A man tells Jesus that he will follow him wherever he goes. Jesus answers that foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.
It sounds like a warning about losing shelter. The animals have somewhere to return, while the man who follows Jesus must prepare for a life without the comfort of home.
But the same Gospel soon describes Jesus sending messengers into welcoming households. They are instructed to stay there and receive food and drink. Their commission includes provision for their needs.
We therefore cannot take the warning to mean that following Jesus inevitably leaves someone without a roof or a comfortable bed. A receiving household might provide generous hospitality. A disciple could sleep better there than he ever slept at home.
What, then, is missing?
A settled refuge he can count upon as his own.
A place that may no longer receive you
A fox has its den. A bird has its nest. These are places to which they return.
The person carrying Jesus’ commission cannot assume the same security. Where he stays depends upon circumstances and upon those who receive him. There may be welcome, food, warmth, and rest. There may also be rejection.
Even the home he already has may become unavailable as a refuge. The building can remain standing while the welcome disappears. A family or community that once received him may no longer tolerate what he now says and practises.
Jesus himself returned to Nazareth during his ministry. Yet returning to the place where he grew up did not secure acceptance there. Familiarity did not guarantee belonging.
The warning concerns this uncertainty. It does not predict that every night will be uncomfortable or that the disciple’s circumstances must become worse overall. It tells him that he cannot make a secure place of return a condition of following.
He may have somewhere to rest his head tonight. He cannot require that place to remain his refuge tomorrow.
Following when Jesus is no longer walking beside us
This saying must still speak when Jesus is no longer physically walking from village to village.
A believer today cannot follow by keeping a few steps behind his body. Following must mean something that can be lived: receiving his teaching, practising his way, serving others, and accepting the vulnerability of the frail Messiah.
This is what I mean by following his Name. The Name carries what Jesus reveals and embodies. To follow it is to let those qualities govern one’s own conduct.
Such following does not require every believer to leave home and become a travelling preacher. A person can remain in the same house and still undertake it. The decisive question is how that person lives, and upon what his trust depends.
The warning about a settled refuge then reaches beyond physical accommodation.
A home is one form of settlement. So are a familiar livelihood, an accepted place in the community, a relationship, and an expected future. We arrange our lives around these things and gradually come to regard their continuation as something owed to us.
But following the Name means that none of them can determine the limits of our faithfulness.
What we ask God to preserve
It is easy to trust God while life remains recognisable.
The people we love are still beside us. Our work continues. Our health allows us to do what we intended. Tomorrow appears likely to resemble today.
Under these conditions, we may sincerely thank God. Yet we may not have noticed a condition hidden within that gratitude: that he continue preserving the arrangements which make us feel secure.
When those arrangements collapse, the condition becomes visible.
Why has this happened? How could God allow my life to become this unfamiliar? What became of the future I thought I had?
These questions can arise from real anguish. Faith does not require us to conceal it. Losing someone we love can unsettle the whole world in which we lived. The grief is real, and accepting what has happened does not make the loss painless.
But beneath the grief lies another question: did we entrust ourselves to God, or to the expectation that God would keep our life settled?
The saying about having nowhere to lay one’s head can be heard at this depth. It asks whether we can live without treating any earthly arrangement as the indispensable refuge upon which our trust rests.
There is One God
For me, this is where the saying reaches its fullest meaning.
There is One God. We do not create a more agreeable version of him whenever life becomes difficult—a version whose worthiness depends upon maintaining the conditions we prefer.
We thank him and worship him through what happens, including what unsettles us.
This does not mean that every event reveals something God specifically desired. Accepting an event’s reality does not require us to call every human act good. We can oppose wrongdoing, seek help, care for one another, and work to improve our circumstances.
But we do these things without making the restoration of our preferred life the price God must pay for our continued trust.
We may keep our house. We may enjoy stability for many years. We may receive unexpected comfort and generous help. There is no need to reject these gifts.
What we relinquish is the claim that they must remain.
A faith that can remain when life changes
The man says he will follow wherever Jesus goes. Jesus places before him an image of a life without a guaranteed place of return.
For the believer who follows his Name, that image becomes a posture toward the whole of life.
I will live by what you reveal without demanding that my circumstances remain familiar. I will receive comfort with gratitude, and I will continue to trust when comfort is disturbed. I will grieve what I lose without making that loss the end of my allegiance to God.
This can be lived while remaining at home. It can be lived quietly, without a journey anyone else can see.
The settled refuge being relinquished is the demand that life must remain arranged around our security.
The faith that remains says:
There is One God. I entrust myself to him without requiring him to keep my life settled.
Passages considered: Luke 9:57–58; Luke 10:5–8; Luke 4:16–30.