Identity of a Disciple

A Sermon preached at St. Mark's Episcopal Church on the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, September 7, 2025.

This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.

I speak to you in the name of One God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Did Jesus really just say that? That’s likely what’s running through our minds when we hear this passage from Luke. “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sister, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” It’s the kind of verse that makes us uneasy and maybe even stop listening, or causing us to wonder if we’ve misheard. Surely Jesus didn’t say that.

But he did. It’s right there. And it’s very uncomfortable. Because when we come to church we like to be reminded of Jesus’ words about love, not hate. We like the Jesus who says, “Come to me, all you who labor and I will give you rest.” We like the Jesus who says, “Love one another as I have loved you.” But “hate father and mother?”

This is not exactly the kind of bible verse that you see on inspirational posters.

And we might wish that we could just skip over readings like this.

But we shouldn’t. It’s no secret that Jesus uses this kind of language for shock value, he does it occasionally. He knows that if he says what he’s saying gently, then we might gloss over it and move on. It's when he uses this stark and unexpected language that we listen. He has our attention. And when he has that attention, it's then we can really learn the meaning behind these verses on discipleship.

Jesus, of course, is not telling us to literally hate our families. That would contradict absolutely everything else that he teaches. This is hyperbole, it's an overstatement, a rhetorical tool meant to make the point stick. He is saying that nothing, not even the closest of human relationships, can take priority over discipleship. To follow Christ means ultimate loyalty. Nothing, and no one else, can come first.

Now, we might hear these verses and think they’re radical. But in Jesus’ time these were likely much more radical than we can imagine. In our modern culture, for example, if I ask you to tell me something about yourself, if I ask you who you are, you might answer in all kinds of ways. You might tell me about your job, “I’m a teacher,” “I’m a rancher,” or most importantly, “I’m retired.” You might also name something about your nationality or politics. “I’m an American,” or “I’m a Democrat” or “a Republican.” You could also identify with your family role and tell me that you’re “A grandmother,” or “an only child.” Maybe you identify yourself in the music you like and call yourself a “Swiftie.” All these are ways we describe ourselves; they are how we frame our identity.

But in the first-century world, identity was so often exclusively tied to family. You didn’t really get to decide who you were; you inherited it. You were known by who you were kin to. You were, “Joseph, son of Jacob.” “Mary, daughter of Anna.” We hear this with Jesus, too. Remember when the Pharisees ask, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son? Isn’t his mother’s name Mary, and aren’t his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas?” Or when they ask the same question in John’s Gospel, “Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I came down from heaven?”” Your family determined your place in society. It determined your vocation. If your father was a fisherman, you likely would become a fisherman. Your family determined your inheritance, your reputation.

So when Jesus tells his followers that even their family must take second place to him, he is asking them to surrender their most basic and most important marker of identity. He is saying, “you are no longer just the son or daughter of so-and-so. You are mine, you are my disciple.” Discipleship, following Christ, is not just a call to be a faithful person, it is a call to redefine the very core of who a person is, who they were, who you are.

So these verses might be just as radical for us when we think about the ways we identify ourselves. I always think when Jesus brings up identity that it’s such an important topic, because it's something we struggle with. We may not organize our identity in the same way, but we still cling to things that make us feel secure. That list of careers, achievements, affiliation, and politics; the way we take pride in our reputations, our roles; we let those things define us. We say, this is who I am. And Jesus looks us straight in the eye and says, “No it's not.”

Not if you want to follow me, not if you want to be my disciple. The cost of discipleship is laying down how we view ourselves, not because any of those things are bad. All of those things that describe us, that list that you have created while sitting here listening to this sermon, those are all good things, worthwhile things. But how many of us are afraid to say first that we follow Christ?

This theme of identity connects these difficult verses to our Epistle reading from today. This short letter to Philemon. If you ever wanted to tell your friends that you read an entire book of the Bible in one sitting, then this is your day, because you did it this morning. Philemon is only 335 words long, the third shortest book in Scripture.

Paul is writing to Philemon, a Christian leader, about a man named Onesimus. Onesimus had been Philemon’s slave. And even his name identifies everything you need to know about him. “Onesimus” means “useful.” It was a common slave name, a way of telling someone about their function. So here we have a man who was not known for who he was, but for how useful he was, what he could do. His entire identity was wrapped up in usefulness to someone else.

