Walls, Weddings, and Wine

John 2:1-11 – Weddings and Walls

          We hear a lot about walls these days. Walls that should be erected, walls that should come down, physical walls and virtual walls, and both the costs and opportunities walls may represent.

No, I am not going to talk about THAT wall – this is not a political speech, although we will talk about commonalities in all the walls that exist in our lives, and how in Jesus Christ those walls crumble and fall.

Walls are nothing new – that much is obvious. The oldest wall discovered so far was built about 11,500 years ago in Mesopotamia, modern-day Turkey. The Great Wall of China is considered one of the world’s greatest architectural feats, the first sections of which were built in the 7^th century, B.C., with the bulk of it being constructed during the Ming Dynasty in the roughly three centuries beginning in 1368.  

Robert Frost once wrote in one of his poems that “good walls make good neighbors.”  Too often, that is just how we view the barriers that we put up – as being only good.

Martin Luther King, Jr., whose work we celebrate in a national holiday tomorrow said in speeches delivered in 1964 to both West and East German audiences, “For here on either side of the wall” and of course, he was referring to the Berlin Wall, “are God’s children, and no man-made barrier can obliterate that fact.” Those are words to remind us that regardless of what kind of walls we are facing, God is with us and God can remove our need for the walls we put up, and bless us in our relationships with people, for, “In Christ There is No East or West, in him no north or south!” as sung in an old African American spiritual found in our hymnal.

And yet, there still exist all kinds of walls in our lives. Some are composed of bricks and mortar, some of stone, some of computer-generated protective layers of technology we call firewalls. Perhaps the most damaging of all walls are those of heart and mind. What I would like to talk about is what lies behind our building of walls and how it relates to our gospel today.

Often we use that word – “wall” – to refer not only to the physical walls in the world, but to the limits of what we think we are capable of, or the threshold of our patience or endurance, or the externally-imposed restrictions on our movement or freedom, even our progress in something challenging.

The thing that most often comprises or causes walls to go up is fear.

I can recall times in my life when I definitely felt like I had hit a wall. I can also identify the fear that drove me to the wall. It was often the fear of failure of some kind – like the time I took a two-week intensive in biblical Greek, in what was called “Greek Boot Camp” at the beginning of seminary and as the mid-term arrived I was sure I would fail.

It was fear of not being good enough, smart enough, or spiritual enough that kept me – for way more years than I like to admit – from answering God’s call to ordained ministry in the first place.

Then there were the times as our children grew up and they were struggling with profound difficulties; I feared not being able to help them in ways that would make a lasting difference in their lives.

It was fear of being judged and fear of being incapable of being on my own that kept me for too long in an abusive first marriage.

Walls, built by fear, and fear is often driven by the principle of scarcity the guides the world. It’s the principle of the “not enough.”

This is the deep conviction that we aren’t enough, or we don’t have enough, or that there is not enough to go around. The principle of scarcity leads to protectionism – we protect ourselves from the embarrassment of not “being enough” by simply not engaging; we protect ourselves from our fear of not “having enough” of what we need or want by holding tightly to what is ours; and we protect ourselves from the fear of there not enough by grasping at what we fear will not be available later if we don’t get it now. All of this fear drives us to the wall. We can’t get over it, we can’t get around it, but we can – and do – hide behind it.

Of what are you afraid today? What kinds of walls might you be erecting around yourself because of fear? What fear-driven barriers do you need help overcoming? Jesus is here to break the tight hold of fear and offer us a life of abundance beyond our imaging.

Jesus came to conquer our fear and to break down the walls that divide us as people. Jesus came to eradicate the walls that keep us from being the people God created us to be. If we doubt that Jesus is capable of penetrating our well-constructed walls, we have only to look at the gospel today to see how God, through Jesus, is revealed to be our “enough.”

Imagine, if you will, that you were throwing a big party – perhaps even a wedding reception for your son or daughter, like the friends of Mary and Jesus were throwing in our gospel lesson. Imagine what it would be like if, just an hour or so into the reception the dessert bar was empty and the drinks bar had run out of wine and liquor. The humiliation!

