Epiphany 3A2020
Matthew 4:12-23
by Pastor Sarah Stadler
John Gardner, an American writer, once observed that there are only two plots: “A stranger rides into town” and “A man goes on a journey.” When we tell the stories of our own lives, with the exception of our birth narrative, we likely tell one of these two stories. A stranger rode into town and changed my life. OR I went on a journey, and this is what happened. This morning, the story of the fishermen Peter and Andrew, James and John includes both these plots. A stranger named Jesus rides into town, and James and John go on a journey with him. A stranger named Jesus calls the fishermen to follow him, and they go on a journey of healing and teaching, preaching and befriending. A stranger named Jesus invites Peter and Andrew, James and John to follow him, and they do.
When I was 16 years old, a stranger named Karsten rode into camp. Along with the other 60 members of the Minnesota All-State Lutheran Choir, we received Pastor Karsten as our chaplain for the week of rehearsal prior to our choir tour. He came to camp to lead devotions each evening, to lead games and team-building exercises, to just hang out and be available for choir members who were struggling for whatever reason. He chose to focus his evening devotions on a passage from Colossians chapter 3 which begins: As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion. Though the passage continues, what I remember about Karsten’s devotions was a story he told from his college days about a friend of his who was raped by a classmate. I remember him describing her devastation. I remember him describing his struggle to forgive the one who had perpetrated the rape. I remember him then describing how he eventually found within himself a well of compassion for the young man who had hurt his friend. And I thought: Ah! A person of compassion. That’s who I want to be. In Karsten’s story and in Karsten’s presence, I heard a call to a life of compassion.
I heard a call, but I didn’t respond right away. And even when I did respond, my response wasn’t as immediate or as thorough as Peter and Andrew’s, James and John’s response to Jesus.
Eventually, I went on a journey. Six years later, I got on a train after a week of orientation in Washington DC and rode to Chicago to begin a year of Lutheran Volunteer Corps. Volunteers from our supporting congregation picked up me and my housemates at the train station and dropped us off at our apartment on the north side of Chicago. A few days later, I got off the bus on the west side of Chicago on a deserted street full of empty lots and boarded up buildings. Not a born navigator, I gamely set off in the wrong direction only to turn back a few blocks later and finally found the shelter where I would work for the next year. Serving at Interfaith House was just the beginning of a journey of compassion, the first time I had ever done something simply because I felt called to a life of compassion, a life of justice and love.
A stranger named Jesus rides into town and calls Peter and Andrew, James and John to follow him. Immediately, they go on a journey that would last a year—or three, depending on the gospel you read, a journey extended even past Jesus’ death and resurrection to the building of the Christian community.
Who are the strangers who have ridden into your life, the ones who have changed your direction, the ones who have shaped the trajectory of your life? And having received a direction, where did you go? On what journey did you set out?
We have all met strangers who have altered the trajectory of our lives, and we have all journeyed somewhere. This morning, Jesus meets us in the living word of scripture and invites us to come on a journey with him.
Going on any type of journey involves loss. Even though we meet new people, we leave people behind too, something we know if we’ve ever moved. Even though our journeys often lead us to unexpected gifts in new places, we also leave behind the gifts of familiar places, the way those of us not native to Phoenix left behind seasons by coming here. Probably most difficult of all, even though our journeys lead us to new and vital understandings of ourselves and our place in the world, the process of allowing a new identity is usually fraught with self-doubt and fear. Examples of new identities that scare us include being a new parent, a new fill in the blank type of worker, a new follower of x religion, a newly divorced person, a newly clean and sober person, a newly retired person, a newly adult person.
Going on a journey with Jesus involves similar loss. Just this last week, I realized one of my losses by journeying with Jesus and specifically the compassion he calls us to. I realized I have lost my right to demonize another person, no matter what they’ve said or done to me, even if it’s slanderous. And that’s just the beginning of the losses. Following Jesus means giving up indifference about our broken world, means setting aside ego and embracing humility, means letting go of some of our time and energy for the sake of the common good, even means dying to self as Dietrich Bonhoffer wrote: “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”
Because they immediately follow Jesus, the losses of James and John shout out from the biblical text: Wait! What? Really? James and John leave their father Zebedee in the boat. All of them likely leave their wives and children behind at home without even a good-bye. They lose their home and the comforts of home. They lose their identity as fishermen—even though Jesus tells them they will now fish for people. They lose control over their lives for they will simply follow Jesus, listen to him, help him, do whatever he asks. They don’t know it on the day they drop everything, but they will also lose a friend in Jesus, a teacher, a savior. They will lose the greatest source of love and compassion they would ever know. And then, they will get him back, but not in the form they want.
They leave everything behind, but imagine Peter and Andrew, James and John at the end of their lives and imagine asking them: Did you regret it, following Jesus? What do you think their response would be?
In the challenge of this morning’s bible story lies its great, good news. Even though Jesus’ call is difficult to hear and sometimes excruciating to execute in the moments when we want to demonize another person, when we are just itching to gossip, when we yearn for material goods that are full only of emptiness, even then, the act of following Jesus offers such sweetness, deepest peace, overflowing joy. We can lament the sure and certain losses, and then, we can give thanks to God for the gift that following Jesus is. We know freedom from guilt and shame in his mercy and grace. We live in community with people who value us just because we are, and we in turn get to love people just because they are. We receive all our material possessions not as entitlements but as gifts. We find joy in using our gifts and skills for the sake of the common good, trailing behind us a more just and loving world. Will we regret it, following Jesus?
A stranger named Jesus has ridden into town, bringing a way of peace, a way of love, a way of justice and compassion, and now, we get to follow him. Thanks be to God! Amen.