When you pick up your cross, you’re heading for an execution.
Mel Robbins, author of The 5 Second Rule: Transform Your Life, Work, and Confidence with Everyday Courage, released another buzzworthy self-help book in December 2024 called The Let Them Theory.
Like many motivational books, this one is the child of a shocking “aha” moment. As Catherine Pearson describes it in The New York Times, on the night of [Robbins’] son Oakley’s junior prom, and “overcome by the realization that her youngest child would soon be leaving her, [Robbins] coped by micromanaging the scene. She pressured Oakley to give his date a corsage. Fretted about the weather. Worried that the teenagers hadn’t made a dinner reservation. Fed up, her daughter Kendall finally snapped: ‘Mom, if Oakley and his friends want to go to a taco bar for pre-prom, LET THEM!’”
This was the eye-opener, an epiphany of Einsteinian proportions, a Copernican revelation that altered her view of her own personal universe. Robbins writes, “If they get hungry? Let them! Soaked? Let them! Let them, let them, let them.”
The “let them” theory encourages helicopter parents — and anyone who is afraid of losing control or wigging out over molehills and anthills — to allow others to be themselves without attempting to change or control their behavior. By adopting this mindset, one can reduce stress and focus on one’s own reactions and decisions, leading to greater peace of mind and emotional well-being.
This idea resonates with us because we waste so much energy worrying about:
Both Mel Robbins and Jesus offer another approach.
Robbins says, “Let them be themselves.”
Jesus says, “Let them deny themselves.”
At first blush, you might be tempted to think that these ideas are oppositional. But, in truth, they’re very similar. Jesus, if you think about it, simply takes Robbins a step further. When Robbins asks us to “let them” make their own way and choices, she is asking us to surrender and release control, throw up our hands, and stop meddling.
And this cannot happen without a death, without self-denial. To let them (be they spouses, children, co-workers, parents) do what they’re going to do and to “let it go” in a way that outdoes Elsa in Disney’s Frozen requires a death of unthinkable proportions. Think about it. Your young adult child wants to drop out of Yale and become an inventor. How do you tell her that cars with glowing tires, or chopsticks that cool noodles, or bicycles with square wheels are never going to make it to market? You give it a shot, but then you let go and in that letting go, there’s a crucifixion involved, a cross, a death. It kills you to do it or say it, but you do. You step back and take a deep breath. You say to your child, spouse, etc., “Okay, take your shot.”
When you’re able to die like this, you’re not far from the kingdom of God. This is close to the radically different approach to life Jesus requires of those who would be disciples: “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (v. 27). His words challenge us to embrace a way of life that requires sacrifice, discipline and surrender. Jesus doesn’t just tell us to stop controlling others. He tells us to give up control over ourselves and submit fully to him.
The Appeal of the “Let Them” Theory
Robbins’ theory has undeniable practical benefits. It helps people release the unnecessary burdens of trying to control how others behave, seeking their approval, or forcing relationships to be what they want them to be. There is wisdom in understanding that we can seldom change, reform, modify, alter or mold people after our own image. So why should we get so emotionally invested in all the egregious mistakes others make? It doesn’t make sense.
But the problem with the “let them” theory is that it stops at personal peace. It calls for detachment, but not transformation. It asks us to let go of others’ behavior, but we might forget that Jesus calls us to let go of ourselves. “Let them” seeks freedom from stress, but Jesus calls us to seek freedom from self — and that is going to require a cross.
The essence of Christianity is not about self-fulfillment, but about self-denial. Jesus makes it clear: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” To carry one’s cross in biblical times was not a metaphor for minor inconveniences. It was a symbol of death — death to self, to personal ambitions, and to the illusion of control over one’s life.
The “Seven Selfs”
This contrasts sharply with the modern self-help movement, which focuses on vague, amorphous and ethereal badinage as the “seven selfs”: self-actualization, self-realization, self-esteem, self-awareness, self-sufficiency, self-control and self-empowerment. There are more, of course, but the irony is that any discipline aiming to improve the self always involves the death of self in some way.
This is the paradox. You can improve yourself as a person. No problem. But you’re going to need to let some things go. Growth, even life itself, requires letting go of the very “self” we’re trying to enhance. Jesus put it this way: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it” (Luke 9:24).
There is no one who can make significant progress with the seven selfs without engaging another set of selfs — the selfs no one ever wants to talk about: self-denial, self-discipline and self-sacrifice.
