The great poet Robert Frost sets the scene for us this morning, alongside the picture on the cover of your bulletin. He speaks of a journey, where “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” and he is prompted to make a decision between them. The final stanza reads:

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference[i].

In the first part of our passage this morning from the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus puts the disciples, those gathered on the hillside, and even us, at a fork in the road. He lays out two clear paths to follow, and then, without much discussion, definitively points in one direction. One commentary describes this teaching as “Jesus at his ornery best: offering “advice” that makes no sense divorced from the nature of the one giving it[ii].”  “You have heard it said” he offers on one hand, quoting from the Hebrew Scriptures and rabbinic traditions things that would have been commonly understood. “But I say to you,” Jesus continues, offering another alternative perspective and direction to take, often completely contradicting the commonly held belief, and no doubt being the more difficult option. He points to the road less traveled. Compared to the first smooth path, this secondary way presented by this Rabbi on the hillside seems to be an uphill climb, fraught with bumps and holes and rocks. In fact, it goes against some of our most base instincts for survival and self-preservation. It will probably make us uncomfortable, and stretch our capacities. Given this dilemma, we might just stand at that fork in the road for a few minutes, to consider all our options.

In the first part of each pairing in our text, Jesus references the well-traveled path, what people knew as Torah, God’s law. While many of us skip past these laws, dismissing them as irrelevant or just too confusing to attempt to understand, they are a rich resource for us to understand how the people of Israel understood their commitment to each other in light of the covenant with their creator.  We read how God encouraged people to live in ways that supported and cared for one another. This was a hallmark of what it meant to be the people of God. And, when one area of this communal life was violated, whether it was because of theft, injury, or even accident that caused harm, there were appropriate responses that sought to provide a sense of balance, equity, and retribution. “An eye for an eye” echoes Exodus 21:24, which along with Deuteronomy and our text this morning from Leviticus 19 offers similar summary of a jus talionis, a principal of the law of retaliation. What goes around comes around. Everything is made right by equal reprisal.  By the first century, rabbinic tradition had shifted the understanding of retribution away from some of the violence that these verses can seem to espouse; it was more likely that instead of literally taking an eye or a tooth, for example, that a fine or penalty commiserate to the loss of livelihood would be paid, but the basic principles still applied.

For many, this is a good definition of fairness and contributes heavily to an understanding of justice. It makes sense, and appeals to our basic sense of evenhandedness. We often seek to “settle the score” when we feel we have been wronged in some way, or “make things up” if we have caused harm to someone else. It is a concept still woven deep into our fabric of life today, as well as throughout history. Consider the Code of Hammurabi, dated around 1754 BCE, which mirrored many of the same philosophical beliefs. It is a way to mend what has been wronged, presumably to set us back on the right path of equality where we can continue in our relationships with one another without resentment or hurt from the harm that has happened. “You have heard that it was said,” Jesus reminds the crowd, and we can imagine them nodding along. This is what it meant to be a faithful follower of God, seeking justice and walking humbly.

“But I say to you,” Jesus says, prompting us to reconsider our approach. Relationships with others, life in the kingdom of God, must be about something different. In each instance, Jesus counters with a measure that goes above and beyond what would be understood as the “required” response. Turn the other cheek. Give not just the outer coat, but your undercoat as well. Walk an extra mile. Do more than is expected or anticipated. This is a different path. This is the path of the disciple; the road less traveled. It is a path that is less focused on “making things even,” and more focused on making a path for a better future. Matthew Boulton imagines it in this way:

Do not fight fire with fire, Jesus says; rather, fight fire with water, and thereby refuse to take part in the incendiary, all-too-familiar work of injury and domination[iii].

Such an approach takes extra work, to be sure. It requires us to pause for a moment, think about things on a deeper and bigger level, and then respond. To be less reactionary, and instead more responsive to one another in ways that indicate we have a relationship, even though it might be strained and cracked and problematic, with one another.

On our best days, I think we as good Christians want to embrace this way of thinking. We take a deep breath and do our best to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. We imagine a peaceful response to those who are against us, speaking to them calmly and rationally. The problem with this is, of course, then we actually have to deal with other people. And some of them really get on our nerves. They don’t seem to be playing by the same rules, and some are downright hateful. Things get ugly. People get hurt. Real people. Ones that act with their own free wills that often conflict with ours. Real pain is inflicted, the kind that hurts deeply and leaves things in ruins. Words are said that can’t be taken back. Actions are done that can never be undone or even forgotten. Loss is palpable on every level imaginable. We are left scarred. Suddenly, this new path is an even more difficult one to choose. It doesn’t satisfy our visceral need for revenge. In fact, it leaves us vulnerable and potentially hurt twice as hard. Why would anyone chose this path? Barbara Essex notes that:

Some of us are too suspicious of the outcome and may resist living the values of God’s realm. We are more intent on making sure no one has a chance to abuse or tyrannize us again. Some of us are so stubborn we would rather be right than be in relationship with others[iv].

