sermon

The church that Jesus describes in the gospels is beautiful and messy.   Life and love in Jesus sometimes means leaning into the messiness of being church, because we are bound to each other.

Vicar Lauren Mildahl
The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 A
Texts: Ezekiel 33:7-11, Psalm 119:33-40, Romans 13:8-14, Matthew 18:(+10-14) 15-20

Beloved church, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The word “church” (ecclesia, in Greek) only appears in two places in the Gospels. 

It appears lots of times in the book of Acts and in most of the epistles, but Jesus only mentions the church twice, and only Matthew’s gospel.   In fact, we heard him say the word “church” for the first time a few weeks ago.  When Jesus asked the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God!”  Then Jesus came back with, “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it!” 

The first time we hear of the church, it is ascendant. A church that death itself cannot prevail against. A church built strong on the rock of faith, of Peter’s faith in the Living God who came in love as Christ. This church is a glimpse of God’s beloved community, of life and love in Christ. It’s beautiful!

And now, here we are, just two chapters later, and when Jesus speaks of the church this time it is in conflict and disarray. Jesus describes a wounded church, where members are hurting each other and aren’t listening to each other, and the church represents the last-ditch effort to restore peace. It’s messy!

These two chapters tell a tale of two churches. The best of times and the worst of times. So divine. So human. Beautiful and messy. And isn’t that just like the church? 

Because church is often messy, isn’t it?

Even this church. I haven’t been here long, but I’ve been reading the wonderful history of Mount Olive that was put together for the 100th anniversary. It has been such a lovely way to get to know more of the rich history of this place. But it’s also a tale of two churches (at least 2!) There have been many beautiful moments and many messy moments in this place.

And in the wider church as well.  Some of you shared with me this week your own painful stories of the messy church and the ways you have been brought down and let down, sometimes by people who sanctioned their actions with these very texts. It’s all too easy for “2 or 3” people to claim God’s authority to push away or even excommunicate some sheep who makes things just a bit too messy.  Whose “sins” (real or imagined) threaten the idea of the beautiful church. And the conflicts weigh us down. And they hurt. 

It’s heartbreaking. In my cynical moments, I think about God’s promise to do anything we ask – IF “two of you can agree.” – I imagine God thinking, “Oh I’ll take that bet.  Two of you need to agree on something?  Yeah, sure. If two of you can agree on anything, I’ll do it.  Good luck.”

But of course, that’s not how God thinks or what God wants.  God wants us to agree, wants us to love one another, wants us to live! Telling the prophet Ezekiel, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from their ways and live!”  But how? How do we turn and live? How do we muddle through the messiness of living side by side? 

Well, God has given us a good place to start. It’s called “the law.”  

We Lutherans love gospel so much we like to give the law a bad name. But the law is a gift. It is supposed to help us.  It’s a good thing.  It was the desire and delight of the writer of Psalm 119. And it’s what Paul offered to the Romans who were trying to navigate their own very messy church. Paul helpfully summarized for them and for us that “the law” is really just love. Love for our neighbors.   So that we can turn and live!  So that maybe we can be that first beautiful version of the church a little bit more often. 

But as helpful as the law is, the love and life we find in Jesus goes even beyond that.

This passage in Matthew 18 is often called “The Rule of Christ” – but it isn’t just sensible conflict management advice.  This is the kind of love that doesn’t just follow the law, it fulfills it. This is the love that goes to find the lost sheep that has gone astray.  The love that doesn’t want a single one of these little ones to be lost.  The love that brings every single one back. 

That’s what we are commanded to do here.  If a sibling in Christ has sinned against you, has hurt you, has offended you, has annoyed you, whatever it is, you don’t shut the door on them. And you don’t just take it like a doormat.  You go out and you meet them face to face.  You might need to bring along others. You might have to bring along the whole dang messy church if you need to, for the sake of one. That is restoration and reconciliation that will go to every length. 

Which sometimes means that we need to be a little bit flexible for the sake of reconciliation.  

We need to learn to lean into the messiness. Sometimes that might even mean re-evaluating the rules the law has given us.

And God gives us that flexibility!  Jesus says, not once, but in both of these passages where he mentions the church, the same phrase:  whatever you bind on Earth will be bound in heaven. Whatever you loose on Earth will be loosed in heaven. This isn’t God setting us up as little tyrants with terrifying cosmic power.  This is God reminding the church to go to every length to reconcile, to restore, to turn to life.  You aren’t bound to the law.  If the law isn’t working to bring every sheep back, be released from it.  If you need a few new rules to help you love each other into life, go for it. 