Whether it’s breaking bad habits, adopting healthier routines, or cultivating deeper relationships, improvement often demands the death of old ways, old mindsets and old identities. True transformation requires dying to self, rather than elevating it.
The Cross Is Not an Accessory
In a culture that is beyond postmodern and is also post-industrial, post-racial and post-Christian, crosses are nevertheless often worn as jewelry, tattoos or fashion statements. Wearing a cross is bizarre. It’s like wearing a little silver guillotine, or a gold electric chair, or a necklace with a diamond-studded Glock dangling from it. A cross represents one of the most tortuous means of killing a person. Yet we wear it as a fashion accessory. It’s a rank form of cultural appropriation — unless you are a Christian who takes their faith seriously.
A cross was never meant to be a mere adornment, but a call to transformation. In a sense, Jesus reminds us that the cross is not something we wear; it’s something we carry. The cross isn’t just a reminder of what Jesus did; it’s a call to how we should live: in humility, sacrifice and obedience.
Too often, our faith can be reduced to external markers — a cross necklace, a bumper sticker, a social media bio — without the internal transformation that the cross demands.
This is why we might say that the cross is a challenge, not a comfort zone. The cross should make us uncomfortable. While the cross ultimately represents hope and salvation, it first represents death — the death of self, sin and selfish ambition. If we were to get real about this, we would understand that the cross is not a fashion statement. It is a declaration of surrender.
What Does a “Let God” Life Look Like?
A “let them” life has moved on from trying to control outcomes beyond our control to a “let me” attitude that surrenders our will to God. The journey goes from “let them,” to “let me,” to “let God!”
A “let God” life rejects a “me-centered” life. This is a life in which you’ve stopped “living your truth” and stopped putting yourself first.
A “let God” life surrenders control to God. Self-denial means trusting God’s will over our own plans, ambitions and comfort. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Proverbs 3:5-6).
A “let God” life loves others sacrificially. This contrasts with a self-focused world that tells us to prioritize our own happiness. Jesus calls us to love even when it’s inconvenient, costly or difficult. It means forgiving someone who’s meaner than a nest of wasps.
A “let God” life resists cultural pressures. Conventional thinking often dismisses absolute truth and promotes moral relativism. Self-denial means standing firm in biblical truth, even when it’s unpopular. “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God — what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Romans 12:2).
Finally, a “let God” life includes a daily dying to self. Self-denial isn’t just one big moment of sacrifice. It’s a daily commitment. It means saying “no” to pride, selfishness, laziness or the desire for recognition.
Wearing a cross is easy. Living the cross is costly. The cross is not an accessory. It’s a way of life that calls us to humility, sacrifice and unwavering faithfulness to Christ.
Jesus’ call to discipleship is not a passive invitation. It’s a command to actively take up a cross. In Roman times, carrying a cross meant heading toward execution. Carrying a cross may mean sacrificing our comfort. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted, discipleship doesn’t come cheap. It often involves hardship.
The “let them” theory has a place. It can help us stop worrying about others’ choices. But it doesn’t go far enough. Jesus calls us to something much deeper: not just letting go of others but letting go of ourselves.
The real question is not, “Will we let them?” but, “Will we let God?” Will we let God rule our lives? Will we let God lead us even when it costs us? Will we let God be our everything?
Let them do what they want. But, in the words of Joshua, ancient Israel’s second leader who led them into the “promised land”: “As for me and my household, we will serve the LORD” (Joshua 24:15).
Amen.
—Timothy Merrill and Carl Wilton contributed to this material.
Sources
Pearson, Catherine. “Mel Robbins wants you to lose control.” nytimes.com, December 24, 2024. Retrieved March 7, 2025.
Cohen, Sandy. “Control issues? The ‘let them’ theory could help.” latimes.com, March 5, 2025. Retrieved March 7, 2025.
Jeremiah 18:1-11
What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?
God as Potter. This sermon is best delivered as a conversation about the actual process of throwing a pot. Find a local potter who would be willing to work with you in this setting. Arrange for the potter’s wheel to be brought to your worship area or show a video of the potter at work. Work with the potter ahead of time and go through the process together. The clay must be kneaded and wedged before it is usable for throwing. Water is applied. The clay must be centered on the wheel. Sometimes if off-center, the vessel will wobble and fly off the table or collapse. Discuss how a potter might take a pot in the greenware stage and, noticing a flaw, turn the pot back into pliable clay and start the process over again, perhaps making an even more beautiful or useful pot. This could be a visual and conversational sermon in which the prophet’s message comes alive.
