Matthew 10:24–39

I wonder whether you're someone with expensive tastes?

There’s a Spanish baker who sells a loaf of bread for around £100, largely because he sprinkles £97-worth of edible gold leaf into it. Apparently it's very popular with wealthy tourists.

And did you know you can buy a fish for £1.5 million. The bluefin tuna is a prized delicacy for sushi and sashimi in Japan.

We spend our whole lives weighing up prices against experience—seeing what something costs and whether it is worth it.

Because we live in a consumeristic society, it is not surprising that churches spend time trying to "sell" what we are doing and Christianity in general. We’ve recently been putting together our new website, and we produce posters and social media posts all the time.

We want to make Christianity attractive and, I think, it often becomes a "low-cost" and "low-risk" commodity. With every other option people have, how else will we persuade others to receive the faith if not by presenting it as easy, convenient, and beneficial?

But is the Christian faith really a low-cost, low-risk endeavour?

The Gospel for today offers a challenge to a market-driven approach to Christian mission. Jesus is preparing his disciples to be sent out into the world, but he does not promise them success, comfort, or popularity. Instead, he warns them about opposition, rejection, and sacrifice. Yet at the same time he calls them to courage, trust, and unwavering loyalty.

Jesus begins by reminding his disciples that they should not expect better treatment than he himself receives. "A disciple is not above the teacher, nor a slave above the master." If people accused Jesus, opposed Jesus, and eventually crucified Jesus, why should his followers expect universal approval?

That is not the sort of message likely to attract crowds. We can assume that having a faith should make life easier. Yet Jesus says the opposite. Following him may bring misunderstanding, criticism, and even hostility.

The question is not whether discipleship is costly.

The question is whether Jesus is worth the cost.

Jesus says three times in this passage, "Do not be afraid." Do not fear opposition. Do not fear rejection. Do not fear those who can harm the body but not the soul. The greatest danger facing disciples is not persecution itself but fear.

James suggested last week, heavily based on advice from the bible, that we should boast about Jesus. Not about the church as such. But specifically, Jesus and what he’s done for us. I wonder how many of us have done that this week? Why might we not have?

Because of fear. Fear causes us to compromise when we should stand firm. It tempts us to stay silent when we should speak. It persuades us to hide our faith when following Christ becomes inconvenient. More than anything else, fear encourages us to seek the approval of others rather than the approval of God.

The Cost of Discipleship: Therefore, Put Jesus First

Having comforted his disciples, Jesus then challenges them. He says, "Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me."

These are among the most difficult words Jesus ever spoke. Yet they become clearer when we remember what he is not saying. He is not commanding us to love our families less. He is not encouraging neglect or hostility. After all, Jesus repeatedly affirmed the importance of family relationships and commanded us to love our neighbours.

What he is saying is that our love for him must come first.

Family is a gift from God. Friendship is a gift from God. Our relationships are gifts from God. Children are a gift from God. Yet no gift should ever replace the giver. Every one of us has competing loyalties and competing demands on our lives. The issue is not whether we love many things. The issue is what occupies first place in our hearts.

A man once said to his minister, "I would die for Jesus." The minister replied, "That's wonderful. But would you be willing to tell your next door neighbour that Jesus died or them?"

We often imagine discipleship in dramatic terms. We think of martyrs, missionaries, and heroic acts of sacrifice. Yet most discipleship happens in ordinary moments. It happens when we choose integrity over popularity in terms of naming something about our faith in a situation. Or perhaps speaking up for truth in a situation where it’s awkward. It happens when we serve rather than seek recognition. It happens when we choose obedience over convenience.

Jesus knows that following him can create tension. Sometimes those tensions emerge within families themselves. Not because Jesus wants division, but because his claims are absolute. Every person must eventually answer the question: who comes first?

For the first disciples this was not a theoretical question. Many lost social standing. Some lost family relationships. Others lost livelihoods and security. Yet they discovered that Christ was worth more than everything they surrendered.

