Welcome to this week’s sermon! The full video is embedded just below, and I invite you to watch and reflect along with me as we open the Scriptures together. This message was preached on Sunday morning and is based on Jeremiah 18:1–11, Luke 14:25–35, and Psalm 139.
Counting the Cost
So how many people are familiar with the famous quote attributed to Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto at the bombing of Pearl Harbor: “I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.”
Anyone familiar with that quote? It’s pretty famous. We don’t know that he actually said it, to be fair. We don’t know. But we do know that he did express that sort of sentiment to the Japanese authorities of his time. And I also think we all know that these words, or at least the advice behind them, were a bit prophetic.
You know, the entrance of the United States into World War II did determine the course of that war in the Pacific. Specifically for Japan in particular, it was a horrific ending, and it did result directly from the preemptive strike on Pearl Harbor.
And you know, I’m not saying that Pearl Harbor justifies what America ended up doing—the nuclear program, or the animus toward Japan, which included American citizens of Japanese descent. And yes, also on the other side, the United States was already supporting, especially Britain and China, against the Axis powers. And yes, we would have officially joined that war eventually, even without Pearl Harbor. I mean, the preemptive strike was thought necessary for a reason by Japan.
But the simple historical fact is that the strike of Pearl Harbor was not worth the cost to the Japanese people. At least one of their leaders seems to have had the foresight to see that, which means perhaps they all should have been able to count the cost of where it would lead. And for whatever reason, they did it and did not.
Part of the whole tragedy here is that history as a whole is in fact better off because they did not count the cost. But actually, in World War II, we did.
Counting the Cost in History
You know, the Allied powers in World War II were forced into this reactionary position in Europe. For them, it was surrender versus fight. But even that was a cost-benefit analysis.
And for the United States in particular, we had no shared border in Europe, so we hesitated for years. And I believe that was actually the responsible thing for us to do. Horrific as the war in Europe was, it was Europe’s war. Getting involved was not a simple thing. It was not something to be taken lightly, especially after the Great War—World War I.
World War I spiraled out of control so quickly, largely because nations did just get instantly involved through backroom treaties which they hadn’t really thought all the way through to begin with, and then drew them immediately into these conflicts in Europe, this escalating conflict, without stopping to count the actual cost of these treaties.
And in fact, I would argue one of the key philosophical differences between the Allies and the Axis in World War II was that one side did stop to count the cost, while the other didn’t. The Axis powers seemed to be under this impression that world domination was worth any cost. But was it? What about the cost if they lost?
Modern Debates About Cost
So I got into an argument online a while back. And I do not do this often, I promise. But this argument was about climate change, and the climate change debate tends to bring out the crazy people.
I’m not telling anyone what to believe or disbelieve on the subject or what we should be doing about it. My own thoughts are very nuanced and kind of unformed. I could be easily persuaded to either side at this moment. But there was one climate change advocate in the comments section who was just being particularly obnoxious and accusing everyone who disagreed with him—equating them with murderers and whatnot.
So I decided to play devil’s advocate and counter him and point out some logical facts, like questioning the efficacy of electric cars when they just plug into power stations anyway. And also, they’re so heavy they wear out our roads twice as fast. Have you seen the carbon footprint of road repair vehicles? We are not crazy for having some questions about the implications of some of these things, right?
Also, Antarctica. You know, the real reason Antarctica is melting is because there are volcanoes under Antarctica. We didn’t cause the volcanoes. And yes, what we have done has probably contributed to this—and this is why this is such a messed up, crazy issue—but we didn’t cause the volcanoes. There are other factors. We may have caused some, but it’s not all our fault, and we’re not crazy for saying that.
But his response to me in the comment section was that basically I was just whining because I didn’t want to do the work or change things. And there was one line in particular—like I was probably one of those people who would have just let the Nazis take over Europe because I didn’t want to get involved or exert myself or something.