You aren’t bound to the law.  You are bound to each other.  

Which means that when you need to hold others accountable (which sometimes you will), you can’t forget to hold them. ¹

Too often, these passages are used to wash our hands of those who have hurt us or those we don’t think should be a part of the church. 

Sometimes we are so afraid of a messy church, we want so badly to skip right to that beautiful church, that we are really tempted to read that part about Gentiles and tax collectors as license to exclude. To leave those sheep to wander on their cliffs. 

But that isn’t the church.  We only need to look at the way that Jesus treated Gentiles and tax collectors to see that.  Jesus wasn’t afraid of messy. Jesus knew that the two churches, beautiful and messy, are really only one church.  Because the church that death cannot prevail against is the same church desperately trying to hold itself together.  Not two churches. One church in Jesus. Who has already gone to every length to reconcile us to God, to bring us back into the fold, who doesn’t want to see a single one be lost. 

And don’t forget, dear church: Jesus is here.  He promised. 

Where 2 or 3 are gathered in my name, I am among them. In my beautiful, messy church, I am among them. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

_{1. This idea was inspired by Kazu Haga, a trainer of Kingian Nonviolence, from a line in his book Healing Resistance: A Radically Different Response to Harm (Parallax Press: 2020).}

God does not determine worth by the amount of seeds we sow successfully–God already holds us knowing we have unimaginable worth and hopes that we will be brave to sow seeds to bring God’s reign.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, Year A
Texts: Isaiah 55:10-13, Psalm 65:1,8-13, Romans 8:1-11, Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

“A sower went out to sow.”

As Jesus often does in parables, he does not give much context, motivations of the character or even who this person is. Instead, he tells a story that sounds simple, but is also a lot to digest. Parables ask that we learn from each other and listen to the different ways that a story can be heard. In recognizing that Jesus does give an explanation today, that does not mean it is the only thing we learn from this parable.

The story starts with an individual going out to sow seeds–to plant what might be grain in the future. For those that have planted, there are two parts to caring for seeds. There is the experience side that tells us temperature, kinds of soil, water, drainage, among many other things, all play a factor in having a successful harvest. The other part is the hope and bravery that comes with planting. At some point, how the seeds grow is out of your control. As much as you can plan and prepare, there is a chance that nothing might grow which is a risk you take.

Sowing seeds is not for the faint of heart.

It takes patience, time, and commitment. Learning with one another, asking questions, trial and error. And eventually, we hope that we learn from experiences and grow from them.    

Planting anything is quite literally an act of trust because we place hope into the Earth’s soil that it might flourish and grow. That in itself takes bravery. But what comes of those seeds? The ones that hold hopes and failures? What if we plant in the wrong places? What if, even with experience, we find failure?

A simple story about planting seeds, quickly becomes much more.

We are talking about the ways we live and plant all over in our lives. The ways that we treat one another, invest in each other, show compassion, even to ourselves. The seeds that you sow when you stand up against racism. Stand up against aggression towards our trans siblings. And call for peace and justice in our world.

The seeds you sow when you call to check in on a friend or remind those around you that they are loved. When you have difficult conversations about caring for your neighbors with a family member and it feels like rocky ground. Those are brave seeds to plant. The ones that we are not sure what kind of soil we are encountering, but have hope and trust that God brings growth and the Spirit’s presence amidst it. The times that we put our hearts out there, on the line, with hope that change will happen. And even have to ask: about the times we do not feel successful?

Looking back to the parable, the sower is all across the board for results.

God is not looking for perfection. God is not a stranger to failure or working within imperfect people. So much focus can go to the seeds that land on good soil and bring forth grain, but the output is not the focus and results have never been a part of this for God.

The grain that does grow is enough to fill a whole community. For the hearers of the story thirty, sixty, or a hundredfold was a sign of abundance to be shared. But this grain would not be there if it was not for the time, patience, learning, and growth that is done together first. We are called to bring God’s reign to our world, that means reaching out to one another with grace to learn, grow and share together. This kind of abundance takes community effort, not the perfection of one person

All the seeds in your life will not be planted in perfect soil. You will get confused and lost. You will have success and you will have failure. And as a community, we hope that when we fail, we hold each other up and grow together.

While we can plan and prepare, we also hold as followers of Jesus, God with us, that some things are simply out of our control. And God tells us that is okay. The Triune God does not determine worth by the number of seeds we sow successfully. God already holds us knowing we have unimaginable worth and hopes that we will be brave to sow seeds to bring God’s reign.