What Does the Text Say?
The prophetic word that came to Jeremiah in today’s reading is revelation, but it was neither vision nor audition. It was a mundane illustration derived from everyday life. It was the example of the potter.
The passage is introduced with an expression found only in the book of Jeremiah: “The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord” (v. 1; see also 7:1; 11:1; 21:1; etc.). The ordinary expression for prophetic revelation is “the word of the Lord came to …” (e.g., Genesis 15:1, 4; 1 Samuel 15:10; Isaiah 38:4; etc.). In most cases in other prophetic writings, the phrase introduces poetic oracles; in Jeremiah, the expression introduces prose narrative.
Jeremiah is instructed to go down to the potter’s house to receive further “words” from the Lord (v. 2). This is the only reference in the OT to an actual ceramic shop; the image of the potter is ordinarily a poetic figure for the divine (as it is here, v. 11, with the addition of the actual potter).
Jeremiah observes that the potter reworks flawed vessels into other vessels, “as seemed good to him” (v. 4), which is the lesson about the Divine that the prophet is to draw from the potter. Just as the chosen people of Israel and Judah (both kingdoms are mentioned in this oracle of judgment, vv. 6, 11) were originally fashioned into a nation by the Lord’s gracious shaping, so now, flawed by their own unrighteousness, they remain under the divine will to be fashioned, as seems good to the Lord, into another vessel.
The bulk of the oracle is concerned with the mutability of divine will. Although divine changelessness can be found in the OT (e.g., Psalm 110:4; Malachi 3:6), it isn’t the dominant image of God. The God of the OT is highly interactive with history, both taking the initiative in human affairs and responding, as here, to human actions.
Psalm 139:1-6, 13-18
What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?
How We’re Made. If you didn’t reference the TV show How It’s Made on Mother’s Day, here’s an opportunity to do so. How It’s Made has been broadcast in more than 30 countries over the years. Each episode teaches people around the globe a very simple lesson: Even the most overlooked of items is intricately and wonderfully made. And when you know how much effort goes into making something, you’re able to appreciate it that much more. In this case, God is worshiped as someone who makes things, worlds and humans, and that knowledge provokes wonder and awe. The preaching point, however, comes in the closing verses. Who is the best person to fix something? The person who created the object in the first place. Thus, God, as our Creator, is the one eminently “qualified” to search us, test us and lead us. God knows what makes us tick.
What Does the Text Say?
David’s God amazes and frightens him. David is astounded by how thoroughly and intimately the Lord knows him. God’s searching is an investigatory probing; he knows David’s everyday activities and innermost being. Even so, this same God who fashioned David and now holds him accountable also cares deeply for David. In verse 23a, David invites God to do what God already has been doing all of David’s life: to search and know his heart, and to lead him. David erupts in poetic majesty in verses 13-18, marveling at the God who personally had fashioned/knitted/woven him in his mother’s womb. And David praises God, acknowledging that he was “fearfully [awesomely] and wonderfully made.” God knew David even before he was born; sometimes God even calls a person before birth (Jeremiah 1:5; Isaiah 49:1; Galatians 1:15). Similarly, God shapes us after the image of Jesus Christ (Romans 8:28-29; 2 Corinthians 3:18; Colossians 3:10; 2 Corinthians 5:17). Verse 16b: “Formed” is used for a potter who is shaping clay. This verse may puzzle the reader, but just because God has an advance “record” of yet-to-happen days doesn’t mean they’re arbitrarily fixed. In many Bible passages, God tells nations and people to make wise choices; God knows ahead what the choices (and their consequences) will be, but they are genuine choices. David ends this section of the psalm with exuberant praise. He marvels at the Lord’s weighty (unfathomable) thoughts (see Isaiah 55:8-9). In all of life, David is now as present with God as God is with David. The Bible’s central affirmation is “God is with us.” Its corollary is “We are with God.”
Philemon 1-21
What Is One Possible Approach to the Text?
The “Do Even More” Church. The central issue in this text is the slave’s relationship to his master. Slavery no longer exists in this country, but does racism still exist? Do the effects of slavery persist? Certainly. So how do you preach Philemon? One approach is to describe the “Do Even More” church. Discuss the mission of the church as you understand it. Then cogitate on what the church could do “even more,” to use Paul’s words. Of course, this principle applies to us as people, too. Sure, we live nice, good, upright lives from Monday to Saturday, but how could we be “Do Even More” Christians? Paul urges Philemon to “do even more” than what he’s asking. Can we do more?