Which was kind of perfect, because then I got to come back with the rather historical fact that actually, the United States did hesitate to get involved with that. Actually, we did count the cost. And my entire point, which I think I made very clear in my original comment, was: if you can show me that this is worth the cost to save this planet, there’s pretty much nothing I wouldn’t do. But it does have to be worth the cost.
Counting the Cost in Health
I had a conversation just last week with one of my friends, and we strayed onto the topic of “of courses.” Particularly in women’s healthcare—and I’m sure it comes up in men’s healthcare too—but women’s healthcare in particular does seem to be plagued by “of courses.”
“Of course, this is what you’re going to do. Of course, you’re going to have this surgery. Of course, you’re going to go on this medication. Of course, you’re going to have reconstructive surgery after this surgery,” even though that’s an extended, sometimes horrific process.
We were talking about this and getting to the point that there is actual freedom in taking a step back and thinking: wait. For some people, this surgery, this medication, this course of action is worth it. But for some people, it’s not. And which one of those people am I, actually?
And all of that reminded me of this one line I will never forget from one of my favorite television shows, a show called Call the Midwife. It’s set in the 1950s and 60s. It is about particularly women’s medicine in this time when medicine, like most industries of the time, was booming. A lot of discoveries were being made. People’s lives were being generally improved all over the world.
And one episode—the episodes tend to end in a voiceover. And in the voiceover, the narrator, in this upbeat tone but with this warning edge to it, says a line that’s just stuck with me: “All medicine was good medicine.”
At this point in time, all medicine was good medicine. And it lingers with you because that line is used very intentionally in the series to lead into a group of episodes all about the thalidomide crisis. Babies born with horrific birth defects all because their mothers took certain medicine prescribed by doctors for good reason at one crucial moment during their pregnancies.
The reason that moment in the show is so poignant is that it forces us to confront a certain reality in our world—not 70 years ago, but right now, today. Even knowing all that we do know, and having the experience that we have, we still have this tendency to think of all medicine as good medicine, and not count the cost.
Counting the Cost in Food
And then there’s probably the best documentary I’ve ever watched. I showed it in a class when I was substitute teaching. It’s a documentary called Food, Inc. It talks all about the problems in our food in America in particular—what we’re actually doing.
And one part of it made the point that we think we’re making these cost-effective decisions, buying cheaper food, more easily, quickly produced food, over-processed food. But these really end up being expensive decisions, that strain the healthcare system, strain our bodies, and make things more difficult in the long run.
The Cost of Discipleship
Now, I’ve dwelled on all of these examples because I think our scripture passages for today—first of all, they’re very well known, and secondly, they are kind of, I think, self-explanatory.
God is the potter in Jeremiah. God molds the clay, and we should just let him do that (Jeremiah 18:1–11).
And then in the Luke reading, the cost of discipleship—we should take a step back and analyze this before we get ourselves in too deep, just like we would in anything else in life (Luke 14:25–35). I love the example of the man building the tower and how he’s just a laughingstock when he can’t finish his tower. That actually happened with a building project across the street from one of the houses we lived in. But anyway, it was fine. He fixed it.
It is the real-life examples that show how rational and reasonable and common sense these things that Jesus has to say really are. That’s why Jesus uses overwhelmingly real-life examples in his teaching.
Now, “Count the cost before joining me,” Jesus says, “because faith does come at a price.” The fact is everything good comes at a price. Everything worth doing or worth having comes at a price. And if you are not able to pay that price, then maybe you need to start rethinking whether or not this is actually a good or worthwhile thing for you to have.
The Church and the Cost
Here’s the question before us today: are we willing to apply this same logic to the church?
The truth is, the church has been in survival mode for decades now. And I think we’ve grown very accustomed to that. We’ve grown accustomed to being in a crisis state, to just wanting more people in the pews at all costs.
But really—is that discipleship? Is it worth doing?
