Third Sunday after Pentecost
(Proper 8C)
This week’s lectionary texts are available here.
At the outset, the 2009 Pixar film Up is patently ridiculous.
We see an old man named Carl Fredricksen
attaching hundreds of thousands of colorful helium balloons to his rickety old house
which has become surrounded by skyscrapers and all of the stuff of a city.
As Carl attaches his balloons, the house slowly rises off the ground and floats away.
At first, it might seem like just a whimsical, even magical, adventure
—but that house means so much more to Carl than just walls and a roof.
It’s a vessel filled with memories, love, and a lifetime spent with his late wife, Ellie.
It’s the past he’s holding on to with everything he has.
For Carl, that house is a tether to his grief and his refusal to let go.
But as the film unfolds, he begins to realize something important:
sometimes holding on too tightly keeps us from seeing what’s right in front of us,
the chance for new relationships, new joys, new hope.
At the action-packed climax of the film,
Carl has to choose between holding onto the house
—literally holding on to it by the garden hose attached to the exterior wall
as it is about to slip off the edge of a blimp
(I told you the film was ridiculous!)
Carl has to choose between holding onto the house
or saving his new friends:
Russ, a buoyant but clueless scout trying to earn his ‘helping the elderly’ badge,
Kevin, a female exotic flightless bird being hunted by the main bad guy,
and Dug, a dog who thanks to his fancy techno-collar, can speak English.
(Again, I told you the film was ridiculous!)
In a quiet and tender moment, Carl finally lets the house go.
“Sorry about your house, Mr. Fredrickson.” Russ says sheepishly.
After a bit of a pause, Carl responds: “You know…it’s just a house.”
Although there are mercifully no balloons or exotic flightless birds in the Gospel,
this is the point Jesus seems to be getting at with those who would be his followers.
“No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”
This sounds harsh coming from Jesus,
especially since it is in response to a would-be disciple
who wants to go home and say farewell to his family
and another who apparently wants to go home long enough to bury his father.
Given the context of the Gospel, however,
Jesus is not talking about abandoning responsibility
or turning our backs on what matters.
It is about releasing the things
—whether memories, fears, false securities, or external obligations—
which keep us from fully following him.
Like Carl, we are invited to let go of what holds us back
—what we think defines us—
so that we can follow Jesus where he leads us.
This all might seem insensitive of Jesus, but it’s not.
It’s not cruelty. It’s clarity.
Jesus knows how tightly we hold onto things:
to control, to comfort, to old stories which no longer serve us,
to preferences and prejudices,
to nostalgia.
And he knows that if we are to truly follow him,
—really and truly follow him—
we’ll have to let those things go
and be hyper-focused on the work to which the Gospel calls us.
That is the key to understanding this text.
At the beginning of the passage we heard today:
“When the days drew near for Jesus to be taken up,
he set his face to go to Jerusalem.”
Jesus knows what is to happen to him.
He knows that he will be betrayed and abandoned.
He knows that he will be punished and crucified.
And, more than that, he knows what will happen to his followers.
He knows that his disciples will suffer on account of him.
He knows that only one of his apostles would die of old age,
the rest dying as a result of their apostolic ministry,
facing martyrdom for Christ’s ministry of reconciliation.
Facing Jerusalem
—and all that would come after Jerusalem—
Jesus knows that there is precious little time to worry.
“Foxes have holes and birds have nests,
but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Lk 9:58, NRSV.)
This isn’t Jesus complaining
and it’s certainly not him bragging about being poor.
It’s him stating something obvious but easily forgotten:
there is urgency in the Gospel.
The proclamation of the kingdom of God
—the presence of God breaking into the world,
the forgiveness of sins,
the restoration of all people to right relationship with God and each other—
the kingdom of God is not something
that can wait until everything is neat and tidy,
settled and comfortable.
It demands movement, risk, and the willingness to live without guarantees.
The world needs the Gospel.
The world needs the Church to be about the business of being Church.
We have something which the world desperately needs.
We have the fruits of the Spirit
love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control, and patience.
(Well, we don’t really have patience, do we? But we’re working on it!)
Above all, we have life which does not bend the knee to death.
“The call to discipleship,” writes one theologian, “is a call to open hands…
No one can cling…and faithfully follow Christ.”1
This invitation into open-handed living
is echoed by St Paul in his letter to the Galatians:
“For freedom Christ has set us free.
Stand firm, therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery” (Gal 5:1, NRSV.)
St Paul knows what Jesus knows:
we are quick to slip back into old patterns.
We cling to rules, routines, reputations, even religious habits
—not because they bring life, but because they make us feel safe.
This is who I am.
I fit into this box.
I know this box.
This box makes me comfortable.
But, my friends, Christ didn’t come to make us comfortable.