Imagine living in an honor/shame society where keeping face and maintaining your good standing on the honor side of things was of supreme importance - the shame you would suffer from such misstep would be enormous. The embarrassment!  Your fear of not being a good enough host or hostess or of being judged as not having enough resources to afford feeding all your guests just got reinforced.

Given the fact that wedding feasts typically ran for days and often as long as a week in Jesus’ time, what happened at the Wedding at Cana would be a lot like that experience. Halfway through the party, you have lost the ability to provide for your guests, your family, and your children, and you’ve lost that ability in a very public way.

John tells this story in his Gospel at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry to highlight how, as God sent Jesus into the world and as Jesus begins his teaching and preaching and healing, we should have no doubt that what John writes about Jesus is true. In the miracle of changing the water into wine, Jesus shows that the fear we bear of “not enough,” in him, becomes an overwhelming supply, not only of “enough,” but of the very finest provisions.

In this twenty-first century world, our motto might well be “there’s not enough.” Whether we are thinking of food, water, shelter, money, or love, the repeated messages that there is not enough to go around reinforce our fears. This fear infects all segments of society – home, family, church, work, nation, world. In an increasingly insular world, where we function in a “it’s a dog-eat-dog world and we need to grab what we can first,” this text invites us to stop, and to look at what Jesus is doing.

Jesus takes a moment of supreme fear for the stewards who were charged with making sure they ordered enough wine and turns it into a story of abundance and wonder as they marvel that the very finest of wine – and so much of it – would be provided for the second half of the feast, assuring that all who attended not only “got enough” but were well-pleased at being filled with such a fine provision of food and drink to the end.

This gospel story reminds us that the magnificent, inexplicable love of God is a gift that is abundant and satisfying. God’s generosity moves us from wanting to satisfied, and from fear to fullness. In God walls are unnecessary, because in Jesus God provides for our every need.

Because God loves us we need never fear not being good enough, bright enough, rich enough, or loved enough. In the baptism that we remembered last week, God takes each of us and declares that in his eyes we will always be enough upon which his love and mercy and grace will rest. Each of us has been miraculously willed into being by God and saved through God’s grace. Therefore, we have no need to fear. As theologian Walter Brueggemann puts it, “the story of abundance says that our lives will end in God, and that this well-being cannot be taken from us. In the words of St. Paul, neither life nor death nor angels nor principalities nor things—nothing can separate us from God.”

Of what are you afraid today? In what ways is God providing abundantly for you in the midst of your fear?

When water was changed into wine at the wedding at Cana, Jesus proclaims the radical abundance of God. The wine is copious. God’s love is unending. God’s mercy is without parallel. God’s forgiveness is eternal. Just as the quality of the wine in Cana is not just adequate but is “the best,” in Jesus, God grants us not just a better story but the best. God gives us new creation, new life, new possibilities, new and eternal hope.

Trust that regardless of what fears you may be holding inside, and regardless of where you fear the judgment of “not enough,” God has already answered your scarcity with abundance – with overflowing answer to your prayer – with unending healing of your pain.

In Jesus, God is revealed and shines forth as the one who answers the myth of scarcity with a powerful new narrative, filled with abundant new life in Christ. may we learn to trust in the abundance of God, relinquish our fears, and live new lives shining forth with the generosity of faith and love, in Christ. Amen.

Someone with a little skin on

John 14:1-14

One night, a little girl, Lisa, we’ll call her - lay in her bed as storm clouds gathered outside. Soon, there was a full-blown thunderstorm going on right outside the windows of her bedroom. Thunder crashed and blinding flashes of lightening lit up her bedroom over, and over again.  Little Lisa was frightened. She cried out to her dad, who was in the next room, "Help me."

Immediately, she heard his voice respond, "Honey, God loves you and will take care of you."

Another bolt of lightning and clap of thunder caused Lisa to cry out again, "Daddy!" Again, she heard her father’s voice, "Honey, God loves you and will take care of you."