A Unified Life in Christ: Therefore, Live for Him Alone

The final section of today's Gospel brings us to one of Jesus' most profound statements: "Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."

That sounds completely backwards to modern ears. The world tells us to protect ourselves, promote ourselves, and prioritise ourselves. We are encouraged to build our own identity, pursue our own fulfilment, and place our own happiness above everything else.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer famously wrote, "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die." Bonhoeffer was not merely speaking about physical death. He was talking about the death of self-centredness, the death of divided loyalties, and the death of the illusion that we can fit Jesus neatly into one corner of our lives while keeping everything else untouched.

The gospel does not offer cheap discipleship. Jesus never advertised an easy life. What he offers is something far greater: a life centred on him, a life rooted in truth, and a life that ultimately cannot be taken away.

Jesus tells us that life is found not in grasping but in surrendering. The world says that life comes from getting more. Jesus says that life comes from giving ourselves away. The world teaches us to preserve our lives at all costs. Jesus teaches us that true life begins when we place our lives entirely in his hands.

This is where discipleship becomes more than church attendance or intellectual belief. It becomes a way of life.

One of the great problems of modern life is fragmentation. We divide ourselves into compartments. We have a work life, a family life, a social life, an online life, a political life, and a church life. We move between those different worlds and often operate by different values in each one.

Jesus will not allow that fragmentation. He refuses to become one priority among many. He insists on becoming the centre from which every other priority flows.

I do want to qualify my own standing here and seemingly preaching ‘at you.’ I struggle with these things too. I fail regularly. I am always preaching to myself.

If Christ is Lord on Sunday morning, he must also be Lord on Monday morning. If Christ shapes our prayers, he must shape our spending.

If Christ governs our worship, he must also govern our politics, our relationships, our ambitions and stewardship of creation.

If Christ commands us to love our neighbour, that command must shape not only our public behaviour but also our private conversations and online interactions. Twice recently I’ve been in the local shops and I’ve seen people be rude. I was with the same person twice and she said to me ‘don’t these people go to your church.’ I also saw, a week ago, a terrible, unthoughtful online post also from a member of our congregation…

No area of life is untouched by discipleship.

The purpose of the Christian life is not simply believing the right things about Jesus. It is becoming people whose whole lives are shaped by Jesus. Everything we say, everything we do, every decision we make, every relationship we have, every resource we steward becomes part of our response to him.

"Follow me" is both gift and demand.

Conclusion

So let me return to where we began.

Do you just want an ordinary loaf—that's cheap?

A loaf scattered with gold—that's expensive?

Or the Bread of Life, who costs everything and yet gives everything?

The gospel (good news!) does not offer a comfortable Christianity. It does not offer a faith built around convenience, popularity, or consumer choice. It offers a Saviour who is worthy of our highest loyalty. And it offers a life that is no longer fragmented but unified under one Lord.

Let’s look at our entire lives, and our behaviour in each situation. What is one area of life that still remains outside Christ's rule?

Because Jesus still asks the same question he asked his first disciples: Will you follow me?

Not only when it is easy. Not only when it is popular. Not only when it costs little. Will you follow me when it costs something?

Do not be afraid. Put Christ first. Live for him alone.

For the one who asks for everything is also the one who gives everything—and more.

Amen.

Our reading today ends with one of the most familiar passages in the Gospel: Jesus sending his disciples into the world:

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”

Not names.
Name.
One name.
Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

And for many people, that is exactly where the problem begins.

Because the Trinity can sound complicated. Abstract. Technical. Like something for theologians in dusty libraries rather than ordinary Christians trying to live faithful lives.

But what if the Trinity is not a puzzle to solve, but an invitation to join?

What if the Trinity is not cold doctrine, but the deepest joy at the centre of reality itself?