I think, if we are honest, we don’t always want to take the path to which Jesus is pointing us. It’s a lot of work that requires a tremendous energy on our part that doesn’t seem likely to have any real personal benefits in the immediate term. It demands a level of perfection that we imagine impossible for those with whom we interact. Essex continues to say:

. . . Jesus offers an alternative we find difficult to imagine and embody. . . . It is easier to be mean, hold grudges, ignore those in need. If I give to everyone who begs, I will have nothing left for myself. If I turn the other cheek, I will get slapped again. If I get sued, I am hiring the best lawyer I can afford to find a loophole in my favor. If I love my enemies, I will be more persecuted or even killed. If I am too nice, I will be seen as weak, a pushover, a doormat[v].

This might have been a similar response to those first listeners of the gospel. In fact, they might have been quite offended at what Jesus was saying. Consider that they were faithful people of God, who were doing their best to live faithfully and follow God’s commandments. Now, this Jesus guy comes along and tries to turn what was well-known into something long gone. He calls them to a higher level of accountability, one that is closer to reflecting the God they claim to worship.

In many ways, Jesus’ instruction is calling the people of God to consider more closely the root of those holiness codes in the Torah. The vast majority of these regulations, particularly the ones in Leviticus 19 regarding holiness, paint a vivid picture about human relationships. These verses:

are concerned with internal integrity and outward behavior in daily life . . . in how the condition of our hearts affects the conduct of relationships. The settings may be wide ranging, but the common concern is love of neighbor[vi].

They are more than just a series of codified laws. For the people of Israel, their behavior was linked directly to their understanding of what it meant to be holy. To walk alongside the Lord their God would be to walk in God’s ways, which indeed, were marked by holiness. Leviticus 19 calls the people to this way of life, characterizing ways of being that pay attention to those around them, extending a sense of hospitality and compassion to those on the margins, and most importantly, modeling lives of integrity and truthfulness.

Jesus reminds them of this call to a life walked closely with God in the Sermon on the Mount, giving tangible and practical ways in which this can be lived out. In the second part of our text, Jesus drives home the idea of what it means to love, this time calling attention to the idea of loving enemies. It is worthwhile to note that in this instance, the gospel writer’s use of “You have heard it said” does not seem to actually quote any words from the Torah, Hebrew Scriptures, or rabbinic tradition. There is much about loving the neighbor, but nothing said to instruct the people of God to hate. However, we might infer that some interpreted the idea of “neighbor” quite literally to reflect geographic neighbors, and in turn showed animosity towards others labeled as enemies. This would help explain why it was necessary for Jesus to later tell a parable, recorded in Luke’s gospel, prompted by the question “who is my neighbor?[vii]” Jesus clarifies more simply here in Matthew, implying that the call to Christians is to more than just love for those who are like-minded. It is all-inclusive. Yes, even to those who are against you in every way.

Here, I bet the people gathered began to grumble. We would, too. Or we would become snarky. “Sure, Jesus, I’ll pray for them . . . to change their ways and see the light.” But Jesus makes it abundantly clear: if we pick and choose who we love and play favorites, we are no better than those who don’t claim to act out of faith. Even the tax collectors, meant to be heard with a bitter taste in one’s mouth, are that way. Going further, Jesus is pointed in highlighting that our love not be limited to just our brothers and sisters, those friends and family members. Of course we are willing to go the extra mile for them. The question inherent at the end of this section is, “are we willing to go the extra mile for others – even others whom we hate as enemies, who hate us, or who are otherwise “others” in our lives?” This is where the rubber meets the road of our faith, and we are convicted by Christ’s sermon to consider which fork we are going to take.

You might imagine the scenario a little like those cartoons when a character is trying to make some sort of moral decision. On one shoulder, the little devil pops up, appealing to your vanity and base instinctual desires to only satisfy yourself, often encouraging you to make the selfish decision that harms another. Then, though, the little angel pops up on the other shoulder, urging the decision that brings light and love to others. Can you hear it? “An eye for an eye!”; “turn the other cheek!”; “walk that required mile begrudgingly”; “go the extra mile!” Of course, it’s not an equal battle. And I don’t just mean that because of the obvious nature of Jesus as that angel side, the one who overcame every bit of evil and darkness in the world. The final words are not just of a battle won, they are instructive “be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” This echoes Leviticus 19:2, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy.” What tips the scale is the reminder that we are not just walking the path alone, left to our own devices. We are walking that path with God. God interlaces God’s fingers with ours and gives a squeeze “You’ve got this. I’m with you. I know it’s not going to be easy, but I am with you every step of the way. So come on, take that deep breath, and walk the path that I am walking. Go the extra mile . . . with me by your side.”

