Early in the 1600s, in Cambridge, there was a famous horse dealer by the name of Thomas Hobson. He kept a stable and made his fortune by hiring out horses to the city’s students. What he is chiefly remembered for is the rule by which he ran his business: once you had paid your money you were led to the stable where, in theory, there was a large selection of horses for you to choose from. However Thomas Hobson’s rule was this: when you entered you had to take whichever horse that was closest to the stable door. Hence the expression Hobson’s choice has passed into the English language: it refers to a situation where although it may seem that a choice is being offered, in actual fact you have no choice at all.

In this morning’s reading from Deuteronomy I can’t help feeling that the people of Israel are being offered something of a Hobson’s choice. Which do you want, asks Moses: life or death? Which do you choose: prosperity or adversity? Well, life, of course! And while you’re about it, yes, why not throw in the prosperity. Who isn’t going to sign up for the good life in the Promised Land? And what did you say it’ll cost? We have to obey the Ten Commandments? That sounds easy enough. And all those other rules in the fine print? Sure, but I’ll read them later… Only we are now in the last chapter of the book of Deuteronomy – chapter 30 – and most of the previous 29 chapters have consisted of rules in fine print.

By contrast, Jesus’s strategy in today’s gospel seems to be just the opposite: it’s almost as if he is deliberately putting people off from following him. ‘So’ – he seems to be saying – ‘you think you want to follow me? You like the look of what you’ve seen? You’ve heard rumours that I can heal the sick? And you like the stories I’ve been telling? Well, think very carefully my friend: this is going to be a whole heap more demanding than you ever imagined. Are you really prepared to pay the price?’

Then we have those terrible words, perhaps the most off-putting that Jesus ever uttered: ‘Unless you hate your father and mother, your spouse and children, your brothers and sisters, even your own life, you cannot be my disciple.’ Where in the gospel, I wonder, does Jesus say anything more alarming, more puzzling, or – quite frankly – more unacceptable than that?

Approaching this verse any preacher is bound to feel a bit like a bomb disposal expert – you know the ones, the lone soldier dressed in something that looks like a cross between deep-sea diver suit and a space suit – who has to approach a suspicious package in the middle of an empty square.

I am going to try and defuse this verse in three steps. First of all, remember Our Lord’s fondness for exaggeration. “If your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out” – he likes to use a vivid image, even a violent one, to make his point. And that’s what Jesus is doing here. He’s just exaggerating to make a point. Secondly, we should look again at context. Jesus, you remember, is on his long, wandering trek towards Jerusalem. He is something of a crowd-puller. In the previous verse we read: ‘Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them,’ etc. etc. – so these words are for entertainment seekers, the merely curious, the once a year attenders of a Christmas carol service. And he’s saying to them ‘Look guys, there’s a lot more to me than today’s spectacle – are you sure you really want to be involved? Have you considered what effect it’s going to have on your life if you take me seriously?’ If your answer’s ‘no’, or even just a ‘maybe’, then why not just go home?

But by the same token, if we do call ourselves Christian, if we count ourselves as followers of Christ, our discipleship should be challenging us, squeezing us, and changing us.

And the third step is this: much has changed in the translation. Jesus spoke in Aramaic: and the word which reaches us in the English translation as ‘hate’ was probably much closer to ‘turn away from’ or ‘detach from’: ‘unless you turn away from your family, unless you stand back from your own life…’ This is already beginning to sound a lot more palatable. St Luke, writing in Greek, was forced to use of stronger verb; subsequent translations into English then turned with volume right up, so that ‘hate’ replaces the original ‘turn away from’. Much has been added, rather than lost, in translation.

Nonetheless it’s still a high price we are being asked to pay. Nor is this the whole cost: As well as putting Jesus before those who are most dear to us, to deny our own interests, we must also ‘carry the cross’; we must also ‘give up all our possessions’.

It turns out that the creature we’re being offered for our journey, the one just inside the stable door, is not a horse at all – it’s a much more fearsome beast. Are you sure you want to ride it? It looks more like a lion! Are you sure you want to set out for Jerusalem on that?

Surely, the answer for many of us is no!

There comes a point where the demands that the gospel makes, and which Jesus makes on our lives, seem overwhelming, impossible to meet. So are we allowed to say no?

Indeed, how many of us, at some stage in our lives, have said no? I did: at the age of 24 I left the church, and I stayed away until 10 years ago.

And how many of us are still saying no, in some corner of ourselves, to something that Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, is asking us to do, or to be, or to become?

Well that’s a lot of questions, and my prayer for us is that we are asking them of ourselves. Better still, I hope that you have someone you can share your answers with.

Ultimately though, rather than calculating whether we are in or out, whether we’ve got what it takes to be his disciple, or whether we can cope with the most challenging of his teachings, we just need to stay close and keep our eyes open:

Think, for example, of the rich young man who wanted to follow Jesus but went away when Jesus asked him to give away his wealth. Think of the look of sadness in Jesus’s eyes.

Think of all those whom Jesus cured, and sent away, commanding them to tell no one about him.

Think of Legion, released from a thousand demons, begging to be allowed to follow Jesus, and Jesus telling him to go home.

Or think of the disciples, who indeed gave up everything to follow Jesus for three years, but who were then all fast asleep in the Garden of Gethsemane when he most needed them.

In remembering his words, his actions, even, at times, the expression on his face, we find that we too are in a relationship with Jesus. Jesus has a different relationship with each of us; God has different plans for all of us. If we follow, we will fail. If we fail, and we will be offered forgiveness. This is the grace and love of God. Amen.