Excuses Are Soft Words for Bold Rejection: “I Would, But...”

Excuses don’t protect you—they expose what you truly value.

Excuses are the most polite form of rejection. They give the illusion of interest while quietly delaying obedience. And whether it's skipping out on prayer, avoiding the Word, refusing to show up at church, or dodging an outreach opportunity—excuses expose a deeper issue: an unwillingness to follow Jesus fully.

Jesus Himself addressed this head-on in Luke 9:57–62:

“As they were walking along the road, a man said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus replied, ‘Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.’

In other words, following Me won’t be comfortable. Jesus exposed the man’s unspoken excuse before he could even say it: “I didn’t realize it would cost me that much.” Sometimes, the excuse isn’t spoken—it’s felt when commitment meets discomfort. (like not going to church because it is raining)

He said to another man, ‘Follow me.’ But he replied, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’

Translation: If you're waiting for everything to settle before obeying, you never will. What felt like a reasonable delay was actually a spiritual excuse—a polite “no” to a divine call.

Still another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.’ Jesus replied, ‘No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’”

Jesus wasn’t dismissing family—He was exposing divided loyalty. The man’s “but first…” was the giveaway. Excuses always have a “but”—and every “but” reveals what we value more than obedience. Looking back means your heart never fully left.

Jesus wasn’t being cold—

He was exposing the delay tactic. 

Every excuse is a whispered “no” to God’s invitation.

Excuses Are Often Disguised Fear or Apathy

Excuses have cousins—and their names are fear, insecurity, pride, laziness, intimidation, past wounds, and spiritual dullness. But no matter what face they wear, all excuses aim to keep us from obedience and growth.

Here are a few common excuses and the truth that shatters them:

“I can’t see the Bible print” sounds like a valid limitation—but in many cases, it’s just another excuse. The same person might do crosswords, scroll through Facebook, or spend hours doing detailed needlepoint. So vision isn’t the real issue—it’s desire. Jesus spoke of this kind of spiritual avoidance in Matthew 13:15:

“For this people’s heart has grown dull, and with their ears they can barely hear, and their eyes they have closed...”

It’s not that they can’t see or hear—it’s that they’ve chosen to close their eyes to truth.

“I don’t understand the Bible” is a common excuse, but in today’s world, it doesn’t hold much weight. With countless versions, audio Bibles, study guides, and commentaries available, the real issue isn’t lack of access—it’s lack of pursuit. Proverbs 2:3–5 makes it clear that understanding comes to those who seek it:

“Indeed, if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding... then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the knowledge of God.”

God never withholds wisdom from the hungry heart—it’s given to those who ask, not those who avoid.

“I don’t have time to go to church” is rarely about time—it’s about priority. People make time for what matters to them: grocery runs, pharmacy stops, family outings, and even entertainment. So when church attendance is consistently skipped, it reveals something deeper—a lack of commitment to gathering with God’s people. Hebrews 10:25 says,

“Not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another…”

Church isn’t just a routine; it’s a spiritual discipline and a command. The habit of skipping it isn’t harmless—it’s a slow drift away from accountability, encouragement, and growth.

“I don’t want people knowing my business at Bible study” may sound like a boundary, but more often, it’s a mask for pride and fear of man. It reveals a deeper discomfort with vulnerability and accountability. But Scripture teaches that healing doesn’t come through hiding—it comes through humility. James 5:16 says,

“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed…”

God’s design for growth involves community, not isolation. Keeping everything private might feel safe, but it often keeps us stuck. Sometimes the very thing you’re hiding could be the breakthrough someone else is waiting to hear. Your situation might encourage someone in their own struggle or give them the courage to speak up too. You’d be surprised who’s listening—not to judge, but to find hope, connection, and the reminder that they’re not alone.

Excuses sound harmless—until they cost you obedience.

The Real Reason Behind Excuses?

The real reason behind most excuses isn’t inconvenience—it’s distance, distraction, and self-centeredness. When the heart drifts from God, the lips may still speak the right words, but the life no longer follows through. Jesus exposed this disconnect in Matthew 15:8:

“This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.” — Matthew 15:8

Excuses are just smokescreens for heart conditions. If we were honest, we’d say:

“I don’t feel like it.” / “I don’t want to be convicted.” / “I don’t want to change.”

