The One Who Calls

And they went to another village. And as they went in the way, a certain man said unto him, I will follow thee withersoever thou goest. And Jesus said unto him, The foxes have holes, and the birds of heaven have nests, but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head. And he said unto another, Follow me. But he said, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. But he said unto him, Leave the dead to bury their dead, but go thou and publish abroad the kingdom of God. And another said, I will follow thee, Lord; but suffer me first to bid farewell to them that are at my house. But Jesus said unto him, No man, having put his hand unto the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God. (Luke 9.57-62)

There is a certain sacred quiet in what Scripture chooses not to say. When I first began my walk with the Lord, I sought clarity: rules to follow, lines not to cross, decisions that could be measured as right or wrong. I didn’t yet have the framework to understand how to embody a love like God’s– translating that kind of love into something human felt impossible for a brain wired for order, control, and logic. Sin muddled that translation further, introducing shadows in places I thought was out of reach.

I was once mentored by a pastor who took such little stock in how anyone felt about what Scripture required, I was convinced a trip down the yellow brick road was in order. Afterall, while my mother wouldn’t solicit input as a default, she would at least give me the occasional option to opt out of a particularly challenging plate of brussels sprouts. And yet, to him I couldn’t wrestle with God in this same way. While at the time I wrote him off as being a jaded elder Christian, I later learned my error in approaching these entirely different relationships the same way. We are called to align with God– not develop. Earthly parents are tasked with space for growth. Because this process is shaped by partial knowledge and human limitations, a child’s opinions may fit between what is ideal and what is practical. They discipline with hope for maturity without any sight of the actual outcome. There is room for delay, dialogue, or even protest, because children are parented toward potential– not what is.

God, however, does know what is, which changes the trajectory of the relationship entirely. He is not experimenting with pedagogy or adjusting His tone for the sake of rapport.He does not need to draw us out with options or invite us to weigh the merit of His commands. He is not hoping we will eventually “come around.” His commands are not suggestions waiting for maturation; they are declarations grounded in His perfect nature. He does not reason with our resistance because He is not asking us to consider His worth–He is revealing it. To follow God is not to enter into a developmental dialogue– It is to align with what is already true. He speaks, and our only faithful response is obedience. Not because we are coerced, but because we are claimed.

That shift reorients everything. My choices either reflect that alignment or they didn’t. There is no room left for partial assent or delayed obedience–only the clarity that faith, if real, must move. And perhaps that is why Scripture offers so little commentary on the disciples’ inner processes. The disciples’ state of mind is strikingly silent when Jesus calls them. We are not told what Peter felt as he dropped his net, what internal struggle Levi endured before standing from his tax booth. There are no recorded hesitations, no psychological justifications, no backstories to lend their decisions context. The Gospel writers, led by the Spirit, show no interest in vetting the disciples for readiness.

…Almost as though it doesn’t matter.

This omission speaks a truth that comforts and convicts in equal measure: that there are no valid prerequisites for following Jesus. No personality traits, no spiritual credentials, no emotional stability required. The call does not come to the qualified, but to the willing. Or perhaps more accurately, to the caught. For these men were not seeking Christ; they were summoned. The initiative is entirely Christ’s.

Jesus does not beckon as a teacher recruiting apprentices. He does not ask to be tried out as a spiritual advisor or a moral example. He commands as the Christ–the incarnate God–and those who respond do so not to gain insight, but to yield their lives. To follow Him is not to enhance one’s current path, but to abandon it entirely.

It is not without meaning that discipleship begins with disruption. When Jesus speaks, the disciple is torn from his world–from routine, from profession, from identity. It is not a gentle transition but a decisive severing. The shift is from a life of relative security to one of absolute dependence, from the calculable to the unpredictable. In Luke 9:57–62, three men encounter the call of Jesus. Each reveals, in his response, a misunderstanding of discipleship. The first offers to follow on his own initiative, unaware that discipleship cannot be self-initiated. Jesus replies with a warning, not of difficulty but of dislocation…”The Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” The second delays his obedience, tied to the obligations of law and family. But Jesus asserts a more urgent claim: the call of the kingdom is not one voice among many; it is the voice. The third man wishes to follow but feels he has a right to reframe the terms. In doing so, he reveals that he does not yet understand there is no room for conditions in discipleship that might come between Jesus and our obedience.

These are not unreasonable men. Their requests feel human, even noble. But that is the discomforting truth of the passage. The kingdom of God is not built on our noblest terms, but on His. Obedience, Christ insists, is not something we offer after due consideration. It is the very form faith takes. Faith does not ripen into obedience; it is born within it.

This is not to say there is no mercy for the stumbling. But we must understand that discipleship is not a mere lifestyle choice. To respond to Christ is to be unmade and remade. It is to allow the old securities to die without mourning them, and to find, in the bare unpaved way of Jesus, not comfort, but Him.

Levi could have remained at his post, content to see Jesus as a helper in distress. But he would not have known Him as Lord. Had he not risen and followed, he might have admired Christ, but never belonged to Him. Obedience is not the fruit of faith in the way that oranges are of a tree. It is indistinguishable from faith itself. We do not obey to prove belief; We obey because belief is hollow without it. It is in the movement, in the rising, and in the leaving behind that faith becomes real.

And so the call of the disciple remains impervious to our desire for comfort and comprehension. It strips away the familiar not to leave us empty, but to anchor us wholly in Christ Himself. He does not promise clarity or safety– only Himself, the One who calls.