The storm continued to rage and Lisa, now frightened nearly out of her wits, called out yet again; her father's response was the same. But the little girl replied, "Daddy, I know that God loves me, but right now, I need someone with skin on."

Don’t we know that feeling?

Isn’t that sometimes our experience? I know God loves me, but right now, I need someone with skin on.  When we go through the struggles of life, when we have questions about why losses and difficulties and troubling things come our way, we need someone with skin on.

When we are frightened because the storm has gotten way out of hand and we are facing illness or joblessness or changes in our relationships, even betrayals; when the well-planned future we had counted on shifts and changes and when circumstances out of our control threaten the security we worked so hard to build, we want someone with skin on.

When Jesus came to be born in Bethlehem, he came as God with skin on. As he lived his life as one who was at the same time both fully human and fully divine; as he gathered disciples, ministered, healed, preached and taught his followers, he was, in fact, God-with-us – with skin on.

That is what we call the Incarnation; that in Jesus Christ, God became flesh. Jesus was that “someone with skin on.”

The conversation depicted in today’s gospel lesson took place on the night in which Jesus was to be handed over to the Roman officials. It is his last opportunity, the last word that he can give to his disciples before he leave this mortal plane, and he wants to make clear to his disciples that he is indeed, God with skin on.

In the days and weeks and years to come, Jesus knows that it is essential for them to continue believing that in him, God has come into the world and that God’s physical presence with them, while about to change in substance, will not change in reality.

Believing in Jesus we come to know that one true God – the one who is at once creating and redeeming; the one who transforms us in love; the one who promises never to leave us, but to abide with us forever. And that is a promise that stands – forever.

Jesus is not just “like” God; Jesus is the embodiment of the one true God. Through his life and his teachings he has shown his followers the full-bodied character of God – forgiving, healing, subversive, despising evil, loving good, inclusive, transforming, peace-loving, and possessing power over life; he is God with skin on, and even after his death he showed his disciples that he lives.

In his post-resurrection appearances, Jesus continues to be God-with-us – our God with skin on. As the fully human incarnation, Jesus died on the cross. This was not a theoretical death or an imaginary death. It was a real death, preceded by unimaginable pain and suffering, feelings of abandonment, fear and despair depicted in our scriptures.  Jesus knows well our suffering, for he endured the same.

Just as we will one day die, Jesus truly died on that cross for us. But Jesus changes the reality of what death means for all of us. Because the thing is, Jesus’ resurrection changes more than just our death. It changes our life. And in that night when the still-living friend and master, Jesus, sat down for the last time with his disciples, knowing what was coming that very night, he shared these final words with them.

They are words of hope, and promise, and expectation. “I am the way and the truth and the life,” he tells them, and then he goes on. Believe in me, because in so doing you will know the Father. You will know his love, his forgiveness, his promise.

God has sent his love and presence to you in me, Jesus is telling them, and you will know them simply by the works you have seen in me, the signs you have witnessed, and, in the deeds you do as you follow in my footsteps. Other people will come to know God through you. These, my friends, are the promises of God for abundant life.

The word that we read today as “if” – “if you know me” – could also be translated as since – the same Greek word means both things, and I think translating it this alternative way gives us a better understanding of Jesus’ words. Since you know me you know the Father. Disciples of Jesus know him through his revealing love in action.

And, just as in this gospel of John love is an action word – something you do rather than simply something you feel, knowing God through Jesus and believing in him inspires and even commands a different kind of life, because the truth is, this kind of belief has power over our lives.

Now, it may be that even before today you were familiar with the words of this morning’s gospel because of a funeral that you have attended. Perhaps, even the funeral of a loved one, someone very dear to you. If so, you might be tempted to associate these words only with death; with sadness tinged with hope, with a day you would rather forget. But Jesus gave these words as both comfort and command, as both hope and promise.

So far during this 50-day period of Easter, our gospel texts have reflected Jesus’ post resurrection visits to his disciples and his continued teaching and preparation of them to carry on the mission and ministry to which he devoted and for which he gave his life.

