Making a Connection

Jesus calls the disciples. That's how we describe the first encounter between Jesus and those who will become his key followers.

The gospel of John says that the first followers of Jesus were followers of John the Baptist. He points Jesus out to them and they follow Jesus around a bit until Jesus invites them to “come and see” what he's doing.

Mark, Matthew and Luke tell the much more familiar story of Jesus meeting the first disciples by the Sea of Galilee. They were fishermen and Jesus says to them "come and follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Mark and Matthew’s versions are short and immediate, Luke fills out the story with more detail, even a miraculous catch of fish at Jesus’ encouragement (Luke 5:1-11).

I wonder, though, if we don’t hear them all pretty much the same way: Jesus calls, they drop what they’re doing and follow him. Matthew and Mark even say they do it “immediately.” Luke makes more of a story of it, but they still leave everything behind and go with him. It just doesn’t seem like they put much thought into it.

Perhaps that's the miracle aspect of call. Just as Jesus seemed to know them, perhaps they somehow knew Jesus (and what that meant) in that moment.

So maybe it’s not just a call story, but an epiphany story.

Epiphany comes from a greek word meaning a revealing, a sudden manifestation or appearance, particularly of the divine. Remember the magi? The prophesy said a great king would be born. Even though there was none of the trappings of royalty, they somehow knew they were in the right place.

So maybe those first disciples experienced a moment of epiphany in which they knew who this really was. The divinity of Jesus could be the epiphany moment, that being revealed to them would certainly explain their immediate departure and their willingness to step out into the unknown of what was ahead.

But the epiphany must have been about themselves, too. Maybe they knew that there was a different path waiting for them and now was the time to take it.

Other than the fishermen and Matthew, a tax collector, and perhaps Simon, who was described as a Zealot (a political movement advocating violent rebellion against the Romans), we don't really know anything about the background of the disciples. They were just random, ordinary people on the surface.

But that wasn’t where Jesus connected with them. That’s not where an epiphany happens.

I imagine the divine spirit in Jesus resonated with their own. I imagine they knew that they were so much more than they had thought, that wherever Jesus was going to lead them, it brought them to a better life. I imagine that epiphany moment wasn't just in that split second decision to follow Jesus, but in the days that followed as they lived with Jesus and began to learn what Jesus was about, what he taught and what he showed them. I imagine that these were the first to open their hearts to understanding that Jesus calls us, not to be different, but to be more of who we truly are.

What a Wonderful World

Here we are then. Rhetoric dialled up to ten. Anger and frustration up around 12, maybe, and hate, well, hate’s off the chart in some places. What a wonderful world.

It is, though, it really is. It just depends, as Louis sings it, on how you see it. In the song, he sees it in the trees and flowers that bloom for me and  you, in the bright blessed day and dark sacred night, in the colours of the rainbow not just in the sky but in people, too. He hears it when people really mean to say “I love you” and when babies cry, reminding him how they’ll grow to be so much more. And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

But right now, appreciation of our environment doesn’t seem to be registering with many, the days don’t seem blessed, the darkness is overwhelming and don’t even start on the rainbow. It’s hard to discern the love in so many of the things being said because it seems like people would rather attack than greet and, by the way, tears just make you a crybaby. 

Why does it seem like bullying is the preferred form of leadership? Why are so many people willing to ignore the environment or simply use it to their own benefit?  Why is it easier to deport your neighbour than love them? Why do people have to earn the help and support a caring world should offer? Why is getting the best deal more important than kindness? Why is it more important to say whatever you want than to listen and understand and offer wisdom? And when did it become more important to establish your own “truth” rather than discern what is really true?

Sorry, that turned into a bit of a rant. And I really wanted to write “say whatever the hell you want.” I was feeling it, but ministers don’t talk like that, right? It would offend someone.

It’s probably no surprise to anyone that I sometimes say things that offend people. This might be one of those times.

I remember one time, a few years back, I wanted to put “Dead Man Walking” on the church sign for Palm Sunday. That was going to be my message, that Jesus knew where things were headed even as people celebrated him. I asked Lori what she thought. She said don’t put it on the sign, people will be offended. Sure, but I thought it would get their attention. She said it would, but not the way I intended and then they won’t want to listen. 

She was right and I didn’t put it on the sign.

Even in his most human moments, I think Jesus always took into consideration who he was talking to, whether it was to teach, comfort, support or challenge. I think he tried to learn more about them, hear their stories and understand them before he said what needed to be said. I think he encouraged people to be active listeners by being one himself. I think he always put others first, even when he had to say something difficult. I think he always tried to speak with respect and kindness and I think he always tried to speak what is true.

We’ve lost a lot of that. We don’t listen to learn and understand, we listen to respond or, worse, overwhelm. Often, we participate only for our own benefit or to influence, rather than be influenced. And we demand and direct, rather than offer and support.

