A Homily for the Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time
Sunday, September 7, 2025
Wisdom 9:13-18b; Psalm 90:3-4, 5-6, 12-13, 14 and 17; Philemon 9-10, 12-17; Luke 14:25-33
Audio Recording
This scene in today’s Gospel is striking. Jesus has just healed the sick, cast out demons, and taught with authority. The people are impressed — so impressed that they begin to flock around him in droves. If Jesus had been concerned with popularity, if his mission was about winning approval or gathering a following for its own sake, this was the perfect moment to play to the crowd.
He could have spoken comforting words, offered encouragement, or dazzled them with another miracle. Instead, he stops, turns around, and confronts them with some of the hardest words in all the Gospels: “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”
Why would he say such a thing, and why here? The answer is clear: Jesus is not looking for fans; he is looking for disciples.
When we hear the word “hate,” we immediately think of anger, hostility, or emotional rejection. But in the ancient world, the word could mean something more like “to detach from” or “to choose second place for.” Nations that broke off alliance with each other described their separation as “hatred.” In that sense, Jesus is not commanding us to despise our family, but rather to recognize that no human relationship can come before him.
This would have shocked his audience. In Jewish life, family bonds were everything. Parents, children, kin — all of these were seen as sacred responsibilities. And Jesus is not denying that. He tells us elsewhere to love even our enemies. But here he is insisting that even our most sacred earthly ties cannot take precedence over our relationship with him. Christ must be first, or he is not truly Lord at all.
Jesus sharpens his point with the image of the cross: “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.”
When we hear “cross,” we think of a Christian symbol hanging in our church or around our necks. But to the crowd that day, the cross meant only one thing: Roman execution. It was a horrifying, humiliating death. Criminals and rebels carried their own crossbeams through the streets to the place of execution. So when Jesus said these words, his listeners would have felt the chill of dread.
To follow Christ is to be ready to give up everything — even our own lives. The cost of discipleship is real. Christianity is not a hobby, not a side interest, not a comfortable add-on to life. It is life itself. Jesus insists that his followers count the cost before they step forward.
That is why he immediately gives two illustrations: a man building a tower and a king preparing for war. Both must “sit down” and count the cost. The builder who runs out of funds becomes a laughingstock. The king who fails to calculate wisely will face ruin.
Jesus is reminding us that discipleship is serious business. It is not simply enthusiasm in the moment, but steady commitment. He does not want followers who rush in with excitement but fall away when things get hard. He wants those who have reflected, prayed, and chosen with clarity: “Yes, Lord, I am yours. No matter what it costs, I will follow you.”
This is why baptism and Christian life are never casual. It’s why the Church asks us to prepare for the sacraments, to examine ourselves before confession, to bring serious intention to the Eucharist. Jesus wants us to understand that when we say “yes” to him, it’s a lifelong covenant.
The Book of Wisdom puts all of this in perspective: “Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what the LORD intends? … Scarce do we guess the things on earth… but when things are in heaven, who can search them out? Or who ever knew your counsel, except you had given wisdom and sent your holy spirit from on high?”
The truth is, on our own we are weak. Our plans are timid, our grasp of life is uncertain, our vision is clouded. We do not always know what’ s best or where our decisions will lead. But God gives us wisdom. He sends us his Spirit to make our paths straight. We are not left to carry our crosses alone. Grace empowers us.
So how does this apply to us today, in 2025?
- Priorities. It means examining what really comes first. Do I truly place Christ at the center of my day? Or do work, leisure, money, or even family edge him out? None of those are bad in themselves. But when they take God’s place, they become idols.
- Possessions. Jesus ends today’s Gospel by saying, “Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” That does not mean every Christian must take a vow of poverty. It does mean that we hold possessions loosely, ready to share, ready to part with them when charity requires it.
- Relationships. Loving Christ first does not diminish our love for family — it strengthens it. If we love him above all, our love for others will be purer, freer of selfishness, more like his.
- The Crosses of Daily Life. Carrying the cross might mean persevering through illness, disappointment, or difficulty with patience and trust. It might mean forgiving someone who hurt us deeply. It might mean staying faithful to prayer when it feels dry. Each of us has a cross, but united with Christ, those burdens become the very path to holiness.
Here lies the paradox: when we surrender everything to Christ, we gain everything. By dying to self, we find life. By letting go, we receive far more than we could ever keep. Jesus is not trying to take life from us, but to give us true life — life eternal, life abundant, life filled with divine joy.
“When we surrender everything to Christ, we gain everything.”
Think of the seed that must fall into the ground and die in order to bear fruit. That is the pattern of Christian life. What dies with Christ rises with Christ. What we give up for him is returned a hundredfold.
When the crowds pressed around Jesus, he did not soften his message to gain popularity. He told them the truth: discipleship costs everything. But he also showed them that this surrender leads to the fullness of life.
And so, today, each of us is called to turn and hear his words addressed to us personally: “If you would follow me, take up your cross. Count the cost. Put me first.”
It is a radical call — but it is also the most liberating invitation ever spoken. For the one who gives everything to Christ discovers that Christ gives himself in return. And in him, we receive not just a part of life, but life itself, eternal and unshakable.