Then, in last week’s gospel, Jesus called himself the gate through which the sheep of God’s own redeeming must pass. Today, Jesus he tells his disciples, on this pivotal night, the night in which he would be handed over to Roman officials to be tried, condemned, and crucified, that he is the Way, calling us out of darkness, into light.

Our identity as God’s children offers us hope and gives us momentum to live as God intends, following the Way of our Savior. Jesus gives us a model and framework within which to understand that this way, which is not always easy and will sometimes lead to struggle, hostility, and an unknown future, but is shaped by the promise offered here in this gospel.

Jesus is the tangible evidence of God in the world – God with skin on. That is the truth and core of Jesus’ very identity. He is God’s attempt to establish meaningful relationship with us. Every religion in the world reflects the human attempt to reach God. Through Christianity, we come to know Jesus as God’s plan to reach humanity. That makes all the difference.

Through the Incarnation, the infinite God took on the form of a tiny baby boy. The Son did not cease to be God when he became a man. He added humanity but he did not subtract deity. He was fully God and fully man. He was, in short, “God with skin on.”

Ponder that for a moment. The Almightiness of God moved in a human arm. The love of God beat in a human heart. The wisdom of God spoke from human lips. The mercy of God reached forth from human hands.

In Jesus, God was wrapped in human flesh, promising for all of eternity a bond with humanity that cannot be broken by suffering or death, by trial or disappointment, by failure and doubt, by fear and despair.

In a few moments, we will confess our faith using the words of the Apostle’s Creed, in the second article of which, we will state who we believe – by the preponderance of our religious identity - Jesus to be. If we could fully believe and embrace those words; if we could fully grasp the meaning of what we say, the troubles of our hearts would be silenced and our faith would be a real power over the whole of our lives. Because we could then experience God with skin on, Jesus Christ, as the real power and fullness of life not only for ourselves but for the world.

My friends, the real power of this gospel is that it contains the uncompromising promise of Jesus that, while still unseen, God abides in us forever, loves us forever, and empowers us to be Christ in the world, revealing the loving nature of God who refuses to let us go, and has gone through such extraordinary lengths to not only prepare a place for us when we die, but to secure our faith, our love, and our commitment to live the life of abundance which we receive in his name, that others may come to know and believe in the one who came to reveal God’s love for the world. By the power of Jesus Christ, God with skin in, may it be so. Amen.

New Life in Light of Lost Hope and Dashed Dreams

Luke 24: 13-35 Road to Emmaus

Imagine yourself as one of the disciples of Christ on that first Easter Sunday. So much has transpired in the past few days. On this evening, the day of the resurrection, what do you think you might be feeling? What might you be thinking?

Remember, in just this one day alone, as you are still digesting the turn of events that led from triumph to tragedy in 5 days’ time in Jerusalem, added to your burden are the revelations of this morning.

You are probably still consumed by the thoughts and images of what you witnessed with the trial of Jesus and his crucifixion three days ago, and then, just this morning, here came two women from your group who gave witness to an empty tomb;  then other disciples went to see for themselves, and they confirmed it. The tomb was empty, though they saw no sign of either Jesus or an angel. You don’t know what to think. The women’s tale included an angelic visitation and message - a promise that we would see Jesus again, but your thoughts and feelings are in chaos.

Not able to sit idly by, unsure about the safety of stepping out on to the streets of Jerusalem, you and another disciple set out for a nearby town.  Soon, you find yourself and your companion on the road to Emmaus; it is about 7 miles away.

To put things in perspective for us today, if we left Grace at the end of worship this morning and went walking toward St. Michaels, seven miles would take us just over the Oak Creek Bridge; or, going out toward Denton, 7 miles would bring us almost to Kitty’s Corner Road. Traveling out Route 50, we would get to just about the Backtown Road intersection, near Trappe; and if we went in the direction of the Dover Bridge Road toward Preston, we would nearly reach Route 578. You get the idea; it’s a bit of a hike, but not terribly long - a journey that will take a few hours at most, lots of time in which to talk, to turn over and over again all that you are experiencing, thinking, questioning.

