Count the Cost

Read

Luke 14:28–30 “Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Won’t you first sit down and estimate the cost to see if you have enough money to complete it? For if you lay the foundation and are not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule you, saying, ‘This person began to build and wasn’t able to finish.’”

Think

There’s something quietly tragic about unfinished things. An abandoned house on the edge of town. A half-written novel buried on a laptop. A gym membership with one week of use. We start with energy and vision—but when the excitement fades and the cost sets in, it’s easier to walk away than to push through.

Jesus knew that tendency in human nature. That’s why, after telling the crowd to carry their cross, he immediately follows with a story about construction. He says, in essence, “Before you build something significant, you’d better sit down and ask what it’s going to cost you.”

He’s not talking about literal towers. He’s talking about your life. Your faith. Your discipleship.

Jesus isn’t looking for impulse buyers. He’s not interested in fans who are moved by emotion but unprepared for endurance. He’s not recruiting people who want a spiritual rush. He’s calling people to build something that lasts—and he knows that takes more than hype.

In Jesus’ day, building a tower wasn’t cheap. It wasn’t a weekend project with extra wood from the garage. It was a massive investment. And if you started without the resources to finish, the result was worse than never starting. It became a monument to your failure—unfinished, exposed, and mocked.

Today, we might call that a half-built faith. Someone who starts with enthusiasm but never truly counts the cost. Someone who lays a foundation but abandons the work. Someone who treats discipleship like a short-term subscription instead of a lifelong surrender.

Our culture makes this even more tempting. We live in a world of quick starts and easy exits. Try a program, cancel any time. Join a community, leave when it’s no longer convenient. And unfortunately, we can start treating Jesus the same way.

We begin with big plans. “I’m going to pray every morning. I’m going to serve. I’m going to stop compromising.” But when it gets difficult, we default to delay. “I’ll go deeper later. I’ll recommit once things settle down.” We treat commitment like a mood, and obedience like a suggestion.

But Jesus is asking something deeper. He wants you to build your whole life on him—knowing it will cost you. Your comfort. Your convenience. Your ability to call all the shots. And he wants you to choose that before the foundation is even poured.

It’s not that Jesus wants to scare you away. It’s that he loves you enough to be honest about the road ahead. He’s not trying to bait you with blessings and then surprise you with a cross. He’s laying it out from the start: “If you want to follow me, it’s going to cost you something—but it will be worth it.”

Because here’s what often gets overlooked: there’s also a cost to not following Jesus. The cost of regret. Of missed purpose. Of a life that was full but never fruitful. Of a story that looked promising but ended shallow.

The cross may feel heavy, but the alternative is empty.

Building a life on Jesus may cost you temporary pleasures, but it leads to eternal joy. It may require sacrifice now, but it brings strength, peace, and fruit that last. It’s the difference between a tent that blows away in the storm and a house that stands because it’s built on rock.

Let’s not forget that building takes time. It’s not just about choosing Jesus once at an altar or raising your hand in a moment of emotion. It’s about waking up every day and saying, “Yes, again.” It’s about laying brick after brick—faithfulness in private, integrity under pressure, surrender in the quiet moments when no one else sees.

Think of a cathedral. The ones that leave people in awe took decades, sometimes centuries, to build. Generations of builders poured their lives into something they would never fully see finished—but the result was beauty that endured. Following Jesus is that kind of work. Sacred. Slow. Costly. Worth it.

And it’s okay if you’ve started and stopped. We all have unfinished places in our walk with God. Prayer habits we abandoned. Convictions we compromised. Commitments we made and forgot. Don’t let guilt or failure paralyze you.

Jesus doesn’t shame you for your half-built tower. He invites you to pick up the tools again.

Maybe today is your moment to re-calculate. To say, “Yes, I know the cost—and I still want to build.” Not just when it’s exciting. Not just when people are watching. But when it’s hard. When it’s lonely. When no one claps or notices.

Because you’re not building for them. You’re building for him.

And here’s the hope: Jesus isn’t just your foreman—he’s your foundation. He doesn’t leave you to do the work alone. He supplies the strength. He provides the grace. He builds in you what you could never build in yourself. But you’ve got to keep showing up.

One brick at a time.

Apply

Where in your life have you started following Jesus but stopped building? Is there something you’ve avoided because it feels too costly? Identify one unfinished area in your faith—and take one bold step toward completing it.

Pray

Jesus, I don’t want to be another unfinished tower. You’re worth everything it costs to follow you. Help me count the cost clearly, and keep building faithfully—even when it’s hard. Grow in me the kind of endurance that finishes the race. In Jesus’ name. Amen.