When we go that extra mile, we begin to walk more closely with God. We begin to find our steps in rhythm with God’s. We see things more like God sees them. And maybe, if we keep at it enough, we begin to love like God loves. This is what Jesus, and even those priestly writers of the Torah, are getting at. We are to seek, day by day, to be more and more like the one who created us, in God’s own image, and who loves us that extra mile and beyond. The path is laid out before us – which will be the road that we travel? Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Robert Frost, “The Road Not Taken,” The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged, Edward Connery Lathem, editor, (New  York: Henry Holt and Company, 1969).

[ii] Jason Byasse, “Theological Perspective: Matthew 5:38-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iii] Matthew Myer Boulton, “Homiletical Perspective: Matthew 5:38-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[iv] Barbara J. Essex, “Pastoral Perspective: Matthew 5:38-48,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[v] Essex.

[vi] Kimberly L. Clayton, “Homiletical Perspective: Leviticus 19:1-2, 9-18,” Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[vii] The Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37)

What are you like when you’re hungry? Maybe you’re a lot like those commercials, where a grumpy character is portrayed by a celebrity, from Betty White to the late Robin Williams and others, who is cranky and difficult until they are offered a Snickers, after which all is restored. The tagline? “You’re not you when you’re hungry.” It’s true, isn’t it? We tend to act differently when we’re in need of a meal or snack. Some describe this condition as being “hangry” – when your hunger causes you to be cranky and snap at others. This is also what’s known as the hour between 5 and 6 pm if you live with a toddler. Generally, we regard hunger as a problem to be fixed as soon as possible.

On the flip side, though, some people of faith have, throughout the ages, utilized the sensation of hunger to prompt a deeper sense of spiritual awareness in their lives. Across many religions, in fact, the practice of fasting can be a part of one’s life of faith, in the belief that by doing so one will be drawn closer to God. Fasting from food is the most common, but in recent years this idea of fasting has also extended to things like technology or even certain behaviors. Here, it can fall in line with some Sabbath practices, allowing for more space for worship and reflection. It is one way to achieve a better sense of health and balance. Still, the primary example continues to be fasting from certain foods, or all food entirely for a period of time.

Fasting is the spiritual practice that is described in Isaiah 58 as the people of Israel engage in devoted acts of worship. Written sometime in the 520s BCE, these words come to a people who have been restored. They have returned to Jerusalem after years of exile, and now hope to live into the promises that have come to them after extreme hardships. It is as if they have been released from their “time-out” by God, and are now trying extra hard to make things right. They do not want to return to the path that led them into such judgment and punishment. Rather, they want to rejoice and reconnect. The temple has not yet been built, but they are ready to worship. Imagine, people who are so excited to be back home who rightly give all credit to God for this return. They are “on fire for God,” with lives that have been ignited by God’s Spirit for a new chapter in their lives. They are well-intentioned and they are hungry – for a relationship with God.

They find satisfaction to that hunger in worship practices. Brett Younger describes what it must have looked like, saying:

During Isaiah’s time, the temple in Jerusalem was standing room only. No one missed a service. They sang psalms – old ones, new ones, all kinds of psalms. They said prayers and gave offerings[i].

They made worship look good. In fact, this is where they put all of their energies. But it doesn’t take long for them to be consumed by this, so much so that they become isolated from the rest of the world, closed off to anything beyond the walls of their worship space. Younger continues:

What they did not do was let worship trouble their consciences. If they kept their distance from God, then they could also keep their distance from God’s children. They did not want to make connections between their worship and their neighbors. They ignored the poor and everyone else they wanted to ignore[ii].

Even though their intentions may have been genuine, they have missed some of the point of what worship is all about. And so God sends the prophet Isaiah to help continue to bring them back in line with God’s way of thinking.

Isaiah critiques their worship practices, particularly their fasting, as self-serving and hollow, pretending to be righteous while allowing injustice to continue in their own backyards. He offers stern reminders that fasting, and other worship, is not about just going through the motions. It’s not about excessive piety and fancy shows. It’s about what happens after that. Namely, how they live in the world.

Rather than being so focused on hunger as a spiritual practice of fasting, Isaiah indicates that their worship, even their fasting, should make them hungry for something more – breaking the bonds of injustice. Going further, the prophet gives several simple, concrete ways that they can accomplish this. He identifies basic human needs – food, shelter, clothing, and indicates that these are the hunger pangs in the world that need undoing, calling upon the people of Israel to be a part of that process. They are called to share bread, offer shelter, and cover those in need even at the risk of exposing one’s self.  Walter Brueggemann notes that these instructions are not:

a theoretical debate about the merits of socialism or capitalism, a debate that is a smoke screen about human need and human resources. There is here no debate about governmental public welfare or “the private sector.” The poet does not care and would be likely to say, Do it either way, but do not talk about the private sector in order to avoid public welfare, do not focus on public welfare in order to exempt the private sector. What we are in any case talking about is hunger, homelessness, nakedness, and your bread, your house, your self[iii].