Christ came to set us free.
And freedom, in St Paul’s vision, is not just doing whatever we want.
It’s being liberated from everything that keeps us turned inward
—fear, comparison, guilt, control—
so that we can live fully in love,
so that we can fling ourselves into service to the world.
St Paul further says:
“You were called to freedom, brothers and sisters,
only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence,
but through love become slaves to one another” (Gal 5:13, NRSV.)
That’s the paradox:
true freedom is found not in grasping,
but in giving.
Not in holding tight, but in letting go.
That’s what Jesus is pointing to in the Gospel.
That’s what St Paul is urging in Galatians.
And that’s the invitation before us today:
don’t cling to anything,
but offer everything.
Let go of whatever house you’ve been dragging behind you.
Let go of the story you’ve been telling yourself that says,
“I can’t,” or “I’m not ready,” or “Maybe later,” or “what if.”
Let go of the fear that if you open your hands,
there won’t be anything left to hold.
Because the truth is, Christ has already taken hold of you.
And he is calling,
not to shame you or strip you of what matters,
but to set you free.
Free to follow him with open hands.
This open-handed living has been the path of saints and mystics
throughout all of Christian history.
The founder of the Jesuits, St. Ignatius of Loyola,
wrote this beautiful prayer as an addendum to his Spiritual Exercises:
Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,
my memory, my understanding,
and my entire will,
all I have and call my own.
You have given all to me.
To you, Lord, I return it.
Everything is yours; do with it what you will.
Give me only your love and your grace,
that is enough for me.
And the Venerable Catherine McAuley, founder of the Sisters of Mercy, wrote:
My God, I am yours for time and eternity.
Teach me to cast myself entirely into the arms of your loving Providence
with a lively, unlimited confidence in your compassionate, tender pity.
Grant, O most merciful Redeemer,
that whatever you ordain or permit may be acceptable to me.
Take from my heart all painful anxiety;
let nothing sadden me but sin,
nothing delight me but the hope of coming to the possession of You,
my God and my all,
in your everlasting kingdom.2
The great spiritual master, St. Thomas a Kempis, wrote:
Lord Jesus Christ, you alone are my hope and my refuge.
You are my best solace in times of trouble
and my trusted guide in times of perplexity and uncertainty.
Therefore…I renounce all things in this passing world for the sake of your love.
I earnestly aspire to fulfill this resolution to the honor & glory of your holy name.
I shall henceforth prefer your love to all my other attachments,
whether to friends, parents, relatives, or all those who are dear to my heart.
I renounce all earthly property, all castles, lands, mountains and valleys…
I renounce all the beautiful buildings and majestic edifices raised up by human hands…
I renounce all riches, all cares, and all dignities.
O Lord, I renounce for the sake of our love
everything that can tempt and bind my soul,
everything that can distract it, and render it impure and divided…
O God, you are my true home, my refuge and my fortress.
You are my food, my drink, and my rest.
You are my beloved companion, my truest friend.
You are my brother and sister, my Father and patron.
You are the shepherd and guardian of my life.
To you, O Lord, I therefore commend all that I am and all that I have.3
So, my dear friends, like the saints and apostles who preceded each of us,
be about the work of Jesus in the world.
Set your face toward Jerusalem.
Don’t cling tightly to anything except the fierce love of Jesus.
Don’t look back at that which distracts and tempts and divides.
Keep your hand on the plow.
The road ahead may be uncertain,
but the One you follow is faithful.
And as you go:
Do not let your heart be consumed by the many things that clamor for your attention.
Do not let fear, or comfort, or the illusion of control distract you
from who you truly are—
beloved of God,
created in God’s own image and likeness,
washed in the waters of baptism,
nourished at the table of the Eucharist,
sent to bear witness
to a love which breaks all chains and sets all people free.
Live with open hands, dear friends, and be free.
Hold loosely what the world says to cling to.
Let go of the things which slow your steps.
Follow Christ with an undivided heart—
not perfectly, but faithfully.
And when the road feels long
—and the field feels rocky—
trust that God’s all sufficient and amazing grace
will meet you again and again.
Trust that it will be your strength, your sustenance, and your song. Amen.
This sermon was preached by the Rev. Cody Maynus, nOGS on 29 June, 2025 at All Saints Church in Northfield, Minnesota.
The Rev. Dr. Elaine Heath in her commentary on this Gospel pericope in David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Feasting on the Word. Year C, Volume 3 : Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Louisville, Kentucky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010.
Mary C. Sullivan, RSM. Catherine McAuley and the Tradition of Mercy. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. 188.
Thomas À Kempis. 2021. Humility and the Elevation of the Mind to God. Gastonia, NC: TAN Books, 2021. (I didn’t end up reading this in the sermon, but it was in the original manuscript and worth mentioning here.)