“Listen!” Jesus says “A sower went out to sow.”

One of the bravest things you can do. For our world that lays so much stress on success and accomplishment, the Triune God does not. A sower goes out into the world and decides to have hope that seeds might sprout into a harvest, some a hundredfold. And sometimes those seeds do not.

Sometimes we fail and everything does not go according to plan, but that does not change the importance of the work you do. Because God continues to bring rain and snow and sunshine–all signs of God’s growing abundance and presence. These gifts that helps our community learn about soils, planting depth, watering and that is why we rejoice and embrace learning together. And when that seed brings forth grain, we rejoice too. Because in your own ways, just as all the seeds do, you each bring essential grain that feeds the community and gives it nourishment in order that we may hope together for God’s peace and justice in our future.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Vicar Mollie Hamre

The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 12 A
Texts: Jeremiah 20:7-13, Matthew 10:24-39

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Our scriptures today are not saying what you might think. 

Jesus tells us that he comes not to bring peace, but a sword. That there will be separation. That those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life, for Christ’s sake, will find it. It sounds like a whole lot of tension, distress, and loss. This does not sound like our Jesus. The one that is supposed to be advocating for peace, not a sword. The one who feels gut-wrenching compassion for his sheep, not separation.

And while peace, compassion, and love continue to describe Jesus, today he is addressing another part of our faith lives. How do we live into these loving characteristics and trust God when we face conflict, discouragement and are overwhelmed? When the tension of our faith lives leave us with questions. When we are now part of that gut-wrenching compassion, it is more than we can handle. What does that mean for us now?

The Prophet Jeremiah knows about this. 

We hear Jeremiah describing images of a fire burning within him and weariness from holding it in. Exasperated by the world he sees. The laughingstock he has become to the people around him. He is exhausted. And yet, he declares God’s presence and continues to work towards justice. And I can not help but wonder why he is sticking around. Jeremiah did not want to feel alone, excluded, or ridiculed. The easiest option would be to pack one’s bags and give up. So what brings him back giving him hope and trust in God?

It is a question we do not talk about often. 

What is calling us back? Why do we continue to seek out the Triune God when we know, just as Jesus’ disciples are learning, that living into God’s reign will not be easy, but will instead leave us with questions and tension as we look at our world. Why do people hate? Why are people marginalized in our country? Why is there judgment and sides being drawn? What changes are happening as pollution settles over our cities and debates ensue about taking care of our Earth. These are all heavy loads. If this is the tension we carry today, connecting with Jeremiah suddenly becomes a little less difficult. 

In his laments, Jeremiah comes to a conclusion about this tension: 

Leaving is not an option for him, but neither is being quiet. The reality of God’s reign of peace, justice and loving the neighbor is one that is actually possible to him and needs to be proclaimed. If this could be the way that all of creation could live, why wouldn’t we be compelled to work towards it? Somewhere in his distressed and messy world, Jeremiah holds that God is within it and cares for it. Cares for creation and hopes for the future it could have. One without violence, corruption, divides. That even when we feel frayed and wanting to give up, God doesn’t. Instead Jesus, God with us, comes to be with us. 

The presence of God, Christ within us, the Spirit around us. 

With the Triune God so abundant and present, what other option do we have but to seek out peace, justice, and loving the neighbor? What other option do we have but to pursue God’s hope for the world and stand those that are marginalized? To bring healing to our Earth? To live our lives in ways that remind one another that each person is beloved, important, loved as they are. More valuable to our world than any amount of sparrows as Jesus says. Like Jeremiah shows, God’s reign is continuously reaching out, being embodied, and can not be ignored. 

And the good news for us is we do not have to carry this weight alone.

The Gospel of Matthew tells us “for nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known.” God’s compassion, love, and healing is abundant and can not be covered. It will be brought to light from the shadows and proclaimed from the housetops. That the world and creation will be held by God’s love for them. 

That God is doing this not only through you, but your communities, your neighbors, and everything in between. God is constantly within us, compelling us to work for change, and it can be scary. It causes tension, separations, disputes with those around us and inside of ourselves. 

Jesus tells us that he comes with a sword because such a proclamation is jarring, abrupt, and transforming. These texts are not an invitation to go pick a fight or to point out someone’s faults. It is not an opportunity to shame those we determine are wrong. But our hope and peace is that God alone prevails. Not the sides we have made, not our winning and someone else’s loss, but instead that God moves through us and those divisions are dissolved and God’s reign becomes what exists. 