As you walk along the way, of course, your conversation quite naturally turns into a dissection and deliberation of all the things that have happened, with the story of the empty tomb and the angels’ message of paramount interest and importance. You likely debate – even argue - with one another over whether or not to believe the women; what it means that the brothers also returned with a report of the empty tomb; what might have happened to Jesus’ body.

All of the feelings and reactions that you mentioned at the beginning of this sermon would have been in play, and then some. With the time it will take to walk these seven miles, you have the opportunity for good, open and honest conversation with your companion. You get to unpack a lot of your thoughts and feelings – to express your grief and sadness, to talk about your doubts and fears, and confusion, and even to argue over the meaning of today’s revelations.

What might that conversation have been like? I mean, if it was you, and your best friend, or one of your companions in faith here at this church who are walking along the road, what kinds of words might we expect could be overheard from your conversation?

I imagine it was a lot like that for Cleopas and his friend, engrossed in conversation when suddenly they are aware that a third person has joined them along the way. Of course, we know this person to be Jesus, a stranger to them in the moment, but one who knows them well.

And when he asks them what they are talking about, they give him an impassioned review of the things that have transpired. They reflect on the hopes and dreams for redemption that they had as they had come to know this Jesus, hopes that have now been dashed and muddled and most recently – perhaps, if they foolishly dare to entertain new hope – revived, if they are to believe the astounding reports of the women. They are so confused, so weary, so much in turmoil.

It may be hard for us to comprehend the impact of these things – after all, even if we are moved by the powerful images and stories of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection, we absorb this story through 2000 years of processing, scholarship, and even through the bias of the ways the stories have been told to us and the way they have been interpreted through media, time and teaching. The passion, death and resurrection narrative are shaped by so many things, and in many ways, watered down by 2000 years that have transpired between that Easter Sunday and this Eastertide.

In our Gospel this morning, Cleopas and his friend, in their response to Jesus’ question spoke the words, “We had hoped…” We had hoped this is the person we were dealing with; we had hoped for redemption; for this outcome. We had hoped. Those three words may be the saddest words in our story. “We had hoped” is an expression of disappointment, of disillusionment, of despair – “we had hoped” is a bare, undisguised expression of grief. “We had hoped.”

There are many things for which we hope and in which we are disappointed. Things that matter. Things about church, your life, your family, our community, the state of our country or our world or, whatever. I would like to give you the opportunity to name your own grief, pain, and disappointment –  as expressing these things are key to our being able to let go of them, to move past them. Expressing them doesn’t make them go away, but it can release us from the power they may have over us. 

What things are you grieving, lamenting, fearing or suffering today? How would you complete the statement, “But we had hoped”?

On the road to Emmaus, the disciples described to Jesus how their hopes had seemingly been dashed. In an expression of affection, Jesus says to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared.”

Jesus isn’t denying their pain, but showing them that God has not abandoned them, in their underlying fear and disappointment.  Instead, Jesus to reveals to them all of the ways in which God has moved and worked and accompanied God’s people. Jesus addresses the ways in which God has promised a savior, and the ways in which, through God’s mercy and love, God’s promises have been fulfilled. Jesus walks with them. He listens to their grief and despair. In those moments, Jesus embodies God’s love and eternal presence with them.

And so it is with us. In confession, in prayer and in the thoughts of our hearts we share with God the grief we bear. We tell Jesus about our disappointments and fears, about our dashed hopes and our present hopes. As we expressed with one another the things that weigh us down and bring us to the kind of despair the disciples experienced, Jesus assures us that we are not alone, that the promise of God to bring healing and balm for our griefs and sorrow remain with us in the person of Jesus Christ. When our “but we had hoped” ends in lament, Jesus hold us, and assures us that, through his resurrection we can be assured that God is working good in our lives and will not let us go.