“I’m comfortable right where I am.” / “I know what God will ask of me, and I’m not ready to give it up.”

“I’m afraid obedience will cost me too much.” / “I don’t trust that it will be worth it.”

"I like partying on the weekends." / "I enjoy alcohol and smoking pot."

"I like flirting and fornicating, and I don't want to give it up."

But that kind of truth would cut too close—
so we wrap it in softer language. 

We’ve trained a generation to fear truth—because it might offend, convict, or confront.

We live in a world where, somewhere along the way, we lost the ability to be real—because being real might offend someone, stir up unwanted attention, or spark confrontation. So instead, we sugarcoat the truth. We wrap our resistance in politeness, coat our refusal in diplomacy, and label our disobedience as personal preference. We hope that if we speak softly enough or vaguely enough, we’ll slip by unnoticed—unconfronted—without ever having to face the real state of our hearts.

But God sees past every softened excuse. He doesn’t look at how we phrase things—He looks at the motive behind the words. And that’s where true conviction begins.

Jesus Is Still Saying, “Follow Me”

The invitation is always extended—God is constantly calling people to draw near, to follow, to surrender. But the path is narrow, and the gate is even narrower. Excuses, no matter how polished or sincere they sound, simply won’t fit through.

You can’t carry self-justification

into the Kingdom.

Jesus illustrated this truth in Luke 14:18–20, in the Parable of the Banquet:

“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.’”

Everyone was invited. Every single one had the opportunity to sit at the table. But when the call came, each person responded with what sounded like a valid reason—a business obligation, a family matter, a personal commitment. On the surface, these responses seemed understandable, even responsible. But underneath, they were something far more serious: a refusal cloaked in convenience, a soft no dressed up as timing, and a shift in priorities that revealed where their hunger truly lay. In the end, despite being offered a seat at the King’s table, they missed the feast—not because the door wasn’t open, but because they chose not to walk through it.

God’s response? It wasn’t passive, and it wasn’t indifferent. The rejection of His invitation didn’t leave Him stunned—it revealed who truly desired Him. In response, He shifted the invitation toward those who would value it, those who weren’t too busy, too proud, or too distracted to show up. The door didn’t close because He ran out of grace—it closed because those who were first invited despised the offer. The feast would still go on—but without them.

“None of those who were invited will taste my banquet.” (Luke 14:24)

They were personally invited by the King, but their excuses screamed louder than their desire—so they forfeited the feast and sealed their eternity.

That final statement—“None of those who were invited will taste my banquet” (Luke 14:24)—isn’t just a closing line to a parable. It is one of the most severe and sobering declarations Jesus ever made.

Let that settle in: God personally invited them. He extended His hand. He made room at the table. The feast was prepared, the seats were set, and the door was open. But when the moment came, they had something else to do. Something more pressing. And because of that, they lost the invitation altogether.

This is not a casual consequence—it’s an eternal one. To "taste the banquet" in Jesus' parable symbolizes far more than missing a dinner party. It means missing the fullness of God’s Kingdom—His presence, His promises, and His eternal reward.

Jesus is not referring to a missed dinner party or a symbolic opportunity; He is declaring the eternal consequence of rejecting God’s invitation. This is the line between entrance into eternal life or banishment into hell.

Those who were invited had every opportunity. The feast was prepared, the door was open, and their names were on the seats. But when the call came, they gave excuses. They delayed. They prioritized other things. And their seemingly harmless responses—"I just got married," "I bought a field," "I have responsibilities"—became the very words that kept them from the Kingdom.

Jesus’ statement, “None of those who were invited will taste My banquet,” is a final judgment. It means, you won’t enter My rest. You won’t share in My joy. You will not be part of My Kingdom. The opportunity was real—but so was the rejection. And rejection, no matter how politely worded or socially acceptable, is still rejection.

This isn’t just about missing a chance. It’s about missing heaven. And in that light, excuses are not small—they are deadly. Because to refuse the King’s invitation, even with soft words, is to reject the King Himself.

