It’s such a small phrase, almost tender: “Lord, suffer me first…” Found in Luke 9:59, it’s the quiet rebellion of postponing obedience. The King James English softens it—suffer means allow. So the man is saying, “Lord, allow me first…” Not no. Just not yet. Not never. Just later. And in that gentle delay lies a quiet but weighty resistance.

Jesus had just said, “Follow Me.” And the response comes, as it so often does, with a reasonable request. Let me go home first. Let me bury my father. Let me tie up the loose ends of life before I take up the life You’re offering.

It sounds respectful. Even honorable. In Jewish culture, burying one’s father was one of the highest religious duties—so sacred that it could take precedence over nearly every other commandment. But Jesus doesn’t nod in approval. He doesn’t offer a raincheck or reschedule the call. Because He sees it—what we so often miss: that “me first” is the language of the self-preserving soul. It’s the posture of a heart still steering its own ship.

You’ve heard it, haven’t you?

“I’ll serve… once I finish school.”

“I’ll surrender… after I settle down.”

“I’ll go… when the kids are grown.”

These delays feel justifiable. They sound mature. But beneath them is the same phrase: Me first.

We don’t shout it. We don’t shake our fists. We whisper it, like a prayer: Lord, just a little more time. But the delay is not devotion—it’s deferral. And the truth is, delay often feels spiritual. It gives us just enough space to feel faithful while still staying in control.

Jesus’ reply—“Let the dead bury their dead”—sounds harsh until we realize its weight. He’s drawing a sharp line between what is spiritually urgent and what is merely culturally expected. Some things that appear noble are actually obstacles when they keep us from saying yes to God.

We think we need to sweep the porch before the Savior knocks. But He’s already at the door. We think we need to fix ourselves before we join the journey. But He simply says, “Follow Me.” No fine print. No prerequisites. Just grace in motion—calling us forward.

He means now. Not because He’s impatient. Not because He doesn’t understand grief or responsibility. But because He knows that a postponed heart becomes a distracted heart—and distracted hearts drift. Sometimes the longer we wait to say yes, the harder it becomes to remember why we were called at all.

What if we stopped making space for delay and started making room for obedience? Following Jesus was never meant to wait for ideal circumstances. The call doesn’t come after we’re ready—it’s what makes us ready.

Christ isn’t looking for the perfectly prepared. He’s calling those who are simply willing. The ones who are done making excuses. The ones who are tired of postponing and quietly aching to say yes—even through their tears.

Luke ends this trio of encounters with a plow in the dirt: “No man, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” The image is simple but sobering. You can’t plow straight while looking behind you. Discipleship demands direction—and that direction is forward.

In the end, “suffer me first” isn’t just a scheduling problem—it’s a sovereignty problem. Either He is Lord, or we are. And there is only room for one at the front of the line.

So what are you still asking permission for? What loose end is keeping your feet from moving?

He’s still saying, “Follow Me.”

And He means now.