Sunday, September 10, 2023
A Meditation on Matthew 4:12-22
1.
As Hannah and I watched from the car, Kate walked down to the shoreline and took it all in. The hushed crowd of neighbors, sitting on the hoods of other cars, gob-smacked with awe. The grateful waves rolling in, gently splashing against the stony coast. And that moon—crazy yellow, burning orange, shimmering with the light from a sun we couldn’t see—that moon rising in the warm August night, and leaving below a kind of walkway in the sea, a reflection across the bay that looked so much like a footpath. A footpath paved with wonder, grace and bright delight.
If you like, you can see the picture I took that night on my blog: I’m not a particularly gifted photographer—but you really didn’t have to be that night. And you can see, there, the way that Super Blue Moon seemed to call for us, seemed to invite us out, seemed to say: “Come, take this path, walk this way, live into the wonder, the grace, the bright delight of creation. Get into the game. Don’t stay on the sideline.” I don’t know, am I crazy? Maybe. But I felt the moon calling to us that night, not just me and Kate and Hannah, but the whole coastline, the whole earth, the whole planet, offering that bejeweled path, beckoning. “Take this path, walk this way. Get into the game.”
2.
And friends, I think the gospel, the good news of Jesus, the kingdom of God (if you will) is a lot like that Super Blue Moon and its invitation to wonder and delight. We’re meant not just to observe all that glory, all that light—but to participate in it. We’re meant not just to analyze and assess God’s love, God’s grace—but to weave it into the very fabric of our own lives, the fabric of our own communities. The Blue Moon doesn’t say: “I’m the moon, look at me.” The Blue Moon seems to say: “I’m having the time of my life up here, why not join me?”
So what we want to be about here, as church, is participation: stepping into the light together, singing under the light together, serving and shining with light together, building a community on the Seacoast that doesn’t just analyze and assess the light, but revels in it and grows in it and reaches for it and welcomes it and offers it over and over again to neighbors and friends. What happens in this space every Sunday is, hopefully, just that. A wildly wonderful, bold and beautiful, imperfect and brokenhearted community of friends—stepping into the light together, singing under the light together, serving and shining with the light together. It’s all about participation. It’s all about us getting together and investing our spirits, our lives in God’s dream. The Gospel says, COME! Jesus says, FOLLOW ME!
And I want to say this next part as gently and as sweetly as I possibly can. If it’s all about participation, this reveling in the light, this growing toward the light, this reaching for the light—if it’s all about participation, it kind of means being here, being in the room, rubbing elbows and saying prayers and digging deep with friends who are reveling and growing and reaching too.
Does that make sense? To follow Jesus, to embrace this gospel, to build beloved community means stepping out and showing up. And basically, that’s what Jesus is saying to brothers Simon Peter and Andrew, and then again to brothers James and John. To take this particular path, this gospel path, means stepping out and showing up. It means leaving some other things behind, even some other priorities behind, to choose the kingdom of God. Or as I want us to say here: the Beloved Community. But however you translate Jesus’ good news—kingdom or kin-dom, community or commonwealth, divine love or Super Blue Moon light in the sweet black night—however you translate it, it requires some choosing, some prioritization; it requires stepping out and showing up.
Now some see Jesus as a spiritual bully, using his wit and wisdom to bring us all in line, to enforce his one and only truth. And others see Jesus as a kind of cosmic bodyguard, promising protection to the faithful that he will deny to those who choose other journeys. But what if? What if Jesus and the Gospel he proclaims is more like that Super Blue Moon? What if he shows up in our lives to call us out, to invite us out, to show us a walkway, a footpath that promises meaning and connection, hope and compassion? That’s what I see him doing with Simon Peter and Andrew this morning, and with James and John too. I see Jesus asking them to imagine living to love and only to love. I see Jesus inviting them to risk living to love and only to love. I see Jesus reaching out and saying: “I’m having the time of my life on this footpath. Why not join me?”