The invitation felt endless—until the door slammed shut. And when it did, no excuse could open it again.

Jesus was warning, "Rejection doesn’t always look like slamming a door in God’s face." Sometimes, it sounds like:

• “I’m just too busy right now.”

• “Once my life calms down, then I’ll follow.”

• “I believe in God—but I’ve got things to take care of first.”

Those statements might sound harmless. But to Jesus, they’re not minor delays—they’re bold refusals.

What was prepared for Israel was rejected—so the King opened His banquet to the broken, the forgotten, and the far-off... and they came running.

 After the originally invited guests (symbolizing Israel) reject the invitation, the master extends the invitation to “the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame”—and then even beyond that, into the highways and hedges, symbolizing the Gentiles and outcasts.

When Jesus says, “None of those who were invited will taste my banquet,” He’s not just stating a fact. He’s exposing the irreversible consequence of persistent excuse-making: you can forfeit your seat. You can reject the very thing you were chosen for. And when the door finally shuts—it shuts with finality.

This is a warning draped in mercy: Don’t let your reason become your regret. Don’t let your “but first…” become your “never got to.” The invitation still stands—but one day, it won’t.

Every excuse is a valve—slowly draining your fire, your calling, and your clarity.

They sound noble, logical, even spiritual. But in heaven’s courtroom, they don’t hold up. God isn’t moved by clever phrasing—He’s looking for surrender, not stall tactics. He’s not asking for perfection; He’s asking for a willing heart.

Excuses aren’t harmless—they’re spiritual footholds in disguise.

So instead of saying, “I can’t,” say:" Lord, make me willing.” / “Teach me to love Your Word.” / “Help me obey, even when everything in me wants to resist.”

Because excuses may fool people, buy time, or help you blend in—but they never fool God. He sees right through every delay, every mask, every soft rejection dressed as hesitation. Jesus didn’t blur the lines when it came to commitment. He said,

“Let your ‘Yes’ be yes, and your ‘No,’ no. For whatever is more than these is from the evil one.” (Matthew 5:37)

This verse comes from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7), where He raised the standard for how His followers should live and speak. His point was simple: if you walk in truth, your words should be plain. You shouldn’t need dramatic promises, overly spiritual language, or excessive explanations to prove sincerity.

A simple yes or no should be enough. Anything beyond that—including long-winded excuses, manipulative speech, or even idle, chit-chatty gossip—isn’t just unnecessary—it’s spiritually dangerous.

Jesus said plainly: it comes from the evil one. We’re opening a door. That’s why Ephesians 4:27 warns:

“Do not give the devil a foothold.”

Because every time we speak beyond what’s necessary—we’re giving the enemy room to twist, accuse, delay, and deceive. So let your “yes” be pure. Let your “no” be clean. Don’t hide your rebellion in soft words. Don’t coat your disobedience in religious language. Just be real. Because heaven isn't grading your explanation. It's measuring your obedience.

Gossip may feel casual—but it speaks the language of hell.

Jesus warned us about the weight of our words—not just the lies, excuses, or gossip, but even the empty, careless ones:

“But I say to you that for every idle word men may speak, they will give account of it in the day of judgment. For by your words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.”— Matthew 12:36–37

The word “idle” means unproductive, careless, or without purpose—any speech that fails to glorify God, build up others, or point to truth. That includes gossip about neighbors, coworkers, church members, or anyone else. If your words don’t edify, encourage, correct, or restore in truth—they shouldn’t be spoken. Paul put it like this in Ephesians 4:29:

“Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers.”

And again in 1 Thessalonians 4:11:

“Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands...”

Excuses may sound harmless, even wise. But when we use them to avoid obedience, delay surrender, or cover up spiritual apathy, they become something much more serious. Whether it's a soft refusal, a long-winded justification, or a whispered comment about someone else, if it doesn’t carry truth, love, and purpose—it’s idle.

So whether it’s an excuse to avoid reading the Word, a complaint to justify skipping church, or a subtle dig at someone to elevate yourself—your words carry power. Your words don’t disappear. They build something—or they break something.

E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G Y.O.U. S.A.Y

either aligns with God’s Kingdom

or gives space to the enemy.

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