What Does the Text Say?
Paul wrote the book of Philemon to a slave owner, Philemon, about the issue of a slave. The slave, Onesimus, apparently ran away from Philemon, met up with Paul and became a Christian. Paul has apparently written this letter for Onesimus to carry as he returns to his old master. Scholars disagree as to whether Onesimus was truly a runaway slave (intent on never going back) or merely ran to Paul (whom he previously knew) to petition for intervention regarding unfair treatment. Whichever the case, Paul strongly commends Onesimus and seeks to restore him to Philemon.
A slave in the ancient world was the property of his or her master. Although there were laws theoretically safeguarding gross mistreatment of a slave, masters had almost complete control over their actions toward their property. Paul had no legal right to intervene and, therefore, his letter needed to take the tone of friendly advice (e.g., “receive him as [you would] me,” v. 17), requesting a favor (vv. 13-14) or using his authority to cheerfully manipulate Philemon (vv. 19, 21). Where Philemon had the right to punish (in the case of runaways up to death), Paul says that Onesimus, once “useless” to Philemon, is now “useful” to both Paul and Philemon (v. 11). This is a clever play on words, as “Onesimus” means “profitable/useful.”
Paul’s exact goal is unclear. At times, it appears that Paul wants Philemon to give Onesimus to Paul (vv. 13-14). At other times, it appears that Paul wants Philemon to free Onesimus (vv. 16-17). However, Paul never says either of these things outright, once again trusting Philemon to “do even more than” he asks (v. 21). But the letter, as usual, holds central the idea that in Christ, there is neither slave nor free, even if these categories exist in the world.
Leader: We seek a big enough God who has overcome all things.
People: Jesus said, “If you would be my disciple, you must deny yourself and take up the cross.”
All: We take heart knowing that “Nothing can separate us from God’s love, which enables us to do all things.” This we do by the promise of faith guaranteed by God’s abounding grace. Amen.
Lord, open for me your love. Open for me your presence so that I may find courage for my fear. Open to me your presence so that there may be light for my darkness. Open to me your Spirit so that I may know your peace amidst turmoil. Open me up to you, O God, so that I may know hope for my despair, peace for my soul, joy for my sorrow, health for my illness, strength for my weakness, wisdom for my confusion, forgiveness for my sin, love for my hate, praise for my doubt and insight for my troubles. Lord, open for me your cross and your love for my life, for my all. In the name of Jesus. Amen.
The call to live as Christ’s disciples is made possible through the power of God’s Holy Spirit working in and through us. Friends, go as ones who are sent to be salt and light, and to reflect the glory of God to those around you. Amen.
Hymns
Take Up Thy Cross
Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone
Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken
Worship and Praise*
The Cross (West, Pardo, Smith, Wilson)
Lead Me to the Cross (Fraser)
Laying It All Down (Livingood)
*For licensing and permission to reprint or display these songs on screen, go to ccli.com. The worship and praise songs suggested by Homiletics can be found in most cases on Google by using the title as the search term.
on Luke 14:25-33
At almost every turn, this passage from Luke’s gospel confronts us with an image of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus that is far removed from the complacent cultural Christianity of most modern American society. The challenge for the preacher is to allow its message to be heard without having domesticated away its radical nature, on the one hand, or turning it into a screed of rebuke on the other. The gospel’s message may unsettle assumptions about life, but it is still “good news.”
The lesson opens with an interesting narrative device. Jesus is continuing his journey toward Jerusalem accompanied by “large crowds” (v. 25). The evangelist narrates what happens next almost as if Jesus had pivoted mid-step to ask the crowds whether they truly understood where he was leading them. Can they truly understand, it’s as if Jesus were asking them, if there are so many who are willing to follow along? In a culture such as ours, where large crowds are seen as a sure sign of success, this passage presents the possibility that such large numbers may be an indication that something has either gone wrong or at least been misunderstood.
Jesus’ statement to the crowds is nothing if not provocative. The only ones who truly belong as disciples who would follow Jesus to Jerusalem are those who “hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself” (v. 26). Certainly, we aren’t meant to take this requirement to “hate” one’s family and one’s own life literally. Jesus isn’t advocating for a suicide-pact cult community. “Hate” must function here as part of some kind of figure of speech. But the question is, what kind?