Isaiah gives a definition of true worship, relative to how the people of God care for the most vulnerable in their midst. No doubt these words hit home with a people who had not too recently been in similar positions themselves, as strangers in Babylon, living in a foreign land, struggling to make it and longing to return to Jerusalem.

Isaiah’s instructions are intimately personal. Paul D. Hanson writes:

One cannot read these fourteen verses without the sense of having been addressed by God, without having heard a divine word that is at once severe in its attack on the perversity of self-preoccupation and assuring in its invitation to return to authentic personhood[iv]

Isaiah brings the people of Israel back to their roots, with encouragement to plant and build and grow, and to help others do the same. In all of their attempts at worship and fasting, the people had been crying out to God, clamoring for a response and acknowledgment of how good of a job they are doing. The beginning of our text echoes their frustrations that they are not getting the attention they feel they deserve. Isaiah offers that perhaps it is because their worship has not been complete. By offering them the missing pieces, Isaiah helps again guide the people of Israel back home and into a connectional relationship with God – one that is only found when connecting with all of God’s children. The prophet concludes with the promise that when this is the kind of worshipful light that they embrace, “light shall break forth like the dawn” (Isaiah 58:8) and “light shall rise in the darkness” (Isaiah 58:10).

In a similar way, Jesus follows a list of instructions of how disciples are to be in the kingdom of God, which we explored last week in the Beatitudes, with a similar message – let your light shine. Echoing the call to a worship that infiltrates our everyday lives, Jesus called the disciples, and us, to do more than just hole up inside our Sanctuary walls and practice our faith. Worship is not meant to be just a “me and Jesus” private moment. It’s meant to be a time when we recognize and experience the incredible relationship God has with the world through Jesus Christ, who connects us not only with God, but with other brothers and sisters. Our worship should make us hungry for what is to come, eager and enthusiastic to go out and live as followers of Christ in the world. That hunger is represented each time we gather around the table for communion, as we demonstrate our longing for a closer relationship with Christ, and join together in the meal which he has prepared. We consume the “bread of life” and the “cup of salvation,” and are refreshed by the Holy Spirit, filled and restored. But for what? Isaiah has some answers, and Jesus did, too. To go out.

We are called to go out into the world and participate in those relationships in the name of the one who came to be in relationship with us. One church I attended in seminary had a wooden sign above the exit to their Sanctuary, the last message people would see as they left worship. It read “You are now entering the mission field.” A more comedic take on this looks something like this:

http://www.christianitytoday.com/pastors/2012/winter/now-entering-mission-field.html

Both of our texts for this morning, though, call us, good little worshippers in the pews, to not let our worship in this Sanctuary be all that our faith is about. If we only focus on what is happening within these walls, and how good we are at it, we have missed the point. Our worship of God should not end when the postlude is over; that is where it should begin. The truest sign of our worship happens on Monday through Saturday, as we live out our faith in the world. I know that you all get this and believe it. I have heard you say it, “don’t just go to church, BE the church.” I, and our texts from today, could not agree more. But sometimes it helps to have a reminder, a little motivation, if you will, to do the work of discipleship. We need a pep talk.

There’s a little football game happening tonight, so it’s a good time for us to follow in the spirit of a pre-game talk and huddle up a bit to talk about what we’re going to do next. As one joke I heard many times this week proclaimed “you should be as excited about church as about the Super Bowl.” I’d amend that to say, “you should be as excited about following Jesus as about the Falcons winning tonight.” Both Isaiah and Matthew are our coaches, calling us to action. I wonder, if they were speaking to us today, if they might not employ Samuel L. Jackson to do a bit of the encouraging. As many of you know, in 2010 he began doing voiceovers for the Falcons commercials, launching the powerful slogan, “Rise Up!” I want to share with you one of these, but invite you to imagine that this has elements of a modern interpretation on our texts today. Replace the word “Falcons” with “Disciples” for a moment. It won’t be a perfect fit, of course, but I think you’ll get the idea:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TRXtzsq4zl4

Rise Up! – Isaiah says “shout out, do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet!” – This is akin to the call to war. Israel is rallied and redirected to a greater understanding of faithfulness. God wants, I think, to take their passion and fervor that they have demonstrated in their over the top worship and fasting efforts, and encourage them to take that same energy into the world.

