Counting the Cost

“From generation to generation it shall lie waste; none shall pass through it forever and ever” (Isaiah 34:10).

Whether I’m driving to church, work, the gym, or our weekly Bible study, the first leg of my route always remains the same. It is along this portion of my daily commute that I pass—several times a day at the very least—what is without a doubt the largest house I have ever seen.

Only, this particular house can scarcely be called a proper house at all.

What purpose does a house serve? At its most foundational level, what even is a house? Among other things, a house should at the very least house someone—that is, it should provide shelter for those who reside within its four walls (though this house had far more than just four of them). Despite all its grandeur and material excesses, this specific house could not even perform its most basic function of providing shelter. For you see, this house, though large and adorned with all the trappings of extravagant wealth, stands unfinished.

When construction first began on this house it immediately arrested my attention—in part because of its sheer scale, and because I was somewhat confined to tracking its progress day by day as I drove past. What was once a bare and dusty lot soon became crowded with all manner of tradesmen and machines, each adding their collective sweat and labor to what seemed an impressive project, to say the least. Almost overnight it was as though the foundations were laid, the framing complete, and the roofing finished, with the smaller, more ornate details soon to be underway in the coming weeks.

One day, however, construction simply ceased.

Suddenly and without warning, this lot which was once buzzing with productivity and promise became a desolate, dilapidated haunt for buzzards and tumbleweeds, not unlike a Western ghost town. Where signs with the names of contractors once stood on the driveway there were now gates and barricades; piles of unused stone and wood haphazardly covered at the last minute with tarps now littered the front lawn where men of industry used to busy themselves. Were the tarps so carelessly strewn across these tools and materials because the men suspected they would soon be back to work?

Where the light and warmth of domestic life would have gleamed amber and gold upon completion, now only black, glassless windows peered outwards, gaping like the open mouths of long-dead corpses towards any onlookers. If this house—this mere structure, this skeletal blot defiling the skyline—provided shelter for anything, it was for the howling wind and creatures of the night. No family lived here, this was no house—“From generation to generation it shall lie waste; none shall pass through it forever and ever... Thorns shall grow over its strongholds, nettles and thistles in its fortresses. It shall be the haunt of jackals, an abode for ostriches” (Isaiah 34:10-13). 

Why did the work cease? How could a labor that began so well only then end so embarrassingly—so tragically? We can only venture a guess. At some dreadful point along the construction process, priorities must have shifted or else the money ran dry. Someone neglected to properly count the cost before setting out and, upon realizing their fatal flaw, judged that it was better to abandon the work altogether than see it through to the end.

Whether large or small, have you ever seen a house left unfinished, or a labor excitedly begun only to fizzle into apathy and ruin? Have you ever witnessed a soul make a profession of faith in Christ only for them, in time, to turn both their hands and gaze away from the plow? Surely we have all known such individuals and mourn their reckless choice with no shortage of tears. Many efforts and commitments have begun in the name of the Lord, only to be abandoned partway through—rendering them incomplete, desolate, and utterly useless in the end.

In some way, shape, or form, a cost along the way was not properly calculated, or perhaps the cost was never determined from the outset. Whether the work began in might or weakness, splendor or simplicity, in either case the effort was deserted. There came a point when the cost of following Christ simply became too expensive, too steep, and then the effort was forsaken. The lingering ruins can scarcely testify whether the project began in majesty or modesty, for unfinished ruins they yet remain—forsaken, desolate, any former glory undiscernible. The resolve to build the house, to bear the good fruit, was rooted not in the strength and lovingkindness of God but in the weakness of man: “Unless the LORD builds the house, those who build it labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1). Unless a complete and utter renovation of the heart takes place,—unless the Lord breathes new life into a dead sinner—any and all exterior work is as the whitewashing of a tomb (Matthew 23:27).

Many are called, but few are chosen (Matthew 22:14). Many run the race, but the crown of life is reserved only for those who finish and finish well: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it” (1 Corinthians 9:24). Have you counted the cost of following Christ? The cost is great, He will demand everything of you:

“For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish’” (Luke 14:28-30).

Faithful allegiance to the Lord must run deeper than any other commitment, affection, or familial bond. The person who loves child, spouse, mother, father, or even his own life more than Jesus cannot be His disciple (Luke 14:26). The cost is great, but so is He: “So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:33), and “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). The cost of discipleship is steep because the price of our salvation was far, far steeper still—the Father sent His own Son to satisfy our infinite debt to God by having Jesus die in our place.

The cost of discipleship is great because God is great—so count the cost, Jesus says. We lose nothing of eternal value when we relinquish all for Jesus’ name. He asks that we weigh the cost not because we have something to lose by following Him, but because we have everything to gain by following Him. When we place our faith in Christ, we stand to gain everything; and if we reject Him, we stand to lose everything, even those things we think we have, our soul chief among them—that much is certain. And those things we do sacrifice in this life will be returned to us one-hundred fold, He promises; and, in that age to come, we will receive from His very own hands life eternal (Mark 10:29-31). Slavery to Christ, our perfect Master, is as freedom to those who are under His care.

The cost of faithfulness to Christ is great, but it is not comparable to the cost paid on the cross where He purchased you: “looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” (Hebrews 12:2).

Jesus counted the cost—have you?

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Photo by Rocco Dipoppa, Unsplash

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