That's What It Takes

If you spend anytime at all reading or watching the news, you probably have the same sense of dread, anxiety, anger, disbelief, sadness - the list could go on and on - that I have. It’s hard enough seeing what’s happening in the world and then, just this week, the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists moved the Doomsday Clock to 85 seconds to midnight. That’s the closest it’s ever been.

If you’re not familiar, the ominous sounding Doomsday Clock has been measuring how close we are to completely destroying all life on the planet since 1947. It might seem arbitrary, but it’s a way to indicate how serious the risk to the world is, taking into consideration “politics, energy, weapons, diplomacy, and climate science.” It gives very real meaning to “the end is near.”

It doesn’t have to be.

Lots of people would like it very much if religion just stuck to, well, religious stuff, but here’s some news: faith traditions have been talking about "politics, energy, weapons, diplomacy, and climate science” all along. In our own way. Jesus did, too. And the prophets.

Sadly, we’ve also been part of the doomsday side of all that. Through history, we’ve often been part of the worst of war, power struggles, the immense chasm between the rich and poor, the abuse and oppression of people, the destruction of land. We’ve lost our way as much as anyone.

But Jesus, the prophets and any like minded faith-filled figures that are true to what God is really all about (however you understand that word, God) constantly try to bring us back, back to understanding how truly blessed we are, just as we are, to be a part of this wonder that is the world we live in. Back to understanding that we are good and that we are capable of living good into the world.

When people are being oppressed, even killed by the very people meant to keep them safe, when power is abused to enrich a select few, when the earth is overwhelmed by greed, when people fear and hate what they don’t know or understand and unity seems a far off dream, we might wonder what could possibly put things right.

Well, love could.

Now, come on, I can hear the dismissive “pfft” already. Let me put it a little differently.

Suppose we were to approach everything by doing what was truly just and right. Suppose we offered kindness and care to everyone, respecting their humanity rather than simply judging them. Suppose we chose to walk together with grace and compassion, seeking equity with each other rather than power over others. Suppose we simply sought the good in each other and engaged each other in a way that could build relationships rather than conflicts. Suppose we tried that.

Micah is one of the minor prophets in Hebrew scripture. He framed it like this. He describes a scene as if all of nature was a court room in which God pleads their case for all that God has done for the people. And the people reply with all the stuff they could do, things that they could give. And God says no, all that’s needed is this: do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with your God.

I believe God is the spirit of life and love that connects all of us and humbly acknowledging that brings us together, to walk together on the road to what is good, being kind and compassionate, being just and standing up for what is right. You could say God or you can use whatever word has that meaning for you and we could try to walk together, live kindness and do justice. That could change things.

It Wasn't For The Free Fish

I wonder sometimes why Jesus chose fishers as his first disciples.

The gospel of John doesn’t mention their profession, but the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke all record a similar story of Jesus calling the first disciples. As Jesus begins his ministry, he walks by the Sea of Galilee. “He saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishers. And he said to them, ‘Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.’ Immediately they left their nets and followed him” (Matt. 4:18-20). The gospel of Matthew doesn’t even mention how Jesus called any of the other twelve, except one: Matthew, a tax collector.

So why fishers? Imagine if it were some other occupation. Like, maybe Jesus was walking in the marketplace one day and the first people he met were a couple of tax collectors. Follow me, Jesus says, and I’ll make you collect people. Or, at least a percentage of them based on their relative incomes.

That one doesn’t seem to work as well.

What if they’d been shepherds? That’s a familiar image in scripture, generally, and Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Follow me, and I will make you herd people. That’s a bit better, I suppose, and there’s lots of sheep and shepherding in the bible, but it still doesn’t have that same “oomph” as fishers.

Do you think the story would have changed any if they had been shepherds? Or carpenters, maybe? It likely Jesus learned Joseph’s trade. It would have made sense for him to go to people whose work he was familiar with. He’d know them, he’d be one of them. He’d fit right in.

What if they’d be farmers?  Or shopkeepers or any other occupation?

Not everyone likes fish.  Not everyone likes to fish. And don’t even start me on the difference between recreational fishing and fishing as a job. These people fished for a living and it was hard physical work, reliant on nature. First century fishers weren’t well off, and then there were those tax collectors. I imagine first-century-middle-eastern-fisherman was a tough job.

Then there’s that “fishing for people” metaphor. It has a lot of contemporary baggage and likely did then. And, in Hebrew scripture, it had even more. Jeremiah uses it as a metaphor for collecting people for divine judgement (Jer. 16:6-18). Yikes.

I wonder if, beyond the ordinary, everyday, practical nature of the occupation, what they did was all that important to the story. Other than they weren’t priests, because I don’t think this is just a story about calling religious leaders - priests, ministers, pastors, whatever our traditions call them. It’s for everyone, every ordinary, everyday person.

This is a story about living into the call that we all have as children of God. The life Jesus called them to was precisely that: life.  John’s gospel touches on this, too, when Jesus “names” Simon — Jesus knows who Simon really is, in his heart of hearts, and calls him to live into being Peter, which means “rock.” 

I think Jesus could already see what was in the heart of these fishermen. The same thing that’s in all our hearts: love and a desire for relationship built on that love. (No matter how hard we might try to ignore it or hide it.) He called these to come and learn how to live it fully in their lives so that others would learn, too.

