The Only Star That Doesn't Move
Long before we had Google Maps telling us to "turn right in 500 feet," and long before the compass was invented, ancient travelers and sailors had only one truly trustworthy way to navigate the dark. They looked for the North Star.
Polaris wasn’t the biggest or brightest star in the sky, but it had one unique, essential quality: it stayed put.
While all the other stars wheeled across the heavens in their great, nightly dance, Polaris held its ground. If you could find it, you could orient yourself. You knew which way was north, and from there you could figure out everything else. Your entire journey, your safety, and your destination all depended on that one fixed point of light.
We Are All Navigators
Every single one of us is on a journey through life. And whether we realize it or not, every one of us has a “North Star”—a guiding principle, a core loyalty, something we use to make sense of our direction.
It's easy to spot these stars in the world around us.
For some, the North Star is career, the belief that a certain title will finally bring significance.
For others, it’s politics, the conviction that if our side just wins, the world will be set right.
For many of us, it’s family, the reputation of our kids or the pursuit of a "perfect" home life.
None of those things are bad. In fact, many of them are good and noble. Who doesn't want a stable career or a happy family?
But here’s the crucial question: Are they fixed?
What happens when the promotion goes to someone else? What happens when our political party disappoints us? What happens when a friendship fades or a diagnosis changes everything in an instant?
When the star we’ve been navigating by moves—or disappears—we are suddenly adrift. We get lost.
Jesus Drops a Bomb
It’s in this context that we encounter one of Jesus’ hardest teachings.
In Luke 14, a massive crowd is following Jesus. They are excited. They see him as a winner, a revolutionary, the "next big thing." And right at the peak of his popularity, Jesus spins around and says something designed to stop them cold:
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters—yes, even their own life—such a person cannot be my disciple.”
Wait. Hate your family?
This is the same Jesus who told the story of the Prodigal Son’s father. This is the Teacher who told us to love our enemies. So, what on earth is going on here?
Jesus is using hyperbole—exaggeration—to make an impossible-to-ignore point. It’s not about emotional malice. It’s about the fierce, unshakeable nature of our ultimate priority.
Think of it this way: I’ve been an AC Milan fan since I was about 11 years old. In football terms, that means I am supposed to "hate" Inter Milan. Do I wish their players physical harm? No. Do I want their fans to have miserable lives? Of course not.
It’s "sports hate"—a dramatic way of saying, "My loyalty is singular; my heart is with this team."
Jesus is using this same dramatic language to cut through the casual enthusiasm of the crowd. He is saying: Your loyalty to God must be so central that every other loyalty—even the good ones, like family—looks secondary by comparison.
The Solar System of Your Soul
Jesus isn't telling us to throw away the good things in our lives. He’s telling us to order them rightly.
Think of your life like a solar system. When you put a "planet" in the center—like your career, your money, or even your spouse—the gravity is off. The orbit is unstable. You burn out trying to keep everything from colliding.
But when the Creator of the stars is at the center, everything else finds its rightful place.
When God is your North Star, you don't love your family less; you actually love them better. You are free to cherish them as gifts, rather than crushing them with the expectation that they must be your source of ultimate security.
Check Your Compass
So, how do we live this out? We have to check our compass in the daily details.
Check your wallet: When you make a financial decision, is the loudest voice in your head one of faithful stewardship, or is it the anxious voice of scarcity and the pressure to keep up?
Check your calendar: When you plan your week, does your schedule reflect a trust in God's rest, or a relentless need to prove your worth through productivity?
Check your conflicts: When you argue with someone, is your deepest impulse to win, or to offer the grace you’ve already received?
Navigating by a moving star is exhausting. It is the psychic weight of constantly checking your position, tweaking your personality, and wondering if you're measuring up.
We were not created to live that way.
Jesus’ call to make Him our North Star isn't a burden; it's an invitation to rest. It’s an invitation to look up from the chaos and fix your eyes on the only light that will never, ever move.
Reflection Question: Take a moment today to look at your "compass." Is there a good thing in your life (work, a relationship, a goal) that has accidentally become a "God thing"? What would it look like to put that back in its proper orbit today?