I have seen it backfire in my generation. Part of the problem my generation faced, even at the time I saw this, and looking back it’s much more clear—painfully obvious, really. A lot of people who left the church in my generation left because they never really had any deep understanding of what it truly meant to be Christian, to be part of the church.
It was a family obligation. It was what you did on Sunday morning. It was a community service that got you your points for graduation. That’s why the high schoolers showed up to teach one Sunday school class a month for a few years.
And so yes, the moment something came up that challenged faith, or appeared to contradict faith—even something as simple as just wanting to sleep in on Sunday morning, and recognizing, “Hey, my friends who don’t go to church get to sleep in on Sunday morning”—the moment anything contrary or contradictory appeared, they were gone. And really, we had no reason to expect otherwise.
Stepping back and counting the costs seems like a barrier to entry to us. And we’re trying to remove those barriers to just get people in the doors at all costs. But what is the actual cost of that?
Counting the cost before joining something isn’t actually a barrier to entry. I mean, it is. But it’s also an assurance that entry won’t immediately be an exit.
And when we do not stop and count the cost first, we run a great risk of becoming those broken pots, the salt that has lost its saltiness. Like, it’s kind of a hard thing to even imagine, right? And it’s supposed to be. How does salt not be salty? We use it because it’s salty. And that’s the point. That’s Jesus’s point.
We run the risk when we don’t count the cost first of becoming the broken thing—the thing that maybe has an air bubble in it and crumbles because it just can’t support the rest of the weight of the object that’s being made. It crumbles on the potter’s wheel, and the potter has to begin again.
Counting the cost and first taking the time to work out those lumps in the clay—which is something people who work with clay do very seriously—that is what prevents us from becoming the broken pots.
And I think the church, I think particularly the United Methodist Church—probably all churches, but this is the one I know—in this particular moment, we really have to do some discerning. We have to take a step back and evaluate: what is the next step here? What is the cost of the things that we have already been doing? Are they cost-effective? What is working and what is not working?
We just had a schism in this denomination. We saw it coming for decades, and I think we’re still kind of in shock over it. I really don’t think we’ve dealt with what happened.
Now I would venture to say that we are indeed—not just in this church, in the United Methodist Church, but most churches—we are broken pots at this moment. So what will we do to fix that?
Hope of Being Reformed
Because that is the other side of this teaching, right? To end things, to bring things around to the positive: the truth embedded in these texts is that this stuff is fixable.
The broken pot in Jeremiah—I know part of the reason that story is so poignant and so often repeated is because the potter takes the clay, rolls the clay back up, kneads it out again, and puts it back on the wheel and builds it again (Jeremiah 18:1–11).
We can be reformed—as in re-formed, which is where the word “reformed” comes from. But only—only, and this is important—we can only be reformed by the one who formed us in the first place.
This is where that psalm comes in, the reason I wanted to play the entirety of it.
For you have attained my mind. You defended me in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Marvelous are your works, so my soul knows very well. My strength was not hidden from you when I was made in a secret place and woven together in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes did see me as an embryo, which is the correct rendering of the Hebrew. And in thy book was written all my days, before a single one of them had come to be (Psalm 139:13-16).
There’s a hidden element when you put particularly all these passages together—the psalm, the reading from Luke, and the reading from Jeremiah. They really go together so well. And they reveal this hidden element between the verses.
It’s hidden in plain sight because it is obvious, but I also don’t think we talk enough about it. The hidden element is that God already does know the cost. God knows already which costs are and are not worth paying. God has oriented fate, molded that clay of reality around these costs.
And no, the prices God asks of us will never actually be beyond our ability to pay. And I really do believe that.
So that’s the hope to end with today. Whatever we are facing, God is moving us forward. God is bringing us to something new or back to something old. We can be remade and reformed. We are always being remade and reformed.
Whatever we are facing, God is moving us forward. God is bringing us to something new or back to something old. We can be remade and reformed. We are always being remade and reformed.
To read more of my sermons, visit the sermon category page.