Rise Up! Matthew says. You are the salt of the earth, bringing out the goodness and full flavors, spicing things up in the world to reflect the full potential of what God has created.

Rise Up! Jesus calls. You are the light of the world. A light not meant to be hidden or kept private, but to be shared so that the very glory of the Lord will be seen by all.

Rise Up! From these pews, brothers and sisters in Christ. God has work for you to do, and this is where God wants your very best.  This is the call we should hear each and every time we come to worship. And we should seek to stay hungry for this kind of instruction from God, our mouths watering, our energy brimming, our hopes soaring, all in preparation to break through these Sanctuary walls and be a part of changing the world.

People of God, Rise Up!

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Brett Younger, “Homiletical Perspective: Isaiah 58:1-9a (9b-12),” Feasting on the Word, Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] Walter Brueggemann, Using God’s Resources Wisely: Isaiah and Urban Possibility, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 1993).

[iv] Paul D. Hanson, “Isaiah 58:1-14, Your Own Interests, or the Interests of God?,” Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching: Isaiah 40-66. (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 1995).

Follow Me
Matthew 4:12-23, Psalm 27:1, 4-9

It was mid-afternoon on a fall day in Knoxville, Tennessee. College students met in a parking lot after another day of classes, suitcases in tow. A caravan of five cars or so formed, ready to travel the long road of I-81 to a Mock Trial competition held at Yale University. After some negotiation, all the baggage made it into trunks in what was at best a jigsaw puzzle. Riders divided, front seats were claimed. Walkie talkies were distributed to keep in contact. Everything was ready to go. And then someone asked, “where are the directions?” Our leader, an imposing 6 foot plus senior named Chris turned around with a somewhat irritated look. “Follow me” was his only reply. A few drivers persisted, “of course, we’re planning on staying together, but it’d be nice to have the directions, you know, just in case.” “Follow me.” “It’s just a long trip. What if we hit traffic? Look, we just want to know where we’re going.” “Follow me.” Needless to say, it was an order that was not an easy one to follow.

“Follow me.” Jesus says to Simon, also called Peter, and his brother Andrew. Then, down the shore, a similar invitation is issued to two other brothers, James and John. Can you imagine the scene? Here are two sets of brothers, working hard in the family business, casting nest into the sea, hoping to catch enough fish to make a living. And here comes this man with an invitation that on first glance probably didn’t fall into the category of “something too good to miss.” And yet, the brothers do respond. There must have been something about this stranger on the shore that gave the disciple’s confidence to drop their nets.  Both times, Matthew uses the same word to describe the timing of their reaction – IMMEDIATELY – and both times, Matthew tells us how the respond – they follow him. Clearly there was something different about Jesus than my Mock Trial group leader.

The great theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote that the call to “follow me” was a call to “absolute discipleship,” and that it came at a pretty high cost. But, he also noted that it was only in surrendering ourselves to Jesus’ command that we could, paradoxically, know our greatest joy[i]. There must have been something so provocative about Jesus’ invitation that these four fisherman were willing to take a risk.

Perhaps it was because of where they were going. The verses that follow this one immediately go into Jesus’ ministry of healing and teaching throughout Galilee. Then we have the Sermon on the Mount, four chapters in Matthew’s gospel of Jesus’ instruction. Christ takes the disciples on one wild ride, continuing to say “follow me,” and then teaching them, by word and example, just what that means. It should be no surprise, then, that by the end of the gospel, Jesus sends out these disciples to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. And in this powerful charge, he also includes the pivotal reminder that he is with them always, even to the end of the age.

But the disciples wouldn’t have known any of this while they were pulling in their nets, struggling to make a living. No, there had to have been some other hook, pardon the pun, that Jesus used to lure them in. Perhaps it is because rather than just some blind directive, he provided additional information that resonated with something they knew. He said, “I will make you fish for people.” Jesus peaked their interest, speaking to something that was close to their hearts and perhaps at the root of who they were. He nurtured and kindled a part of them that became inspired to move forward and join him.

“Follow me.” It’s a command that comes over and over again in Scripture. God called Abraham and Sarah to leave their home, their family, their identity, and sojourn into an unfamiliar land. God called Rahab to shelter undercover agents sent to Jericho. God called Samuel, three times as a young boy, to be God’s servant, who later would anoint Israel’s first king. God called prophets like Isaiah to summon the people of Israel to open their prosperity-glazed eyes and see God in their midst. God called Mary to give birth to God incarnate. And God called fishermen from their nets to follow Jesus.

