Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 21:5–19
They didn’t flinch. They didn’t run in the opposite direction, lash out in anger, or burst into tears. At least if they did, Saint Luke didn’t record it. And it is right here, sitting with the disciples on the Mount of Olives, where I have inserted myself. I like to do this, you know—put myself in the story. And so here we are, admiring the temple of Jerusalem, as Jesus, just days away from His crucifixion, cautions us about everything we must suffer, for His sake.
For His sake. Before you continue reading, place that small but mighty detail in your back pocket. We’ll get around to it.
When Jesus predicts the temple’s destruction, and His disciples lean in, fishing for more information, He answers with a warning: "See that you not be deceived, for many will come in my name” (Luke 21:8). “When you hear of wars and insurrections,” He continues, “do not be terrified; for such things must happen first” (Luke 21:9). One minute, they are admiring the noble stones and offerings of the temple, and in the next, they are hit with bad news: a litany of the destruction, deception, and widespread violence that for certain awaits them. And just when you think Jesus has foretold every possible calamity that could befall mankind, He interposes four alarming words: “Before all this happens …” (Luke 21:12). As in, you think that’s bad? Just wait, there’s more!
“However, they will seize and persecute you, they will hand you over to the synagogues and to prisons, and they will have you led before kings and governors because of my name” (Luke 21:12). “You will even be handed over by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends, and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name” (Luke 21:16–17).
It’s tempting to hear these verses in isolation and to believe they were written and reserved for the disciples, those friends of Jesus that we read about—the ones who actually met persecution, opposition, and were locked in prisons for preaching the gospel (Acts 4:3, 5:18, 8:3, 12:4, 16:23). But aren’t we all disciples of Jesus? Does He not call each of us friends? (John 15:15). As a woman who considers herself a friend and disciple of Jesus, who takes every opportunity to tell people about Him—from waiters to airplane passengers to in-person conferences and digital communities—I have to be honest: I have taken my share of beatings. No one has ever punched me in the face, thanks be to God, but uncharitable words have assaulted me, which has me thinking: before Jesus picked up His cross and entered into His passion, He made sure that His friends knew the cost of discipleship. Yes, Jesus directed these words to the men on the Mount of Olives thousands of years ago, but they remain no less relevant today than they were then. What He is saying to me and to you is, “If you love me, expect to suffer.” Not to merely endure pain. Not to white knuckle yourself through life’s trials. But expect to suffer for My name’s sake.
Why should we suffer for Jesus?
We are good at counting the cost when it comes to ourselves, the ways we have been overlooked, mistreated, and not loved well. But how often do we look up to Jesus, reflecting on what we owe Him for having died for us? How easily we get wrapped up in ourselves, consumed by our bruises and wounds, forgetting how Jesus was mocked, humiliated, beaten, scourged, mentally and physically tortured, stripped and sexually exploited, and nailed to a cross. Not for His sake. But for ours. How much time do we spend thinking about the way He willingly embraced and absorbed all of the world’s suffering, rescuing us from an eternity apart from God—saving us from hell? Jesus took on the weight of every sin we’d ever commit, every stupid decision, word, and behavior we were tricked into thinking would make us happy, every hurt and rejection, every injustice and betrayal, every break-up, every abandonment, every death. He took it all on so that when unspeakable suffering brings us to our knees, we would have access to a God who has been there—a God who, with tears in His eyes and holes in His hands, gets down on our level and says, “I know your pain. I have felt this, too. I can relate.”
Jesus gets us.
Jesus gets you.
And this matters.
It is without fail that after every school shooting, a mother of that community reaches out to me. And having never met before, I listen to the familiar and fragmented narrative that only trauma tells and only the traumatized understand. We talk at length, and we delve deep—because of our shared suffering, we get each other. If only comfort and pleasure united humanity so deeply. If only a house remodel, a job promotion, or an Instagram-worthy vacation transformed us into more compassionate people. But they do not. Pain links us, suffering connects us, and faith in the trial is the golden thread that stitches once-strangers into friends. And so it goes with us and Jesus.
But wait, there's more!
Only after Jesus gives the bleak forecast does He share the reason for the pending and expected storm: “It will lead to your giving testimony” (Luke 21:13). You see, the suffering God permits is not only a means of spiritual growth for you and me, but our privilege and opportunity to preach the gospel, not with our well-crafted speeches, but our perseverance in the pain. Our worst suffering is our strongest sermon, and when we quit counting our cost and remember His, we find the grace and strength to endure whatever comes our way. Not for our sake. But for His. And that, my friends, changes everything.
Food for thought or journaling …
What suffering has God permitted? How might you be called to use it to bear witness to the gospel?
Forgive me, Jesus, for always counting my cost while failing to remember Yours. You are the only God who made Himself human, took on my pain, and shares in my suffering. You get me, and that blows my mind. May I never miss an opportunity to bear witness to the gospel. Grant me the grace and strength to accept my cross and endure all suffering, for the sake of Your name. Amen.