Some interpreters have suggested the issue is one of comparison. In a very truncated form of argument along the lines of ‘from the lesser to the greater,’ Jesus would be suggesting that unless one’s love for God’s reign were so great that the deepest human loves for one’s family and one’s own life appeared as “hatred” by comparison, then one didn’t truly comprehend what was at stake in becoming a disciple. The problem with this line of reasoning is that it wouldn’t ultimately require any decision or choice by the crowds. It boils down, in the end, to little more than, “Love yourself and your family; just love me more.” One could imagine the crowds, both ancient and modern, nodding agreement and continuing obliviously along their way. Surely more than a little clarification prompted Jesus’ dramatic and confrontational turn toward the “large crowds.”
A more likely interpretation of the use of “hate” in this context is that it functions as hyperbole, an exaggerated description of an action being called for. Hatred is a rupture or break in relationship, so Jesus would be calling on the crowd to understand that the decision to become a disciple entails the breaking and remaking of what had been one’s relationships with one’s own family and even one’s own self prior to answering Jesus’ call. As John Nolland has described it, “[W]here there is ‘hate’ no ‘ties that bind’ limit one’s freedom of action” (Word Biblical Commentary, 35B, 766; cf. 762-3). Jesus isn’t calling for animosity toward either family or oneself, but he is demanding that even these deepest relationships be understood and constrained within the confines of what discipleship requires.
One may choose to remain within the customary web of relationships or to “follow” Jesus as his disciple, but one must choose. This imperative to choose is then underscored in three ways: by the requirement to “carry the cross” (v. 27) and by two brief parables that both underscore the importance of considering the cost in making one’s decision (vv. 28-30, and 31-32).
Scholars have long debated whether sayings relating the “cross” to the cost of discipleship can be traced back to the “historical Jesus” or whether they originate in post-resurrection Christian communities that insinuated them back into earlier strands of the tradition. If sayings about the requirement that one “hate … even life itself” could have originated with Jesus (and most scholars conclude such radical demands most likely did), then it’s conceivable that Jesus might have evoked the image of a most gruesome form of public execution to graphically illustrate the point. Certainly, however, Jesus’ own crucifixion and resurrection fundamentally (re)shaped the way such sayings were understood within Christian communities by the time the gospels were written. The difference between first- and 21st-century responses to such sayings would be that no one for whom crucifixion was a continuing reality of imperial policy could ever hear such statements in spiritual terms devoid of the physical reality. To totally spiritualize the requirement to “carry the cross” is to domesticate Jesus’ radical call to discipleship.
The two parables both make the point that one shouldn’t foolishly commit oneself to a course of action without carefully considering the consequences of seeing it through to its conclusion. But they operate at two different levels, corresponding to the two levels of the preceding sayings: the household and matters of life and death. Most likely, the “tower” evoked in the first parable (vv. 28-30) is a relatively simple structure such as an agricultural watchtower, to which people in the crowd could possibly personally relate. Surely the point of the parable — that lacking resources to complete construction would open one to ridicule — depends on there being significant expense in the project, but it’s a circumstance with which they might reasonably identify. The second parable, based on the actions of “kings,” doesn’t pose a circumstance that people in the crowd were ever going to personally face, but it does make real decisions with life-and-death consequences.
To decide to follow Jesus is to make a public commitment of nothing less than all one has and is, a point that may be underscored by the participle uparcousin in verse 33. Usually translated as “possessions,” this idiomatic usage of the word carries with it not only the idea of one’s belongings but also one’s means of living. One must “give up” all that has defined life prior to Christ and follow him in the manner of life that is discipleship. That decision shouldn’t be undertaken without a commitment to see it through to completion. If someone thinks being a Christian is merely one commitment among others in life, then he or she hasn’t fully understood what it means to follow Jesus as his disciple.
AT A GLANCE
A new theory about behavior encourages us to let people make their own choices without our meddling. Why should we waste so much energy on matters that don’t concern us or are beyond our power to change them? Author Mel Robbins says, “Let them be themselves.” It’s a good idea, and Jesus takes it a step further by saying, “Let them deny themselves.”
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CROSS
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Let it go, let it go
Can’t hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door
I don’t care what they’re going to say
Let the storm rage on
The cold never bothered me anyway
It’s funny how some distance makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me can’t get to me at all
It’s time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me
I’m free
—Lyrics from “Let It Go,” a song from the 2013 Disney animated film, Frozen.