And I think to myself, be more like Jesus. What a wonderful world we’ll see.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

Jesus is from Nazareth. He wasn’t born there, of course, and after his birth he spent a few years in Egypt, according to Matthew’s gospel. But when his family returned, they went to Nazareth. “So was fulfilled what was said through the prophets, that he would be called a Nazarene” (Matt. 2:23). Sure enough, he is: Jesus of Nazareth.

Each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke tell a story of Jesus returning to his hometown and not being very welcome there. Most bibles title the incident “The Rejection of Jesus at Nazareth.”

Basically, Jesus goes to Nazareth and attends synagogue where he reads scripture and teaches. The people hearing him are "astounded" at what he says and question how he could possibly be so wise. After all, they know him, he's just that carpenter's son from down the street. Then, they’re offended at what he would presume to tell them. Jesus replies with the popular proverb that a prophet is never welcome in their hometown and goes on his way.

Both Mark and Matthew place the story well into Jesus’ ministry and, as they tell it, the people seem to take instant offence to Jesus' preaching because they think they know him. It appears they've already labelled him as a local boy of a certain status and therefore he can't possibly know or say what he does.

In Luke, however, the story is very early in Jesus’ ministry. In that account, Jesus reads from the prophet Isaiah "the Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour."  He tells everyone listening that this scripture is fulfilled in their hearing.  "All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, 'Is not this Joseph’s son?'" (Luke 4:22).

That sounds to me like they're proud of him, willing to hear what he says. He’s a local boy made good. But that changes pretty quickly. As Luke tells it, Jesus tells them he won’t be doing what he’s done elsewhere because they’re just interested in themselves and don’t actually believe him. He reminds them of how, in the past, God has helped foreigners more readily than them because of their failure to live true with God. And then, they get angry and they turn on him. That wasn’t what they wanted to hear. How dare he.

But just like the prophet Isaiah, Jesus spoke what is true. They haven’t cared for the poor or the blind, helped the oppressed or the marginalized, been just or served others. Jesus came to bring people back to God, to show how to live love and the essential good that is in us. There’s no better place to preach that than where the community of faith gathers. It’s where the spiritual meets the real, physical world and all its failings.

For the spirit to travel into the world, it must be true and authentic. Jesus "the Word made flesh" and "God with us" is also Jesus, son of Mary and Joseph, the ordinary working, playing, living and loving person like you and me. To live like Jesus isn't about being more "godly," it's about being more fully human and to be more fully true to the image of God that is at the heart of each of us. That’s how the Spirit of the Lord is upon each of us.

There Was This Wedding

In the Gospel of John, the very first thing Jesus does is go to a party. Sure, there’s the famous intro and his cousin John introduces him to some of his first followers, but the first action the gospel narrates is Jesus, his mother and his friends attending a wedding celebration in Cana.

It’s quite a well known story because Jesus brings the wine. Kind of. Wedding celebrations in those days were big week-long events involving the whole community and everyone brought food and drink. They ran out of wine and Jesus’ mother tells him to help them out. He tells the servants to fill some large pots with water and then they serve it and, when they do, it had become wine. And not just any old plonk, the best quality stuff. And a lot of it, too, more than they needed. The steward of the feast even congratulates the groom on holding back the good stuff until now. Crisis averted, party saved, it’s a miracle.

Is it, though?

It’s often referred to as “The Miracle at Cana” or “The First Miracle” Jesus did, but really, any street corner magician could probably pull that off. Maybe not in the quantity Jesus did, but is it really that spectacular? And compare it to other “miracles” of Jesus. No one was healed, physically or spiritually. Justice wasn’t done, no lives were saved, the hungry weren’t fed. Okay, you could argue he helped the thirsty and saved the groom some embarrassment, but it just doesn’t stand up well with the others, does it?

The so-called miracle’s not the point here, though. There’s more important things to notice, and the author of John wants you to. At the conclusion of the story, they write “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory, and his disciples believed in him.” 

It’s a sign. Signs point to things, they impart information and direction. You’re not supposed to focus on the sign, but what it points to.

The gospel that begins with the Word and how “the Word was made flesh” to live among us, puts Jesus right in the middle of a life-changing community event. And I don’t think for a moment that he was sitting quietly in a corner being a wallflower. I think he was in among the people, eating, drinking, dancing and having a great time celebrating. It was time to be just one of the people, not the messiah, not yet. 

Even so, as one of the people he makes transformation happen. Ordinary, everyday water, essential to the fabric of who we are, is transformed into something tasty, delicious even, fruitful, enjoyable and lively. Jesus transforms the ordinary into the spectacular. How’d he do that? 