Some theologians have described the Trinity as a dance. The ancient word perichoresis describes the mutual indwelling of Father, Son and Spirit — each giving to the others, receiving from the others, delighting in the others. A movement of love. A sharing life. A relationship of overflowing generosity.

The Father pours love into the Son.
The Son gives himself back to the Father.
The Spirit is the joy and life shared between them.

Not loneliness.
Not competition.
Not grasping for power.

God, at the deepest level, is relationship. Communion. Self-giving love.

And that changes everything.

Because if God, and the principles of our God, were simply solitary power, then perhaps the world would be about domination and survival. But if the heart of God is shared love, then the universe itself is built on generosity, welcome and joy.

The Trinity is not a closed circle. It is an expanding circle of sharing and dancing.

And that is exactly what we see in Matthew 28.

The risen Jesus gathers the disciples on the mountain. Some worship; some doubt. Even here, at the great commissioning, they are imperfect people. Yet Jesus sends them anyway.

“Go and make disciples of all nations.”

The mission of the Church begins in the life of the Trinity itself.

The Church exists because the love of God refuses to keep itself contained.

The Father sends the Son.
The Father and Son send the Spirit.
And now Father, Son and Spirit send the Church.

Mission is not just a duty. It is an overflow. Co-mission. Us together and God with us.

We are invited into the life of God — and then invited to draw others in too.

Perhaps that is why the image of a dance is so powerful.

Think of a flash mob.

It begins with one person in a railway station or shopping centre. They start moving to music no one else can yet hear. Then another joins. Then another. Slowly the crowd changes. What looked awkward suddenly becomes beautiful. More people are drawn in. Smiles spread. Energy rises. Joy becomes contagious.

And the remarkable thing is this: the people already dancing seem happiest when more people join. And it doesn’t matter if they are great dancers.

Joy grows by being shared.

That is something like the mission of God.

The Church is not meant to stand in a defensive huddle, protecting itself from the world. The Church is called to join the music of God’s love and invite others into it.

And notice: Jesus says “all nations.”

The Trinity explodes every boundary.

Every tribe.
Every language.
Every background.
Every age.
Every story.

The love of God is always reaching outward.

Sometimes we shrink the Christian faith into something private and individual — “my relationship with God.” But the Trinity reminds us that salvation is also about being drawn into a new community, a new humanity, a shared life.

The Church should be the place where the life of the Trinity becomes visible.

A place of generosity instead of selfishness.
A place of welcome instead of exclusion.
A place where burdens are shared.
A place where people are seen and known and loved.

And not just here, inside these walls.

The Trinity pushes us outward into the whole world.

Into workplaces. Schools. Homes. Neighbourhoods. Politics. Economics. Art.
Culture.

Because God’s dream is nothing less than the renewal of all creation.

Until everyone is invited, the mission is not complete.

Until the lonely are welcomed, the dance is not complete.

Until the hungry are fed, the dance is not complete.

Until those crushed by shame discover they are beloved children of God, the dance is not complete.

And so we cannot become complacent.

Not because God is angry with the world — but because God loves the world too much to leave it outside.

The Church exists to stand in the middle of the world saying: “Come and join in. There is room for you here.”

Not we stand here, they stand here, how do we reach them… But we are in the middle, and we say come join the dance! Our church will grow if we take people by the hand and bring them onto the dance floor to join in the dance of the trinity.

Just because we are busy on a Sunday doesn’t mean we don’t need more dancers…

And perhaps some of us today need to hear the invitation personally. Maybe you’re propping up the bar, so to speak, and feel unable to fully join in

Maybe you feel like an outsider looking in. Maybe faith feels distant. Maybe you feel uncertain, unworthy, doubtful — like those disciples on the mountain who both worshipped and doubted at the same time.

Yet Jesus still called them.

The dance of the Trinity is not only for the perfect.

It is for anyone willing to step forward when they hear the music.

And the wonderful thing about a dance is that nobody begins as an expert. You learn by joining in.