And that is what God calls us to today. 

To trust that the Triune God’s reign is uncovered, brought to light, and proclaimed from the housetops in our world and that you are a part of it. That you are told to have no fear because you are deeply beloved and worth more than you can imagine. That, just as the men and women who entered into the early days of the church, anxious of what the future may bring–they knew God was with them. 

They knew that when they cared for, loved, and embraced those around them, God’s reign was uncovered and continues to be by each of us. As we navigate this world together, guided by God.

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Claudio was an anxious Eucharistic minister. And he wore his anxiety on his sleeve, so much so that one day I finally asked him about it.

“Such holy things, pastor. Such holy things. When I carry the chalice I’m carrying such holy things. In my head there is always a voice that is repeating, ‘don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do; don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do…’”

As we catch up with Jesus this morning, the Sermon on the Mount continues. Preaching to his disciples and the crowds, Jesus echoes what Claudio was feeling, “just do what you’re called to do.” In the case of equipping first-century witnesses Jesus gives guidance that is very clear and positive. He speaks to his beloveds of such holy things:

You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.

Honestly, the power and the impact of Jesus declaration is lost on us. In our overstimulated culture, the metaphors of salt and light seem – well – a bit bland and dim. They are gifts we take for granted

But salt was essential to survival in Jesus’ day. It wasn’t just an optional ingredient that might be added to food to spice things up like cumin or cayenne. Salt was used to preserve food and blazed a trail for international trade. It functioned as an antiseptic, saving lives from infection and disease. As it became more and more valuable as a commodity, it stood at the center of economic and political power.

In a similar way, we who live in the bright glare of cities that never sleep have only the faintest idea of how light functioned before elec-tricity. News flash: the ancients didn’t have a beam of light from their smartphones to find whatever was lost under the car seat, or to blaze a pathway from the bed to the bathroom in the night.

Declaring his people to BE salt and light is a new wisdom that Christ preaches. It is not a wisdom of this age, or of the rulers of this age. It is a new wisdom that Matthew proclaims along with the apostle Paul, the wisdom of Christ and him crucified. Those who are salt and light in the world not only bring this new wisdom into the world, Jesus proclaims that they actually ARE that wisdom in the world. YOU are that wisdom in the world. You, people of God, are salt and light.

Jesus pushes the envelope.  As Jesus often does. Listen: I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Say it like this: there is a difference between knowing about salt and light and being salt and light. A difference between knowing about our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead and being our Lord Jesus, crucified and risen from the dead.

Jesus invites us to let our righteousness exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, and to let our light shine. To be his love in the world. This is what Christ means when he says, I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. I am not interested in followers who know about righteousness, or who know about salt, and light, and commandments and teachings. I am not interested in followers who are god-ish. I am interested in followers who are Godly.

Let’s be honest. For a guy like me, it is easy to be god-ish. A cradle Lutheran, I grew up in the 60’s in an area of the country that was deeply Christian. I thought everyone was. Honestly, it wasn’t until I moved to Seattle in 1996 that I met a bone fide pagan, someone who openly if not proudly chosen to practice no faith at all. For a guy like me, being god-ish was easy. Very little risk. I have spent my life being able to go along and get along, to be like salt and light in the world.

Jesus wants us to know a greater gift. Jesus wants more for us, because Jesus always longs for what is best for us. Jesus offers us a gift beyond measure.

On a particular Sunday, I noticed that Claudio was possessed of an uncharacteristic calm as an assisting minister. His hands did not shake. When he handed me the chalice and purificator after com-munion his palms were not sweaty. His face was relaxed and radiant, not furrowed and pinched. After worship, I asked him about it.

“Yep, pastor, there’s been a change. I’m no longer overcome with the mantra, “don’t drop it, don’t spill it, just do what you’re called to do.” God has given me a sense of peace. “What changed?” I asked him.

The last time I was Eucharistic minister, when I sat the chalice on the altar, I realized that Christ was not somehow magically in that chalice. I knew that if I spilled it or dropped it, God would understand. When I looked out across the congregation and saw all the people of God that I was privileged to serve, I realized that Christ was not in the chalice. At least not only in that chalice. Christ was now in all of them. In all of us.”