Easy enough to say “well, he’s Jesus.” Sure, but what is Jesus but the divine spirit of love, grace, compassion, the good that has been from the beginning - the very things that he’ll demonstrate with the “miracles” of his life. A life that shows us we are capable of all that, too. 

As he leaves the wedding with his disciples all chatting excitedly about the miracle, I imagine him saying something like “you think that was cool, watch this.”

In Winter

I guess January wouldn’t be an ideal time for a baptism in a river. Not in this part of the world, for sure.

But, on the church calendar, it’s January when we hear the story of Jesus being baptized by his cousin John in the Jordan River. I know, different part of the world, different era, and, in all likelihood, it might not have even happened at that time of year anyway. It’s a key story of Epiphany, though, so that’s where it’s put. I’ll come back to that.

But just imagine, for a moment, Jesus trudging through the snow with everyone else, down to the river where John’s franticly chopping at the ice, trying to break through. He can’t, so he finally gives up and uses snow. Think about that. Not the ridiculousness of it, or the cold, but the meaning.

We baptize with water because water is life. John called people to repent, to turn away from sin and turn back to God. The water symbolically washes away that old life of sin and offers something new, a new life with God. We baptize as a community because it’s an opportunity to publicly acknowledge what we already know to be true, that we are all children of God, to welcome and to offer love and support.

In the cold and shadows of winter, the life hides in the snow. We know the snow will melt, we know that spring will come, we know that creation will come back to life. We know the life is still there through all the changing seasons. Our lives are like that, too.

That day Jesus was baptized, I wonder how many others were baptized by John who struggled with their repentance. I wonder how many found themselves making their way through different seasons in their lives. I wonder how many remembered their baptism, remembered Jesus, and found their way through. Maybe even Jesus himself.

We tell the story in Epiphany because it’s a story that reveals who Jesus is: after John baptizes him, the Holy Spirit appears as a dove and a voice from heaven says “this is my beloved son, my pride and joy.” 

It also reveals that Jesus comes to be baptized just like everyone else. In Matthew, the author even has John point out that it’s Jesus who should be baptizing him because he’s, well, he’s Jesus. But Jesus says no, this is the way, and of course it is, Jesus is one of us.

It also reveals that Jesus didn’t come quietly to be baptized privately, but publicly, with everyone, in front of everyone. And of course he does, Jesus is one of us.

It also reveals that Jesus’ baptism is followed by the time of testing in the wilderness and the beginning of his ministry. So Jesus is baptized by John and then begins to live his baptism: remembering it, reconnecting with it, living it. Of course he does, Jesus is one of us.

The story reveals that Jesus is a child of God, blessed with the Spirit’s presence. And so are we, that’s what Jesus’ life reveals to us. The divine spirit is in us, too, we are loved by God and we are God’s pride and joy. Even in winter. 

A Tale of Two Tales

I like to talk about the Christmas creche every year. I just wrote about that a couple of weeks ago. I think it’s important to remember the whole story and remind ourselves that everyone belongs at the manger because Jesus is for everyone. And I think it’s important to remember that one big story portrayed by a full and busy stable is from two different gospels and a load of traditions, it covered a much longer span than one night, and is full of a whole lot of imagination.

All of that is good, it is. And we should find time for all of it. Every story that brings each of those characters to the stable brings us closer to the stable, too.

Take, for example, the shepherds and the magi, two very different groups of people. What is true about Jesus is revealed to both of them, but each travelled a very different route to get there. And the presence of each reveals something very different to us.

The birth was revealed to the shepherds by an angel (and heavenly host), according to the gospel of Luke, and they came to the manger from nearby fields and found Jesus just as had been described to them. It wasn’t much of a journey, not physically anyway, and they didn’t really have to look hard to find him. They just followed instructions and believed they found exactly what the angel told them they’d find.

The first to see Jesus were poor and marginalized, the very people Jesus came for. They found him among animals, a child of poor, ordinary people, just like them.

The magi, according to the gospel of Matthew, were not close by: they were "wise men from the east."  That's not a description you give of people from just the other end of town. And the sign they followed was a star, a celestial marker, that anyone should have been able to see from anywhere. And yet, they were the only ones who truly "saw" what it meant. They followed a sign which they interpreted in order to find the fulfilment of a prophecy that a great king was born. And even though there was no trappings of royalty, they knew, when they found Jesus, that they were in the right place and they offered him their royal gifts.

This is a whole different kind of journey from the shepherds. But the truth at the heart of their stories, what they found, brought them to the same place.

The author of Luke says they found the messiah. The author of Matthew says they found what Isaiah prophesied to be Immanuel, which means “God with us.” The author of the gospel of John writes that he is “the Word made flesh.” Jesus, who is for everyone.

Perhaps that’s why we like to put them all together. Shepherd or magi, we come to Jesus in different ways, from different places, led by different desires.