That is discipleship.

Not standing at a distance analysing God.
But stepping into the life of Father, Son and Spirit.

Learning love. Learning forgiveness. Learning generosity. Learning joy.

I’m reaching out my hand to you today – not to make you dance, don’t worry. I’m a pretty rubbsh dancer. But to have a coffee for us to learn together and take tentative steps. And I know those around you who feel a bit more certain, are reaching out their hands too. Join a home group or an activity, ask about confirmation, or ask someone to help you join in… the dance is still evolving and your contribution will make it more beautiful.

And as we do, we discover that Christ’s final promise is true:

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

The dance is never abandoned.

The Spirit is still moving.

The invitation is still open.

Let us be a dancing church in the middle of our community, sharing love and joy and inviting people to dance with us, where ever we are.

The music has already begun in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pentecost is sometimes called the birthday of the Church, but if we are honest, the Church can occasionally act as though the Holy Spirit retired many years ago and now lives quietly somewhere on the south coast with a cup of tea and the parish magazine. Which is an excellent thing to read, by the way.

We speak often about God the Father – God the creator. We speak lovingly about Jesus the Son – whose example we follow. But the Holy Spirit can become, as one preacher put it, “the shy member of the Trinity.” We mention the Spirit in the creed, but perhaps we are not always sure what difference the Spirit makes in ordinary life. Pentecost is not about vague spirituality or religious enthusiasm. It is about the living presence of God changing people from the inside out.

Richard Rohr writes, “The Spirit is always moving toward love, toward freedom, toward inclusion, toward healing.” That is what we see at Pentecost. The frightened disciples become courageous. The closed room becomes an open street. The Church stops hiding and starts living.

The Holy Spirit is not an optional extra for especially keen Christians. The Spirit is the breath of God within the Church and within each one of us. Without the Spirit, Christianity easily becomes dry duty, stale habit or simply maintaining the institution. With the Spirit, faith becomes alive, joyful and deeply transformative.

We may not mention the Spirit very often, but the Holy Spirit is alive and active in our church. Let’s explore how the Spirit came at Pentecost so we can ask for more…

At Pentecost, the Spirit comes in three signs: wind, fire and language. The wind speaks of God’s power and life. The fire speaks of God’s holy love. The gift of language speaks of God reaching across barriers to draw people together. These are not simply dramatic signs from long ago. They are signs of what the Spirit still longs to do within us today.

1. The Spirit Comes as Wind

Acts tells us that “suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind.” Wind in scripture is often the sign of God’s power and life. In both Hebrew and Greek, the words for spirit, wind and breath are deeply connected.

Think back to Genesis, where God breathes life into Adam. Or to Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones, where the breath of God enters what is dead and raises it into life again. The Spirit creates life where things have become dry, tired or lifeless.

And many people know what spiritual weariness feels like. Faith can slowly become routine. We continue faithfully, but inwardly something feels flat. We say our prayers, sing the hymns, come to church, but the soul can quietly become tired.

If we ask for the Spirit, we can expect new life.

Jesus says in John’s Gospel, “The wind blows where it chooses.” The Spirit cannot be controlled or predicted.

This may make us feel a little out of control – especially if we’re people who like to plan. But when we pray come Holy Spirit we should expect the unexpected in our corporate life and be open to things which are new and possibly uncomfortable. How many Anglicans does it take to change a light bulb? Change, we don’t do change! With the Holy Spirit we do. How many Charismatics does it take to change a light bulb? Just one – their hands are already in the air!

Let’s be ready.

And perhaps some of us need to hear this personally today: God has not finished with you. The breath of God can still reach the tired places within us.

Where are things routine? Have you stopped feeling God? Have you ever felt God? Are you out of breath in your life? (physically, spiritually, mentally tired and worn?)

So the first sign of Pentecost is wind — the Spirit breathing life into the church in unexpected ways and into weary souls- empowering us, giving new life.