Claudio had come into a new righteousness that did not eliminate one letter, not one stroke of a letter of all that had gone before. He was able to see Christ fulfilling the Law in a way he’d never seen before. He saw God’s people as bearing the cross of Christ to the world. He saw them as salt and light. In short, he moved them in his mind from god-ish to Godly. He might spill some wine, but he also recognized in a truly sacramental way, that God’s love had spilled into the bodies, the hearts, the minds, of God’s people.

Beloved in Christ. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. You are not like a bit of seasoning to make bad things a little better. You are not just a sprinkling of light to make someone’s random hard day a little bit brighter. God has been and will once again today be spilled into you.

On our body and in our heart, through our words and by our actions, we ARE salt and light. It’s very sacramental. What once was in the loaf and chalice is now in us. We are bread for the hungry, drink for all who thirst. We are no longer god-ish. Baptized into Christ we are Godly. It is both joy and privilege, gift and task, and Jesus walks with us every step of the way. Because he lives, we shall live also, to bring Christ to the world for others. Light for the world to see.

Salt and light. Christ in the world. This is who we are. Rise and shine, people of God. Godly people. Bringing peace to the troubled. Food to the hungry. Shelter to the homeless. Such Godly people we are called to be.  Such Godly people we get to be. Godly salt. Godly light.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pastor Paul E. Hoffman

The Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Before we go charging head-long into Matthew 5, let’s review. To this point in his Gospel, Matthew has told us, among other things, of

An inconvenient pregnancy
The threat of divorce – Joseph’s from Mary
A quirky set of visitors from the East, following a star
A maniacal, manipulative king
A dream-inspired flight to a foreign country, making the Holy
Family refugees
The slaughter of innocent children

We have heard about the cousin of Jesus and his eccentric preaching: winnowing forks, unquenchable fire, an ax lying at the root of the tree, that sort of thing…

We learn in early Matthew about:
A forty day fast in the wilderness ending with an encounter
between Jesus and the devil
Christ’s teaching and healing those afflicted with various
diseases and pains, demoniacs, epileptics, and paralytics

That’s what gets more-or-less covered in the first four chapters as Matthew sets out to tell the story of Jesus. And with that scene- setting backdrop, we turn the page to chapter 5, Jesus climbs a
mountain, has a seat, and begins to speak…

The poor in spirit are blessed, for the reign of heaven is theirs.
Those who mourn are blessed, for they will be comforted.
The gentle are blessed, for they will inherit the earth.

What are the first four chapters of your life? Frankly, I have no idea. I haven’t known you long enough. But, I know this after forty years of ministry. I know that the chapters of your life and my life are a
whole lot like the opening strains of the Gospel of Matthew.

They are life stories that contain
An inconvenient pregnancy somewhere in our family
The threat of divorce: our own, our friends’, a member of our
own family
We have quirky friends who may have followed a star or something a whole lot more bizarre in search of something meaningful or real
We are not strangers to maniacal, manipulative leaders
Is there a day that goes by that we don’t hear of siblings in
Christ fleeing for their lives to a foreign country?
We are, unfortunately, acquainted with the death of children;
painfully, some of them have been our own.

We know what it means to be tempted, and we ourselves or those we love with all our hearts are
afflicted with various diseases and pains…

So Jesus is not just whistling Dixie when he sits down here among us, today, in – of all places  Minneapolis, Minnesota – and says, says to us – in a way that the world around us would find foolish…. Jesus says, “I know. I get it. I see you.”

Jesus, who by God’s grace, came to live among us full of grace and truth knows first-hand how the crowded ways of human life get crossed up.
With wretchedness and need.
With human grief and burdened toil.
With famished souls from sorrow’s stress.
The world will never see us as Jesus does. The world in its wisdom wants us to move on, to get over it, to buck up and pull ourselves together.

But Jesus sees us with all the tempts us, with all our various diseases and pains, with our broken relationships, and grandiose ideas gone south. He knows how we are tempted to go chasing off after other gods, and how that never, ever satisfies. And so he sits among us today, right here, right now, and says, you who hunger and thirst for righteousness are blessed. You are mine. You are beloved.
Loving us as he does, just as he loved those before us on the dusty roads of Galilee and the lush mountains where he sat to teach…

Knowing us as Jesus does, and loving us, is reckless in the eyes of world. Foolish. The world does not deal well when those who are low and despised get God’s attention. The world roils and fumes even
more when those who it deems losers are given the title “blessed.”

At its worst, the world will be so flummoxed by those who are called by his name, so undone by any who do justice, or love kindness, or walk humbly with our God that the world will revile us, and
persecute us, and utter all kinds of evil against us falsely.

