Sermon, Proper 8C, Luke 9:51-61

Growing up we all have dreams. More often than not, those dreams are expressed in the games we play and in the answer we give to one question: What do you want to be when you grow up? Police officers, firefighters, doctors and sports stars probably top out that list. Some want to travel the world or marry a prince and live in a castle. Maybe we see a James Bond flick and want to become a spy. Or it could be something else entirely; I think my youngest sister wanted to be a tree at one point.

We grow up. Our dreams change. Our goals become more practical and, like the NCAA ad says, most of us go pro in something other than sports. Meaning, of course, that most of us end up in careers different than we had imagined. Sometimes that's okay -- I certainly never expected to be wearing a collar. Sometimes, though, we end up trapped in a job or career or life we never wanted.

Why is that? Why do we let ourselves get stuck? Why do we allow our dreams to go by the wayside?

I tend to think it's because we get caught up in life. We sort of get swept up by events -- a temporary job becomes permanent, relationships become more concrete -- we get swept up into a way of living that we feel we can't change.

We can't change it because we now have responsibilities we didn't have before. We have family and friends who depend on us and expect us to act in certain ways. And when we act counter to those expectations, we are being "selfish" or suffering from a midlife crisis. Maybe the fear of change and the unknown doesn't override the fear of remaining static and safe.

Once upon a time there was a young man who fell into this stream of life. He was floating along thinking everything was fine when, all of a sudden, a woman burst into his life and invited him into a new life. She invited him into a life of exploration, wonder and awe, a life of climbing mountains, slaying dragons and chasing rainbows. It was to be a life lived actively, not simply a life of passivity taking what was handed to him.

But he declined her offer -- he had a report on the life of snails due to his biology professor at the end of the week. And with that, she walked out of his life forever.

Years later, when he had a career, a mortgage, credit card payments, a Chrysler mini-van sitting in the driveway and liver pate rotting in the fridge, he would look back on that moment and wonder to himself, "What if?"

What if he hadn't been so reluctant? What if he had taken her offer and moved forward with a new life, not looking back to the surety of a safe life, but looking forward to a grand adventure?

And while that story line was drawn by Berkeley Breathed in the comic strip Bloom County some 25 years ago, it can help us relate to today's gospel. In both the strip and the gospel passage, we are confronted with things that hold us back.

I'm willing to bet that for many of us, what hold us back is the fear of losing what we know. It is the fear of losing the familiar. It is also the desire to control the timing of God -- I'll follow . . . when I'm ready.

In today's gospel, Jesus asks someone to follow him. Unlike Peter, Andrew, James, John and Levi, who all dropped everything and immediately followed Jesus, this person creates a conditional discipleship.

"I'll follow, but first let me bury my father." And while burying your father may be a worthwhile endeavor, that's not the issue. The issue is, "I'll follow, but . . ." When Jesus calls us to follow him, the only stipulation is that we commit fully. Everything we do from here on out is to be informed by the life of Christ, not by the past that seeks to trap us and bury us.

Another says, "I'll follow, but first let me say farewell." And it isn't the saying farewell that's the issue; I said goodbye to lots of people before moving to seminary. It's not the saying farewell, but our desire to control God's timing.

By focusing on saying farewell, we are focusing on both the past and control. In our desire to say goodbye, we show our desire to capture an idealized moment and treasure it forever. We want life to remain static so we can always have the familiar. And we show our desire for control.

"I'll follow . . . when I have things in order. I'll follow . . . when I have the closure I need. I'll follow . . . when I've arranged for as little disruption as possible."

Jesus is telling us that there is no room for, "I'll follow, but . . ." Following Jesus doesn't mean following on our own terms. It doesn't mean following as long as we can focus on the past. It doesn't mean following as long as we can stay in the same place we've always been.

Following Jesus means that we, like him, need to set our faces forward. It means we give up parts of our past that have a hold on us and keep us from living fully because of our desire to admire that past. It means that we don't always take the safe road and sometimes we have to sacrifice our desires for the benefit of Christ.

Jesus is asking us to follow him. He is asking us to participate with him in the kingdom of God. Like Binkley in Bloom County, we are being asked to follow Jesus into a life of wonder and awe.

And, like Binkley, we need to continually ask ourselves, "What am I holding onto that is keeping me from following Jesus Christ to the fullest?"