2. The Spirit Comes as Fire

Then come the tongues of fire resting upon the disciples.

Throughout scripture, fire is a sign of the holy presence of God. Moses encounters God in the burning bush. Elijah sees fire fall from heaven. The disciples on the road to Emmaus say after meeting the risen Christ, “Were not our hearts burning within us?”

And the fire of the Spirit is the fire of holy love.

Pope Francis once said, “The Holy Spirit liberates us from being closed in on ourselves.” That is what this fire does. It melts frozen hearts. It softens cynicism. It awakens longing for God again.

The danger in religious life is not usually hostility to God. More often it is gradual cooling. We settle for politeness instead of love, routine instead of wonder. Faith becomes respectable but no longer alive.

Who here can say their faith is edgy? Radical?

I once visited a church where nearly everyone was over eighty. They decided to begin a simple lunch each week for lonely people in the community. At first they worried they were too old and too few. One woman laughed and said, “If the Holy Spirit could work through fishermen and tax collectors, perhaps there’s hope for us yet.”

And there was. The hall slowly filled. People stayed long after the meal had ended simply because nobody had listened to them for weeks. Something holy was happening there. Quiet perhaps, but deeply real.

Because when the Spirit burns within people, love begins to overflow outward. Richard Rohr writes, “The Spirit is the divine energy of love shared between God and all things.”

Having a bit more spiritual energy and power, having our batteries recharged is important regularly. Prayer becomes less of a duty and more of a desire. Worship becomes less about attendance and more about encounter. We begin not simply to believe in God, but to hunger for God. And our hearts burn within us with the fire of love with new energy.

So the second sign of Pentecost is fire — the Spirit awakening holy love within human hearts.

Wind, breathing life into us when we’re weary and in a dull routine.

Fire, our hearts burning with love for Jesus and those around us.

3. The Spirit Comes Through Language

Finally, the Spirit comes through language.

At Pentecost, people from every nation hear the gospel in their own tongue. The miracle is not merely speaking; it is understanding. Across all the divisions of culture, history and background, people suddenly hear good news meant for them personally.

And perhaps this is one of the most beautiful signs of the Spirit. God speaks personally. The Spirit reaches people uniquely, tenderly, individually.

The Church has not always found this easy. Sometimes we unconsciously expect people to become like us before they belong among us. A younger priest once joked that every church has an invisible sign at the door saying, “Welcome — please don’t sit in my pew.”

Well, we might not have pews, but we do all have unconscious bias and prejudice about how things should and shouldn’t be done.

But Pentecost breaks open that narrowness.

The Spirit is always moving outward, always drawing wider circles.

Think about Jesus himself. To fishermen he spoke about nets. To farmers he spoke about seeds. To the grieving he spoke tenderness. To the frightened he spoke peace. Jesus always met people where they were.

Perhaps we need to learn more of the language of others rather than speak our own. And learning a language is difficult – but less difficult if the spirit is speaking, I suggest.

So the third sign of Pentecost is language — the Spirit breaking through barriers and speaking to all people.

Wind. Fire. Language. Here are some questions. Don’t try and remember all of them, see what strikes you, and whether there’s words or a picture, something for just you or something to share associated with it to help us all.

Wind: Are we a bit safe in this church- will be pray for the Spirit to blow and cause movement in unexpected ways? Where are you in need of breath filling you?

Fire: Does your hear need warming, to burn within you during worship, so you have a desire to love like Jesus?

Language: What new language might we need to learn in order to understand those who don’t know Jesus? What or who comes to mind.

Pentecost is not simply the memory of something that happened long ago. It is the promise that God still longs to pour his Spirit into human hearts.

The disciples entered the upper room anxious and hidden away. They left it radiant, courageous and alive.

And perhaps that is the invitation for us too today. For us to leave this place changed.

Come Holy Spirit.