally amputate yourself. And no one has ever thought he meant that: his point there is, sin is serious, so take it seriously. He uses hyperbole to get his point across.
Same thing here. “Unless you hate your family” you cannot follow me. He is not literally asking you to hate your family…so you can take a deep breath and relax (hate is also a contrast word used by rabbis to emphasize something)…he’s making a point that following him will cost you a lot. In the ancient world, as is true today, family was the primary source of identity, economic security and religious belonging. And he follows this up by saying, it may even cost you your life. His point is: the life he is calling us to follow does not come cheaply.
So the question this story poses for us is not whether following Jesus will cost us something.
The question is whether the life Jesus invites us into is worth the investment. Is it worth the cost?
Because here’s the thing. Jesus isn’t the only one asking us to give our lives to something.
Everyday we’re investing our lives somewhere. We’re investing our time, our attention, our money, our energy, our hopes and dreams, our love.
The questions isn’t whether we’ll invest our lives. The question is what we’re investing them in. Because every kingdom asks for our lives. Every vision of a good life asks us to sacrifice something.
Our culture has plenty of answers of its own of what we should give our lives to. It tells us to invest in success. Work hard enough, achieve enough, climb high enough, and you’ll finally feel like you’ve made it. But success has a cost. It can cost evenings with your family. It can cost your health. It can cost your peace.
Our culture tells us to invest in security. Save enough. Own enough. Build enough. Protect enough. And while there’s nothing wrong with being responsible, security can quietly become the thing we trust most. It can make generosity feel dangerous and compassion feel risky.
We’re told to invest in being right. To win the argument. To prove our point. To make sure everyone knows we’re on the correct side. But that investment can cost us humility. It can cost relationships. It can make it difficult to really listen.
Sometimes we invest in comfort. We arrange our lives to avoid inconvenience, conflict, or discomfort. But this costs us something.
Sometimes we invest so completely in our children that their successes become our successes and their failures become our failures. We begin trying to control their lives rather than helping them discover who God created them to be.
None of those things are bad. Success, security, family, comfort isn’t bad. They’re all good gifts. The problem comes when we ask good things to become ultimate things. When they become the center around which everything else revolves.
I think that’s what Jesus is getting at.
He’s not asking us to love our families less. He’s asking us to love God in such a way that every other love—everything else we value –finds its proper place. Because when God’s love becomes the center of our lives, it actually changes how we hold everything else.
We still love our families—but we don’t try to control them. We begin to see them not as people who belong to us, but as people who belong to God.
We still work hard—but our worth isn’t determined by our success.
We still save for the future, but we can be generous.
But let’s not miss this: following Jesus still has a cost.
Not because Jesus enjoys making life difficult.
Because love—the kind of love Jesus embodies and calls us to—is costly.
Think about it.
I think about this as a dad. There are already moments where I catch myself imagining who I want my girls to become. I picture what they’ll love, what they’ll be good at, what kind of people they’ll grow into. None of that is wrong.
But every now and then I’m reminded that they aren’t projects for me to complete. They are children God has entrusted to me. And part of loving them is slowly loosening my grip on my own expectations so I can pay attention to who God is already making them to be. I find myself already having to let go of my kids in some way so that they can become who they were made to be…not who I want them to be. That costs something.
Love has a cost.
When you’ve been deeply hurt, holding onto resentment can feel a whole lot safer than forgiveness. Choosing not to let bitterness have the final word costs something. Love has a cost.
When your schedule is already full and someone calls needing help, compassion rarely arrives at a convenient time. It interrupts dinner. It changes your plans. It asks for your attention when you’d rather protect your time. Love has a cost. Even when you’re driving and stop at a corner where someone stands with a cardboard sign. It’s easy and feels safer not to make eye contact. It costs you some of your comfort to roll the window down.
When you are feeling overwhelmed by everything going on in our nation and in the world, it can be easiest to either ignore it and give in to cynicism and despair. Choosing to hold onto hope and not ignore the problems but also not give into the despair costs something.
This is what Jesus is talking about.
The cost of discipleship—the cost of following him— isn’t about proving how committed we are. It isn’t about collecting spiritual merit badges or giving things up just because they’re enjoyable.
The cost of discipleship is the cost of becoming people who love the way Jesus loves.
And that kind of love will always ask something of us.
It asks us to loosen our grip on control.
To forgive when we’d rather hold a grudge.
To choose generosity when fear tells us to hold tighter.
To tell the truth even when silence would be easier.
To keep seeing the image of God in people the world tells us to ignore, fear, or dismiss.
To cling to hope even when our heart is despairing.
That kind of life is costly; it isn’t cheap.
But neither is anything we truly value.
Because here’s the beautiful thing: Jesus isn’t asking us to count the cost of following him because he wants less for us. He’s asking us to count the cost because he wants more for us. More freedom than fear can offer. More joy than all the success in the world can provide. More peace than control can ever produce. More life than cynicism or self-preservation could ever get us.
Jesus isn’t trying to scare people away. He’s simply being honest. He’s saying if you walk this road with me, it will change you. It will reshape your priorities, your relationships, your assumptions about success and how the world works, and even the way you understand love itself. And he also promises that it is so worth it.
The question isn’t whether following Jesus will cost you something.
The question is whether the life Jesus offers is valuable enough—beautiful enough—that it’s worth investing our entire lives in.
Amen and may it be so.