On a walk on the coast this week, I passed a driveway that seemed to bend back into the woods and probably to some kind of estate back there. And on the fence around the entrance, and on the gate that was bolted shot, I counted six different “NO TRESPASSING” signs. Six of them. That’s: “No Trespassing. No Trespassing. No Trespassing. No Trespassing. No Trespassing. No Trespassing.” That’s a lot of ‘no trespassing,’ my friends. Message logged and received. And I suppose for some of our neighbors, the church can seem that way too: intimidating, befuddling for its many rules and customs, intimidating like a bodyguard. “No Trespassing.” Unless you’re wired right. “No Trespassing.” Unless you know the holy code or the secret handshake. “No Trespassing.” Unless you’ve got it all together.
3.
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| 8.31.23 |
But here’s the thing about Jesus and this world of wonders. It’s not a thing where you pick up a little here, check in a little now and then, refuel every once and a while, and then go on your merry way. Jesus says to Simon and Andrew, who are out there fishing by the way, actually doing their jobs; Jesus says, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for human authenticity and justice.” And immediately they leave their nets and follow him. Not just for an afternoon of pickleball. But they follow him. For the rest of their lives, as it turns out.
And then he says to James and John, who are working with their father to mend some of the nets they rely on, and that’s serious business by the way; Jesus says to them, “Follow me.” And immediately they leave the boat and the nets, and even their father, their father, and follow him. Again, not just for an afternoon of picking blueberries. But they follow him. For the rest of their lives, as it turns out. Into all kinds of strange places, as it turns out. Into a whole new kind of community, as it turns out.
There’s something telling about these narratives, then, these ‘call-to-discipleship’ stories. All of these folks leave a way of life behind. Most of them leave jobs, professions, lifestyles behind. A good many leave families and social status behind. Discipleship, as it turns out, is often tied to disruption and displacement. Things change. Relationships change. Commitments change. Lifestyles change. And Jesus doesn’t ask just a little, it seems, he asks quite a lot. “Follow me,” he says. “Let’s fish,” he says. “I’ll help you fish for human authenticity, for kindness and compassion, for justice and peace.” But a lot of priorities get rearranged in that process. And Jesus doesn’t ask just a little, he asks quite a lot.
Church, I want you to hear the words of the prophet Isaiah that are embedded, carefully embedded, in the gospel this morning. At the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry, at the dawn of a movement, as Jesus sets out gathering his beloved community. Matthew remembers Isaiah. And Isaiah promises that “the people who sit in darkness will see a great light, and for those who sit in the region and shadow of death light is dawning.”
It's poetry, of course, conjured in a moment of national hopelessness and international conflict. It’s poetry, of course, drawn from the heart of a prophet for a people bereft and grieving—not only for the lost past, but for the unimagined and uncertain future. “The people who sit in darkness will see a great light, and for those who sit in the region and shadow of death light is dawning.” The language itself reminds me of that night at the end of August, and the Super Blue Moon over New Castle. Poetry can do that. Scripture can do that. God’s word intends to awaken in us and in the world a spirit of compassion, an attitude of tender kindness, a resilient hopefulness about the world. The Gospel says, COME! Jesus says, FOLLOW ME!
So look at us today. A church stepping into the light. A church reveling in the light. Look at us. A church welcoming the light and singing for the light and serving by the light of Jesus’ great gospel of peace. I want you to hear the call Simon Peter and Andrew are hearing. I want each of you to hear the call James and John are hearing too. You may be thinking: “Not me, my heart’s too broken.” Or you may be thinking: “Not me, I have too many questions.” Or you may be thinking: “Not me, I’ve made too many mistakes.” But here’s the thing. That Super Blue Moon is shining your way too. That bejeweled footpath is reaching right to your toes.
And that’s what grace is all about, right. Each and every one of us has a special place in God’s kin-dom. Each and every one of us brings unique energy and imagination to God’s kin-dom. Each and every one of you—no matter how many mistakes, or how big the mistakes are, or how deep and unsettling your questions—each and every one of you is called to walk this way. To participate. To follow. To build this beloved community and shine that the world might shine with us.
Amen and Ashe!