The old lie about self-denial still keeps spooking around in the psyches of many Christians. It says that Christianity is about squashing your feelings, doing your duty and soldiering on regardless. It leads eventually to chronic exhaustion, cynicism, depression or drink — or all four. That is a well-recognized condition known as burn-out, grey-faced and driven, and when we get into that, no matter how virtuous or good the work itself may be, it will not convey good news to anyone. To use St. Paul’s words, it is to be under the law.
Do not misunderstand me. There is nothing wrong with self-denial, but we do need to exercise some care in defining what is meant by the first of those two words. I am at some pains … to explain that God calls you to discover your true self, that greater self that you could become, and to let it flower generously in some specific activity at his gracious invitation. To deny yourself does not mean nipping this process in the bud. But allowing this flowering may mean forgoing popularity, or status, or your good name, or money, or power, or security; the kind of things that advertisers try to persuade us are essential. In other words, it will mean denying the self that runs after or clings to these things; that part of our nature that we call our ego will need to be subdued and crushed — a painful process, very painful, but not a destructive one. It is the grain of wheat falling to the ground and dying (John 12:24), that it may bear a rich harvest. To the extent that our ego is not subjugated it will blight both the flowering and the fruitfulness.
—Francis Dewar, Invitations (SPCK, 1996), 29.
Posing for constituent photos has long been a feature of political life for members of Congress. Not so many years ago, a staff photographer was never far away as they conferred with visitors in their Capitol Hill office or appeared at a rubber chicken fundraising dinner back home. The photographer was poised to snap the standard grip-and-grin photo — a thoughtful gift for these loyal supporters.
All that has changed in the selfie era. Now constituents stride right up to their senator or representative — mobile phone in hand — and ask, “Do you mind?” There’s barely time for the politician to answer before the citizen is leaning in and grinning, holding the phone out at arm’s length.
Sometimes members of Congress are the ones taking the selfies. During recent State of the Union addresses, many of them stop the president on his way down the aisle of the House Chamber, demanding a quick pose. No doubt some of those candid shots are destined for campaign literature or social media.
Selfies are not so much an invitation as a demand. If the principal subject is a politician or another celebrity, there’s an air of entitlement connected with the request.
How symbolic this is of the growing narcissism of our society!
The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them.
—Thomas Merton
In the mid-2000s, while working at the National Institutes of Health, [Dr. Jordan Grafman] began to investigate where empathy and generosity originated in the brain. The advent of fMRI scanning, which highlights blood flow in different parts of the brain, made it much easier to see which parts of the brain were engaged as people carried out various tasks. To see if this tool could lend insight into the motivations behind giving behavior, Dr. Grafman and his colleagues recruited 19 study subjects, placed each of them inside the fMRI scanner, and presented them with charities from a long list. For each charity, they could choose to donate money, refuse to donate money, or add money to a separate reward account that they could take home at the end of the study. (In some cases, it was especially costly for subjects to make a donation decision, because doing so required them to draw from their own reward accounts.)
While analyzing the study’s results, Dr. Grafman’s colleague Jorge Moll came up to him and said, “You’re not going to believe this.” The scans revealed that when people made the decision to donate to what they felt was a worthy organization, parts of the midbrain lit up — the same region that controls cravings for food and sex, and the same region that became active when the subjects added money to their personal reward accounts.
Gradually, Dr. Grafman began to realize how this finding made sense. While we often tend to think of altruism as a kind of sophisticated moral capacity we use to squelch our urges to dominate others, this new evidence suggests that giving is actually inherently rewarding: The brain churns out a pleasurable response when we engage in it.
—Elizabeth Svoboda, “Hard-Wired for Giving,” The Wall Street Journal, August 31, 2013.
CHILDREN'S SERMON
Open a box containing a model car and show the children all the parts. Ask them what would happen if they started to build the car and then discovered some parts were missing. Admit that they wouldn’t be able to finish the job, and the car wouldn’t work very well if it lacked a wheel or a door or a windshield. Tell them Jesus understood this, which is why he said to the people around him, “For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish’” (vv. 28-30). Stress that you need all the necessary parts, whether you intend to build a car or a tower, or even to be a disciple of Jesus. Ask the children to name some things needed to be a disciple — faith, hope, love, generosity, a willingness to sacrifice, etc. Focus on generosity and sacrifice, and point out that Jesus said, “[N]one of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions” (v. 33). Encourage the children to offer themselves fully to Jesus and not to hold anything back because Jesus needs every single part of us if we are going to be complete disciples.
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