Paul will later write that we all have different gifts and skills, but are still part of one “body” in Jesus. In fact, he’ll frequently be reminding the early churches that everyone’s gift, skill and occupation is valuable and needed but that, as the hymn says, “Christ is our unity.”

Jesus didn’t call the fisherman to different employment or even different traditions. He called them to live more fully the love and grace already within them. Jesus calls us all to that life, whatever our occupation, employment or skill set. Jesus doesn’t ask us to give up our daily lives, but to live them more fully. 

Try Me

I have tattoos. If you’re not a fan, or you don’t think ministers should have tattoos, well, sorry. Let me just say, though, that they all have meaning and they’re all pretty great art. The meaning part is particularly important to me.

So you might wonder why I have a beet tattooed on my arm. I’m pretty famous for not liking beets at all, referring to them usually as a turnip that somebody beat with a stick until it bled and yuck. If you like beets, good on you, you’re welcome to them, I just can’t eat them. Please do not regale me with all the best ways to prepare beets, you won’t change my mind. I’m okay with not having them and again, you’re welcome to them if you like them - you can choose that. I won’t like you any less, avoid you or demonize you for eating them. Eating beets shouldn’t be on anyone’s list of criteria for being a good person or not.

And please don’t “Green Eggs and Ham” me. How often do we try to convince people, "just try it, you'll like it?" Especially children and vegetables. How will you know how good they are if you don't try it?

Thing is, I have tried them. Don’t like them. At all. I know that because I tried them. And that’s okay.

So why is there a beet on my arm? Simple. God loves all. Just because I don’t like them doesn’t mean they’re not deserving of God’s love. The beet reminds me that’s true of people, too.

The important part is the trying it. Not because you will absolutely like them or because you better like them, but because you took the time to get to know them - because we are all children of God, loved by God and worthy of love, just as we are. We can be different, we can disagree, we can have different likes and preferences, even follow different traditions and faiths and we are still worthy of love, respect and grace. It may not be your way, but it’s someone’s, and that’s worthy of love, not judgement.

You’d think any faith tradition would have learned that. I wonder if religion, conformity and exclusivity have got in the way. The idea that you need to be more like me, my beliefs and my ideas, does seem to be overpowering love. 

But look, you have a choice. There’s this great story about how Jesus’ first disciples weren’t found by Jesus and told to follow him, but instead they found Jesus and chose to follow. In the gospel of John, John the Baptist (not the same John) points out Jesus to his own followers. Twice. This is the guy I’ve been talking about, he says. The second time, a couple of them follow Jesus around until he notices them. He says “what are you looking for?” Then he invites them to come and see what he’s doing. They choose to go, and they realize Jesus is the promised messiah, which means the anointed one or the chosen one. They chose to stay and follow him. They chose love.

We all come to God - however we know God - our own way. Some feel called. Some are seeking, they may not even know what. Imagine how different things could be if we all began with love, if we began with finding out what people are looking for in their life and invited them to come and see what we can offer.

A Revealing Beginning

On the church calendar, the season of Epiphany takes us from Christmas to Lent. It’s the season of light, which is really helpful given that it’s pretty much the darkest, coldest time of the year around here.

The word epiphany means a revealing, a manifestation that brings a sudden understanding. An enlightening, even. Epiphany begins with the story of the magi following the star - there’s the signature “light” of the season - that brings them to Jesus and that’s followed by stories of Jesus’ ministry that reveal who he is and what he’s all about.

First among those is the baptism of Jesus by John in the Jordan River. It’s quite literally the first story of the adult Jesus in each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. Jesus is baptized, he retreats to the wilderness (the story that inspires Lent), and then begins his ministry. We’re hearing Matthew’s account this year, but each of the gospels tells essentially the same story with their own little variations.

John is preparing people for the arrival of the messiah by calling them to repent and be baptized in the river. Full submersion was likely his style. Jesus comes to the river, John recognizes who Jesus is and initially balks at baptizing him but Jesus says no, this is the proper way for things to happen. John baptizes Jesus and, as he emerges from the water, God’s spirit appears as a dove and a voice is heard saying “this is my beloved son, with whom I am pleased.” 

It seems like we should all be just as surprised as John that Jesus would want to be baptized. After all, baptism was the sign that accompanied John’s call to repentance. Why would the Son of God need to repent? Why would Jesus get in line with everyone else? 

“With everyone else” is exactly why.

From the very beginning, Jesus tries to establish that he is one of us. I think Jesus knows that we will try our best to set him apart, to worship him as “God beyond our reach,” not “God with us.” But Emmanuel - “God with us” - is what was promised. And here’s Jesus being just that. He comes to John like everyone else, with everyone else, because that’s who he is and what his life and ministry will show. Not something that’s meant to show power beyond us, but to reveal the power that is within us, the spirit of God that has been in all creation from the beginning.

I’m not surprised that baptism is the first story of the adult Jesus. I’m not surprised that it’s followed by his journey of discovery in the wilderness and then, only then, his ministry. We begin with a story that reveals the Holy Spirit to be with Jesus and that he is the “beloved son,” and then hear a life of stories that try to show us that the Holy Spirit is with each of us, too, and that we are all beloved children of God.

Jesus comes to baptism as one of us and leaves as one of us, spirit-filled and beloved by God. His life will show us how to reconnect with that spirit, to live into the divine that is in each of us and to restore our relationship with God. We’re in good company if we struggle to understand that. I seems like John didn’t get it at first, either.