As evening fell on Emmaus, Jesus shared a meal with these disciples, on the very evening of his resurrection. Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to them and in that instant their eyes were opened. They knew the power of his love. They went from dashed hopes to burning hearts. They understood who he was and they knew that his presence with them was real.

As Jesus made himself known in the breaking of the bread on Maundy Thursday and again in Emmaus, Jesus still makes himself known to us today. As we remembered our Baptism this morning, as we pray together and sing together and most powerfully, as we break bread together, Jesus reveals himself to us and assures us that there is no disappointment on earth, no dashed dream, no pain, sorrow, grief or confusion he cannot penetrate through the power of his revealing love.

Imagine yourself as the disciple of Christ that you are today, and may you come to share with others how you have encountered Christ on the way, on the road, in your heart, and through the breaking of the bread. May you know the joy and surprise, once again, of God’s presence and love and promise, realized in Jesus Christ.

Amen.

The Light is Shining

Matthew 4:12-23

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.

These words echo back and forth between our readings this morning.

The people who walked in darkness—the people who sat in darkness—the darkness….

What do we identify as darkness today?

Right now, our daylight hours are still a bit on the short side. Literal darkness comes early to our days. Dawn creeps in late each morning. So, there is the physical aspect of darkness.

Then, there is the mental or emotional aspect of darkness with which many of us are all too familiar. Depression, for instance, affects at least 1 in 10 Americans, and the rate of people diagnosed with depression is steadily growing. Yet it is estimated that 80% of those suffering with depression do not seek treatment. The mental and emotional aspect of darkness can be particularly crippling.

Finally, there is the spiritual darkness that seems so pervasive in our world. Spiritual darkness may come from never having had the opportunity to know Jesus, or it may come from the isolation of living on the margins, or from the deep pain of disillusion, rejection, or victimization.

Spiritual darkness may result from the distraction of the many voices which arise out of the various parts of our lives, each attempting to drown out the other, working together to draw us away from the light.

This distraction increases as allegiance to our idols overshadows our allegiance to God.  

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.

The darkness that weighs us down includes:

worry for our future;

• Perhaps our job is in jeopardy, is unfulfilling, or is the source of great conflict; o
• The disease we are fighting or test results we are waiting to come in;
• Our child or our parent may be struggling with demons that threaten relationships, health and well-being; or,
•  our financial security is threatened by causes outside our control. Perhaps our darkness comes from the unraveling of relationships.
• There are people who are just one catastrophic loss or illness away from losing their home; others worry, will we lose our medical insurance, Medicare or Social Security? Are our pensions safe?
• And of course, the chaos and deep divisions in our world fills many with fear and the darkness of despair leaving us afraid to do the things that once brought us joy.

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.

      Our gospel text today reminds us that into our darkness, God brings life-saving light. Repent, Jesus says, for the kingdom of heaven has come near. Jesus doesn’t tell us to repent so that that kingdom can come, but tells us instead that the kingdom is here – therefore, repent, so that you might follow the light of its coming.

Jesus is the light of God that has ushered in God’s kingdom and shines into every dark corner and crevice our lives. Jesus is the light that transforms our world.

God’s light will prevail against every darkness. And God’s light is to be light for all people. Jesus is that light.

Jesus, the light of salvation, goes to Capernaum after he hears that Herod has arrested John. The stage is set: God will not let any earthly leader silence the good news of God’s love and mercy. God will continue to provide hope through God’s authority, as God acts through Christ to bring light and salvation to everyone.

The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them a light has shined.

       The thing is that long ago, in the region where Galilee now lies, the people of Zebulun and Naphtali had once experienced great defeat. Isaiah brought God’s people the good news of light to be delivered into their darkness by God’s own hand. In today’s gospel, Matthew quotes Isaiah, reminding the people, God is in control, so don’t let the darkness of this time bring despair. God won’t let it overwhelm you.

The people of Jesus’ time once again lived in the kind of deep darkness and despair that had once afflicted their ancestors, as they endured imperial rule and oppression, this time, under Rome. This is a place where Judaism intersects paganism and nation intersects nation. Jesus chooses to begin there, and to live among the marginalized peoples, on the frontier known as “Galilee of the Gentiles.”