As James O. Chatham notes:

From the beginning, God has called people; God has stepped into their lives and pointed them in new directions. God does this throughout the Bible; few pages go by without it. Is this not a strong signal that God is going to call us too; that in some moment when we are involved in a normal day’s pursuits, God will walk up to the lake shore and beckon us to leave our fishing boats for a future we had not planned?[ii]

A lot of times we believe that God’s call is reserved for a select few, you know, those of us pastor types. Maybe we allow ourselves to believe that they are for non-clergy, but even then, only a select few. However, in Matthew’s gospel that idea is challenged by the very fact that these first disciples were fishermen. They were ordinary, everyday people, going about their very ordinary, everyday lives. They were people who worked with their hands, who likely lived day to day, hoping they would catch enough fish to survive. Their hands and faces were weathered by wind and sea. They probably said things they shouldn’t. And yet, this is Jesus’ target audience. Just like the shepherds on the hillsides heard the news of his birth, God again brings in unlikely people into the extraordinary story of our salvation. This should cause us to take note. Maybe, God will even call us into the story – if we are open enough to hearing Jesus’ voice, “Follow Me.”

Follow me – on a cold morning in January, when the warmth of a cozy bed is even more alluring on a Sunday morning, into a time of worship, prayer, and study with a community of faith.

Follow me – when you see that coworker, classmate, or neighbor who seems to not have anyone to talk to, who is longing for someone to hear his or her story and offer support.

Follow me – at a dinner party where jokes become increasingly crude, and you can’t quite bring yourself to laugh at yet another joke that brims with racism or sexism. Follow me – to speak out for what is right.

Follow me – when you see those who are hungry, or without shelter, or who lack decent clothing, or who are oppressed and without voice; recognize them as fellow children’ of God and respond in action – from loading produce at a mobile food pantry to tagging items for our clothing closet to working for real changes in the systems that have failed.

Follow me. God’s calls are all around us. James Chatham goes on to say,:

If the Bible says anything clearly, it says this: God calls us. Calls us to do whatever God has in mind. Calls us to set a great many other things aside and follow God’s bidding[iii].

Of course, it can be difficult to hear God’s call. There are many other places in our lives and world that make a lot of noise, too, in hopes that we will follow.

Follow Me – you need this list of products in order to make yourself look or feel your very best. With the right combination of them, you will be successful.

Follow Me – on social media, so you can keep up with the latest news and thoughts of celebrities, politicians, and friends.

Follow Me – just make up some plausible excuse, even if it isn’t quite true, to spare your friend’s feelings and avoid an invitation. It’s just a little white lie, after all.

Our work, it seems, is to discern which of these “follow me”s are from God, and which might be from places that don’t quite lead us down the same path of discipleship. To do this, we have to be open to hearing God’s call in the first place, making space in our lives, minds and hearts to be open to the kind of change God’s call might bring to us.

This is the process of discernment, and it helps us discover our vocation, that call that God issues to each of us as disciples. It is a unique call, based on the skills and gifts and passions we have, and balanced with the needs of the world. Frederick Buechner is often quoted for his definition of vocation as “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet,” but he goes on to further explain it in this way, saying:

By and large a good rule for finding out is this: The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you need most to do and (b) that the world most needs to have done. If you really get a kick out of your work, you’ve presumably met requirement (a), but if your work is writing cigarette ads, the chances are you’ve missed requirement (b). On the other hand, if your work is being a doctor in a leper colony, you  have probably met requirement (b), but if most of the time you’re bored and depressed by it, the chances are you have not only bypassed (a), but probably aren’t helping your patients much either. Neither the hair shirt nor the soft berth will do[iv].

The disciples were working as fisherman, but when they received the call, they enthusiastically followed. And Jesus gave them a new vocation – to fish for people. He took the skills they presumably already had – fishing – and used their abilities (learned and innate) to help them learn how to be disciples. I believe God’s call works in many of the same ways today. God nurtures in us the talents, gifts, and interests that we have, and helps us find ways to use them to be a part of what God is doing in the world. These often become identified as spiritual gifts, and range from beautiful singing voices and compassionate hearts to the ability to organize and understand numbers. All of these are needed for the work of Christ’s kingdom – therefore, all of us are called. We just need to know how to discern what that means for us.

In the movie, Dead Poets’ Society, a boy’s boarding school experiences the creative and dynamic teaching of a somewhat renegade English teacher, Professor Keating, portrayed by Robin Williams. In one of the early scenes of the movie, he provides commentary on how to approach reading poetry that I believe is very much akin to how we should approach discerning our calls. After opening a poetry textbook, he asks a student to begin reading the Introduction, “Understanding Poetry.” the students find a boring rubric for interpreting the merit of a given poem – paying attention to rhyme, meter, figures of speech, etc. Professor Keating toys with it for a moment, illustrating the line graph quantitative analysis of different poems. Then he calls the whole introduction “excrement.” There’s something more to it, he says, than being able to graph a poem’s perfection and merit. It’s not about following a prescribed checklist of things. Instead, Professor Keating instructs them to rip out that page – and then the entire introduction. He gathers the boys in close, then urges them to approach poetry in this way, saying:

