When
Jenny and I were in
Costa Rica
last May we met a young couple from Massachusetts who were making
their way to Ecuador where they hoped to find work. Slowly but
surely they were making their way south, stopping along the way to
work and earn money for gas, food and lodging. And along the way
they’d definitely had some interesting adventures. I asked them if
they ever found themselves getting homesick. She admitted that at
times they did long for home. Their families worried about them of
course, but we’re supportive of what they were doing which helped
the young couple feel better about the decision they had mad.
Listening to them, it was obvious to me that their decision meant
giving up a great deal not to mention leaving a lot of things behind
in order to follow what they perceived to be their calling. But I
have to confess that although I found their dedication they shared
in their sense of calling most admirable, I’m not sure it’s the kind
of thing that I would ever be capable of. I wonder sometimes if
push came to shove, could most of us muster up the kind of courage
to leave everything behind and follow something we see as important?
Maybe
that’s what makes the calling of Simon, Andrew, James and John such
a troubling story. “As Jesus passed along the
Sea of Galilee,
he saw them fishing and mending their nets and he said to them
‘Follow me and I will make you fish for people.’ And immediately
they left their nets…and their father in the boat with the hired
men, and followed him.” Back in my Sunday school days, I remember
having the story told to me through the wonders of the flannel
graph. There were Simon, Andrew, James and John their faces
intently smiling as if they’d just heard they’d won the lotto. But
of course it wasn’t the prospect of an unexpected windfall coming
their way, it was Jesus, beckoning, inviting, calling them to be
fishers of men and from the looks of things they appeared perfectly
happy to do so because what they were doing really wasn’t all that
important anyway.
Somehow
though, I couldn’t muster up their apparent enthusiasm. The way I
looked at it, I had three squares a day, free television and in a
couple of years I was going to get my own bedroom, so the thought of
“going disciple” seemed about as hair brained idea as I could
conceive. Like any other family we had our challenges, our moments
as they say, but when all was said and don, I loved my family and
trying to imagine my life apart from them left me feeling sad and
lonely. That it was something Jesus seemed to encourage made it all
the worse, like somehow the thought of leaving everything behind
shouldn’t bother me, but make me as happy as those flannel graph
disciples in Sunday school. Try as I might, I just couldn’t get
myself to the point of “hey, what have I got to lose?” If truth be
told I had a lot to lose. Still do.
And
yet, a person can’t help that there wasn’t at least a moment of
hesitation, some vague feeling of reluctance on the part of Simon,
Andrew, James and John. After all it wasn’t like they had nothing
to live for, nothing better to do. All indications are they left an
awful lot behind that day by the
Sea of Galilee.
They may not have been rich, but when they put down their nets they
put down their livelihoods, probably the only ones they’d ever known
or that would ever be a possibility for them. They left their
families, in James and John’s case their own father. Have you ever
wondered how old Zebedee must have felt that day? Was he proud to
watch his boys go off to serve the Lord or did he grumble and think
to himself, “Okay, so who am I going to get me to help me run the
business now? Sorry I’m not jumping for joy right now. Thanks a
lot Jesus!”
So, we’re mistaken if we’re under the
impression that the business of “following Jesus” is going to be
easy, that it won’t involve some sort of “leave taking” for anyone
who would go with him. Almost seventy years ago now, German Pastor
and theologian penned these words, “When Christ calls a person.
Christ bids that one to come and die.” He further noted the
reality of “cheap grace” at work in our world, in the church and in
our lives. “Cheap grace means grace sold on the market like
cheapjack’s wares…grace without price; grace without cost…the
essence of which, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in
advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for
nothing.”
Now
granted the world we live in today is much different than that of
Germany in the late nineteen thirties and yet like every generation,
we too have to reckon with our own idolatry, with the ways we seek
to justify ourselves before God—the choices we make, the games we
play in how we live our lives, in how we deal with one another, and
in how we relate to God. Cheap grace would have us believe that we
are owed something in life, that whatever good happens to come our
way is of our doing. Cheap grace would have us believe that our
sins and failings really aren’t as bad as someone else’s, that deep
down we’re really good, decent people, that the splinter in my
neighbor’s eye is a far bigger problem than the log in my own eye.
Finally, cheap grace would have us believe in…the justification of
sin rather instead of the sinner.
But
Jesus will have nothing of that, Jesus, who “though he was in the
form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be
exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being
born in human likeness. And being found in human form, humbled
himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on the
cross.”
But
before we “accept” the invitation, before we leave our nets behind
whatever they may be there is Jesus who comes to us. You know, the
disciples didn’t ask for him to stop by one day. He just did. God
doesn’t come to us when we think we’re ready for him. He just shows
up and says, “Follow me.” No fanfare, no fireworks or lightning
bolt out of the blue, just simple words of invitation to unlikely
people like me and you. And Jesus’ invitation, his call isn’t for
the high and mighty, for the particularly smart and highly talented
or for those with good credentials, but through baptism a gift
bestowed upon us all “as sisters and brothers of the priesthood we
all share in Christ Jesus, that together we may bear his creative
and redeeming Word to all the world.”
It
seems to me that Jesus’ calling of the disciples by the
Sea of Galilee is
a timely story for us to consider today, as we gather together later
this morning to reflect on our ministry as a congregation. In order
to faithfully follow him, there are no doubt things that we have to
leave behind. Maybe what we have to leave behind are assumptions
about the way things should be. “We’ve never done it that way
before!” Or maybe the idea that “if I don’t do what needs to be
done, it’ll never get done” or the maybe it’s the converse corollary
“I don’t have to worry because someone else is better suited. It’s
someone else’s responsibility.” Quite possibly the biggest thing we
have to leave behind is the notion that it is our ministry to
begin with. It’s Jesus’ ministry and that is something that we all
need to be reminded of that, myself included. Our calling isn’t to
be responsible for the outcome, but our calling is to be faithful
with what God has given to us, our selves, our time and our
possessions, signs of God’s gracious love, not only for us, but for
the world into which we are sent. And along the way there are going
to be missteps. We’re going to make mistakes. We’re going to let
one another down. We’ll have to contend with our own sin and
brokenness.
But there’s
nothing new about that. Look at Peter, Andrew, James and John.
More times than not, they were about as clueless as they come. At
times, James and John were more worried about their status in the
heavenly kingdom than they were with what Jesus was talking about
here and now. “Grant us Lord, one of us to sit at your right and
the other at your left.” And then there’s Peter, good old,
rock-solid Peter who in the moment of truth was more concerned with
protecting his own hide than he was in confessing Jesus. “I do not
know this man you are talking about.”
But the good news
for them, the good news for us is that when it comes to Jesus’ call,
a perfectly clean record isn’t a prerequisite. If it were, each and
every one of us would be in serious trouble. Thank God that’s not
how God chooses to work. Through the cross, he takes imperfect,
broken people like you and me and makes us new. And as forgiven
sinners he sends us out into the world “to proclaim the good news of
God in Christ through word and deed, to serve all people, following
Jesus’ example and to strive for peace and justice in all the
earth.”
On a day when we
listen for the welcome sound of gentle rain, let us listen for
another sound, the sound of Jesus’ welcome voice, the voice that
calls, that forgives and sends us out into the world again. Listen,
listen my friends, for He is calling. Amen.