As Jesus relocates to this northern territory to begin his ministry, he reminds the people that while deep darkness once existed there, God, in his faithfulness, has spoken into the darkness of oppression and tyranny, and has delivered hope and light.

God is, once again, taking this amazing initiative towards those who are powerless and who have never even been considered.

       The first century people who populated this place feared the future. They wondered what would happen to them.

They wondered if they would lose their homes, their land, even their lives, when they could no longer pay the exorbitant taxes imposed by the Roman government.

They wondered if they would be able to feed their families. What would happen to them if they became too old or too sick to work?

What would happen to them and to their families if they said the wrong thing in the presence of the wrong people?

The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light. Those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them a light has shined.

But God sent the Word, the Light of the World, to this frontier land. And as Jesus began his ministry there, he began to tell the people to repent, for the kingdom of God has come near. It is this kingdom that will bring light to their darkness.

The light of this kingdom will banish darkness, and all those who live in fear, who doubt the future, who hunger and thirst for justice will be satisfied. And then, Jesus gets right to work.

Immediately Jesus called his first disciples. He calls these two sets of brothers, fishermen. Come, he says. Follow me.  So much about what Jesus does in this gospel is about inviting disciples, teaching disciples, calling people into discipleship: Come, follow me.

According to Frederick Dale Bruner, “Follow me” in rabbinic speech meant come, “become my students, be apprenticed to me, join my school, live with me.” Students spent almost every waking moment with their rabbis, they didn’t just come to temple to hear them lecture or speak. Discipleship was study-in-residence, it was home-schooling; you were immersed in your studies not only as theoretical learning but as a way of life. Jesus recruited his students, they didn’t come seeking him as was the norm for rabbinical studies. But Jesus is no ordinary rabbi. He is Lord and light of all life.

The gospel text today illustrates two important things: Jesus began his ministry not among the rich, nor within the population of Jews, “his people,” rather, he began with those quite literally on the margins.

Jesus valued all people and went first to those who were most in need – those who desperately needed that light, those who were powerless. And right away Jesus began calling disciples to serve along with him in those places. Jesus calls us the same way today.

       I wonder what Jesus might say if he came to visit us here today? We do some really good work with our outreach projects and with collections we have, but much of our work and most of our budget goes to maintenance. We maintain our building, we maintain a staff to serve us, we maintain the traditions and practices that have long been the staples for Grace Lutheran Church.

       What might it look like if we did as Jesus did and took the light of Christ and his ministry to the streets, to the places desperately in need of the light of Christ shining into the darkness of the world?

     
What might it look like if the main function of our worship was really to seek God’s forgiveness for our failures and then to seek the empowerment of the Spirit, so that we might boldly step out into the world with intentionality, sharing the light of God’s love and mercy, advocating for God’s values and justice, inviting others to hear and know the good news of this light-wielding God?

        The good news is that the kingdom of heaven has come among us – and between now and the time when Jesus comes again, we get to disciple with Christ and share the light of the kingdom with the world.

As Jesus chose to begin his work out on the frontier, so must we go out into the world to bring and bear the light of Jesus, empowered by the Holy Spirit, and working as disciples of Christ.

As Jesus called Andrew and Peter, James and John, and all the disciples that followed, Jesus calls you and me. Jesus calls us together in word and prayer, he calls us as church to shine his light and share his love and mercy and grace out into the margins of the world, where so many fear the darkness.

Jesus calls us to live our lives shaped by his light, because wherever we share his light and love through spreading peace and justice in the world, the kingdom appears and is made known.

Jesus calls us to hope as he shines the light in our lives and on our world. Jesus calls us to shine his light in worship and prayer, with and for each other, and in witness to the holy hope and life-giving light of Christ.

            Listen – Jesus is calling; Jesus calls to us, “Come follow me.”  

Let us follow as true disciples of the Light of the World.

Amen.