We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business and engineering – these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life – but poetry, beauty, romance, love – these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life! . . . of the questions of these recurring, of the endless trains of the faithless – of cities filled with the foolish . . . What good amid these, O me? O life? Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.”  What will your verse be?[v]

What will our verse be? That is the question of call, and how we will be a part of what God is doing in the world. Discerning it is less like reading an instruction manual, and more like reading poetry. It requires interpretive work. Not just what the author, God, is saying, but what we are saying in response. Call and Discernment is a two way street between us and God. It evokes a relationship, and action. But it begins with God coming to us, in the midst of our everyday, ordinary lives, and saying, “Follow Me.”

The verses that follow? They are up to us. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship, (New York: Touchstone, 1995), as referenced by Greg Garrett in “Matthew 4:12-23: Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the World: Year A, Volume 1, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, editors. (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

[ii] James O. Chatham, Is It I, Lord? Discerning God’s Call to be a Pastor, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002).

[iii] Ibid.

[iv] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993).

[v] Haft, Steven, et al. Dead Poets Society. Burbank, Calif: Touchstone Home Entertainment, 2006. Start at 25:20, end at 26:48.

Where do you go when you want to find a piece of information? In an age with technology at our fingertips, the options are almost limitless. For some, it’s as simple as holding down the home button on your smart phone, or using a voice activated command on your echo to ask a question. Or maybe you “google it.” Sometimes, you text or call a friend or family member who would be sure to know. Maybe you even remember a day when you had to go to the library to look it up in an encyclopedia, or thumb through a card catalog. Regardless of your source, though, you need to know what you are looking for. Sure, you can insert a few words and trust that a digital search engine might catch on to the idea, but for the best results, you have to have some sense of your direction. If not, you’ll be left to wander somewhat aimlessly through piles of information, hoping that you stumble upon the information you desire. The quest for information seems to be common to all of us, and has been throughout the ages.

Even in the first century, people were searching for something. In our gospel text for this morning, we find a story of seekers. They had been followers of John the Baptist, that radical renegade from the wilderness. Before our verses today comes John’s account of Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan, along with the proclamation that Jesus is “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). Upon hearing this news again in verse 36, these two disciples of John leave his side to follow Jesus. Then, Jesus turns around and notices he’s got company. He asks a pointed question, “what are you looking for?” His question doesn’t have the tone, though, of one who is annoyed or worried about being followed. And his question isn’t purely transactional, like you might get from a Kroger employee who wants to help you find something as you stare blankly on a grocery aisle. Instead, this was an existential question that challenged those hearing it to consider those big life purpose questions. It is an invitation for these men to name their intentions and declare a purpose and direction for their actions.

We imagine they had them, as they had already left behind some semblance of ordinary life and had been following the radical John the Baptist. They must have had some motivation, some yearning, for a different life. They joined others who were searching for a Messiah. John Clifford offers:

Maybe they were looking for an adventure, for new experiences, to see the world beyond the sleepy little village where they had spent all their lives. Maybe they were looking to make a difference, to be a part of a movement to resist the Roman occupation and the corrupt leadership of Judea. Maybe they were looking for meaning and purpose in their otherwise aimless lives. Perhaps they were looking to “find themselves,” so they joined the cult of John the Baptist with visions of utopia dancing in their heads.  . . . While Scripture does not reveal what they were looking for, is it possible they were looking for some of the same things twenty-first-century churchgoers seek?[i]

His point is that the idea of searching is not foreign to us as people, and perhaps what they were searching for was just as diverse as what we look for today. He continues, saying:

People long for identity, for purpose, for meaning, for healing. They are looking for redemption, for love, for life. The world is ready and willing to offer solutions to the search[ii].

But even with a plethora of answers from the world, we find ourselves here. Perhaps that is because we hope that the answers offered here will speak to something bigger. Theologians like have argued that at the core of our identity as humans is a desire to find ourselves. Paul Tillich said that our “ultimate concern” always pointed beyond ourselves, identifying God as the “ground of being[iii].”  Our searching, it seems often finds its home with the Divine. Last week we explored the story of Jesus’ baptism, and uncovered that our central identity is that of children of God. This week’s text prompts us to consider that, as children of God, our core purpose might be to seek out a relationship with that God.

We are seekers. This happens when we sit at the feet of teachers, whether it is a wild man in the wilderness like John the Baptist or Jesus himself. We seek when we open the Bible, especially when we do so with others, and when we come to worship. Even if we can’t quite put a finger on what exactly we want to find, seeking makes us open to whatever experiences God would put before us, and encourages us to stick around long enough to see what God is doing.