But something happened. Onesimus encountered the Gospel. He became a follower of Christ, and everything changed. Paul sends him back to Philemon, but not as a slave. Paul is clear, “No longer as a slave, but more than a slave, a beloved brother.” In other words, Onesimus’s identity is no longer “useful.” It is no longer tied to his social role or legal status. It is tied to Christ. He is a disciple, a brother in faith, a member of the body of Christ, the same as we are today.

And we might think, ‘that’s great, that’s how it should be, there should be no slaves.’ But to Philemon, this was as radical as hating your parents. Because in Roman society the relationship between a master and slave was one of control. Runaway slaves could be punished. And Paul is telling Philemon not only to forgive Onesimus, but to see him as family, to welcome him as an equal, to recognize his new identity in Christ.

That’s what the Gospel does to us. It reorders the social structures, the accepted facts of place and identity. It takes what we think is most important, it takes what we think is unchangeable, and makes it secondary.

Isn’t that powerful? This short letter shows us what the Gospel is capable of. The cross doesn’t just reconcile us to God; it redefines how we see ourselves and one another. Onesimus is no longer property, he is a brother. He is no longer useful, he is beloved. You are no longer just defined by what you do and what you produce at work or the things you like or the hobbies you have, you are defined by Christ.

This is what Jesus demands in this Gospel, that our primary identity is not based on family name or work or role or possessions or politics or achievements. Our primary identity is as a disciple. Everything else, no good or bad, comes second.

I watched a movie not long ago called Mountainhead. It stars Steve Carell in a dramatic role, quite different from his usual comedies. The film follows four billionaires on a retreat at a luxurious mountain estate. They are the kind of people whose decisions ripple through economies and governments, the kind of people who sit at the intersection of technology, money, and power. On the surface, they have everything: wealth, respect, influence.

But Carell’s character, the richest of them all, is dying. He has built an identity on power, on control, on being untouchable. And now his own mortality is staring him in the face. He becomes obsessed with the idea that if he can just eliminate a rival and invest his fortune in a new technology—artificial intelligence that can upload consciousness—he might preserve himself forever. He might cheat death. He might cling to the identity he has built.

But in the end, it doesn’t work. The final scene shows him riding away in his luxury SUV, chauffeur at the wheel, realizing that all of it—his billions, his reputation, his power—cannot save him. It cannot carry him into eternity.

And isn’t that the truth for us as well? We may not have billions to spend or private jets to fly, but we know what it is to cling to the identities we’ve built. We know what it is to want to be remembered for our work, our families, our reputations, our accomplishments. But at the end of the day, none of those things can go with us. None of them can bear the weight of eternity.

That is why Jesus speaks so sharply. He is telling us that only one identity endures: disciple. Only one identity carries through death into life: beloved child of God.

It’s not that Jesus takes away all of the other ways that we identify ourselves, it’s that he reshapes them. When Onesimus becomes a Christian, he didn’t stop being who he was. He still had his history, his story. But now it was reframed.

The same is true for us. When we place discipleship first, we don’t lose our families or our work or our commitments and achievements. Instead, they become transformed. We love our families more deeply because we love them in Christ. We do our work not for self-advancement but for God’s glory. We hold our possessions not as idols but as tools for service. We see strangers not as threats or competitors, but as fellow children of God.

This is why, at baptisms, we say those words: “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism, and marked as Christ’s own forever.” In that moment, a new identity is given. That’s why at funerals, the very first thing we say is, “I am Resurrection and I am Life, says the Lord.” Before we say a word about the person’s achievements or relationships, we name them as a child of God, because that is the identity that carries through death into life.

As we take this message of discipleship with us today, we’re challenged to live in a way that places Christ first. How do you define yourself today? How do you want to?

Discipleship asks us not to ignore the many ways that we see ourselves, but to value the most important part, as members of this community in Christ. Don’t be afraid of what Jesus says this morning, but use these words as a reminder of how the Gospel has already, and continues, to reorder your life and your priorities and your identity. You are the beloved of our Savior, and that is what matters most.

Amen.