Excuses

“But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’ “Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’ “Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.”  — Luke  14:18-20

In Luke 14:15–24, Jesus tells the parable of the great banquet—a lavish feast prepared by a generous host. Invitations go out, but one by one, the guests decline. Their reasons? A new field, a pair of oxen, a recent marriage. On the surface, these seem reasonable. But beneath them lies a deeper truth: they simply didn’t want to come.

Excuses are the stories we tell ourselves—and others—to justify why something didn’t happen the way it should have. At first glance, they seem harmless, even protective. But when we look deeper, excuses often reveal more about our fears, insecurities, and resistance to growth than about the obstacles we claim to face.

Jesus consistently challenges excuses as barriers to faith, obedience, and participation in God's kingdom. He views them not as harmless delays, but as signs of misplaced priorities.  Excuses expose what we value most.  When we make excuses, we're not just avoiding a task or commitment—we're revealing what matters more to us in that moment.

Excuses are the most elegant destroyer of success ever invented.  They are seductive. They wear the disguise of reason, cloaked in logic and wrapped in self-preservation. But beneath their polished surface lies a quiet saboteur—one that dismantles ambition not with force, but with finesse.

Excuses feel so justified because they’re often rooted in psychological self-protection. They don’t just explain failure—they cushion it. They feel justified because they’re emotionally convenient.  When we make excuses, we’re not always trying to deceive others. Often, we’re trying to protect ourselves from discomfort, shame, or fear. They give comfort to inaction. They are the language of retreat.

Excuses are like a warm blanket on a cold morning. They wrap us in temporary relief, shielding us from the sting of effort, risk, or failure. But that comfort comes at a cost: momentum.  They validate our fears: “I’m not ready” feels safer than “I’m afraid to try.” They justify delay: “I don’t have time” lets us avoid the discomfort of prioritizing. They protect our image: “It wasn’t my fault” preserves pride, even if it stalls progress.

Inaction feels safe because it avoids immediate consequences. But over time, it breeds regret. Excuses make us feel like we’re choosing wisely, when in reality, we’re often just choosing not to choose.   The moment we stop making excuses is the moment we reclaim our power. Action—even imperfect—is the only path forward. It’s uncomfortable, yes. But it’s also where growth lives.

Excuses are soft. They don’t shout, they whisper. They don’t slam doors, they gently close them. That’s what makes them dangerous. They offer comfort in the moment—relief from pressure, escape from accountability—but they do so at the expense of our future.  Excuses may comfort us in the short term, but they quietly rob us of the future we’re capable of building. 

The host’s response in Luke 14 is striking—he opens the banquet to the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. Those who were overlooked become honored guests. Those who were invited first miss out, not because they were unworthy, but because they were unwilling.

The parable of the great banquet isn’t just about missed invitations—it’s about misplaced values. Jesus doesn’t entertain excuses lightly. He calls for wholehearted devotion. In Luke 9:62, He says, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.” That’s not harsh—it’s honest. The kingdom requires focus, not divided attention.

We all have fields, oxen, and relationships—modern versions might be careers, social obligations, or personal goals. But Jesus asks: Will you let those things keep you from the feast?  This parable isn’t just about saying yes to God once. It’s about continually choosing Him over the distractions that compete for our attention. It’s about making space for the sacred amid the ordinary.

What Our Excuses Reveal

• Our fears: “I’m not ready” might mean you’re afraid of failure, change, or vulnerability.
• Our priorities: “I don’t have time” could mean something else is taking center stage—work, comfort, control.
• Our identity: “I’m not good enough” might point to a deeper struggle with self-worth or shame.
• Our trust level: “What if it doesn’t work?” may show hesitation to trust God’s plan over your own.

None of these are indictments—they’re invitations. Jesus doesn’t shame people for their excuses. He simply shows what’s at stake when we let them rule our decisions.

 

-------------------------

Pastor Godwin, FBC Danvers