And yet, and yet. This is what defines us. This is who we are. Blessed at the hand of the One whose own hands are pocked by nail prints, whose side was pierced with pain to heal the pain inside of us. This is
who we are – not perfect, but blessed. In all the messiness of whatever chapters of our lives have led us to this day. Gathered at Christ’s feet once again today we find ourselves: wounded, yet grounded. By mercy surrounded. Already and not yet. Always moving forward in the power of God, and the wisdom of God.

Blessed. Blessed. Blessed.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Jesus calls the disciples, and us, to consider what vocation means for our lives and the ways that God calls us.

Vicar Mollie Hamre
3rd Sunday after Epiphany, Year A
Texts: Matthew 4:12-23

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

You have probably been asked this question at some point when you were younger. You might have said that you want to be a doctor, a teacher, a professional athlete, or anything else you could have imagined. In the case of my four year old niece, she excitedly told us she was going to be a cooking game show host. But all of these answers have a commonality: you can only pick one thing. 

At such a young age we are put into a mindset of thinking we can only be one thing. That we can only do one thing. And what is even more strange is we stop asking that question after a certain age. For Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John this is a question they learn that we are to ask as we seek out where God continues to call us. 

Our Gospel starts with Jesus receiving news of John the Baptist being arrested.

In reaction, Jesus flees to Galilee and calls Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John to be his disciples. Jesus approaches them in their day to day work and calls them directly: “Follow me.” We do not find the group of four in the synagogue or somewhere one might expect Jesus to be recruiting, but instead appearing to them in their normal jobs–their normal lives. Jesus calls them to follow, carrying their experiences and knowledge with them in saying: “Come! I will make you fish for people.”

Fishing is a language they understand, it’s their background–but being disciples? Not so much. Yet, the scripture says that they immediately left their boats and followed him. Strangely enough, a question about this drastic life change they are about to experience, never seems to pass through their minds. 

Such a reaction can both leave one in awe as well as skeptical. 

What about their vocation as fishermen? What about all that they were leaving behind? Matthew’s version of calling the disciples feels sudden and there is a reason for it. Jesus’s call is direct, urgent, and encompassing. This is the beginning of Jesus’s ministry, we find him proclaiming that the reign of God has come near, there is no reason to beat around the bush: Jesus knows it is time to get to work. 

But also notice that in calling the four Jesus does not ask them to stop being fishermen or to boost their resumes. Instead Jesus calls them as they are. This call story is not just about dropping one’s nets to jump to another career, it is about exploration, growth, and examining one’s call. The disciples were not only fishermen, they were students, teachers, friends, community, and so much more. All of these aspects of their lives were within the call to discipleship and part of their vocation. We hear this as Jesus goes throughout Galilee doing multiple things: teaching, proclaiming, and healing everywhere. 

As the Gospel continues and Jesus moves between communities, we see that these fishermen disciples realize that their calling means one’s occupation as well as their relationships, their context, and the way that they experience the world. 

What would it mean for our own lives if we lived them out in the same way?

When we enter into the waters of Baptism we are told that we walk with one another holding the “spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the spirit of joy.” That is how each and every one of you are called. You would not only think about this while at your occupation, but in all aspects of your life. 

This is not me saying you need to take on more, but asking what if we thought about vocation and calls to discipleship in a way that was encompassing. That your vocation does not drop and picks up as something completely new, but shifts as we grow. That the way you earn money is a vocation as well as your vocation in parenting. Or the vocation of being a student, being a mentor, being a friend. 

Our Triune God calls out to you to follow.

To live out your vocational calling in your jobs, families, friendships, and everything in between. Teaching one another about love. Proclaiming where you see God within one another. Working as a community and individuals to bring healing and mending places within each other. Peace, justice, and caring for the neighbor are not calls that are saved for people who need to meet the discipleship benchmark. But one that we are all called to as Children of God. 

So I ask again, what do you want to be when you grow up?

What ways do you see God in your life? Where do you feel God calling, “come! Follow me!,” I will guide you in loving your neighbor, connecting with someone who needs a friend, or caring for one another. We know from the journeys and stories of the disciples that even when four of them were called in the same way, their call to discipleship took so many different forms that were all important as the reign of God comes near. And even when we do not know what that vocation looks like or struggle to hear God, we know that God calls us to life. Life in community, life that loves one another, and life even after our time is done here. 

In the name of the Father, and of the ☩ Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.