In the late 80s, the band U2 topped the charts with a song that speaks of the uncertainty of the journey and the nature of searching in, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For[iv].” The lyrics speak of climbing the highest mountains, running through the fields, scaling these city walls, and more, “only to be with you.” The song takes us on a journey, while at the same time indicating that there must be something more than the literal path that they are on. Ultimately, satisfaction will not be found in this world. It must come from something else, or perhaps from someone else. We might imagine this is the song of the disciples at the beginning, searching and longing for something they can’t seem to find. In fact, considering that they never offer an answer to Jesus’ question, perhaps they don’t even have a sense of what they are searching for.  So they look for a teacher, hoping that if they stick by his side, they will find the answer.

The disciples reply to Jesus’ question not with an answer to his question, but by calling him Rabbi. In this, they proclaim who Jesus is in a relational way. Their assertion follows John’s proclamation that this is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world with something more personal that sets them in relationship with the one who will be the Messiah. The declare him their teacher, and take their place as his students. They indicate a desire to remain with him, presumably to learn what he has to teach them. They never answer his question about what they are looking for. Instead, they try to figure out how to stay in his presence. It is as if Jesus’ question “what are you looking for?” is more of an open-ended invitation to them, and they eagerly jump at the opportunity.

Jesus’ next statement reveals the kind of teacher and leader he will be. Think about the best teachers you have had. Chances are, they were ones who invited you to learn and experience, to “come and see” for yourselves. They didn’t just tell you that when baking soda and vinegar are combined it produces an acid-base reaction that releases carbon dioxide. That’s not very exciting to most of us if we only hear the words. Instead, they poured them together, perhaps in the middle of a papier-mâché creation, even adding a bit of food coloring, so that you got to make a volcano explode.

“Come and See” Jesus says to the disciples. Instead of launching into a lecture or giving them a lengthy reading list, he invites them into a relational and active way of engaging the world to learn. We are invited. We don’t have to push our way into the doors or pass a series of tests to be qualified to stay in God’s presence. That invitation is already there for us, it was present to us in our baptisms when we were claimed as Christ’s own forever, and it comes to us as seekers when Christ turns to us and says “Come and See.” There is no pressure in these words, no strings attached. It is simple an open invitation to experience all that God has done and all that God offers.

Jesus is inviting these first followers, and us, into an experiential learning program. The first part of it involves some classroom instruction time, which we read about today. The second part of it includes a tremendous number of field trips, the start of which we’ll talk more about next week with the account in Matthew’s gospel. This model is exemplary for education and for our lives of discipleship. It is a pattern that echoes throughout John’s gospel, as believers discover firsthand the signs that demonstrate Jesus is the Christ.

It’s a big invitation, to be sure. And when we accept it, we accept the possibility that big things will be revealed and that our lives will be changed. For the disciples, this happened first with a time of prolonged conversation as the disciples stayed with Jesus until the tenth hour, about 4:00 in the afternoon. This was not a short session. We might imagine that it was captivating for these followers, absorbing all that Jesus had to teach them. While we don’t know what exactly he covered, Jesus must have sparked more than just a passing interest in these two followers. There must have been an immediate connection that allowed them to talk for hours. I remember when Matt and I first met, after bringing home two busloads of youth from a weeklong trip to the mountains, we decided to go get dinner, which led to hanging out and a conversation that lasted all night. Something drew us in and sparked within both of us. The same happens when you connect with a close friend, or even a parent. You can talk for hours and never get it all said. I imagine that is what this conversation was like between Jesus and the very first disciples.

When we take the time to truly dwell in God’s presence, to immerse ourselves in God’s Word and love and grace, we cannot help but be changed. We trust that the Holy Spirit will show up, and stir us into a deeper faith and understanding. The revelations may be big or they may be small. They may happen quickly, or they may take years to develop. God is working within us, within this community, within our world. And when we earnestly pay attention to that, it is hard not to be inspired and transformed by it. We experience the revelation of Jesus as the Messiah.

Then, we go back into the world again. When the school bell rang to dismiss the disciples, or more likely, when they noticed how late in the day it was, they emerged with I think a renewed energy and sense of purpose. They had a spring in their step, the kind that only comes with newfound knowledge. And, as if we needed proof of how great of a teacher Jesus is, the disciples are eager to share what they have learned with the world, immediately putting it into practice. It’s not like they got home and their family asked “well, what did you learn in school today” and the answer was “nothing.” Quite the opposite. The disciples reciprocate the learning process Jesus has demonstrated. They are seeking again, but this time it is seeking out others with their story. For Andrew, he finds his brother, Simon Peter, and tells him he has found the Messiah. Now it is Andrew who is saying “come and see,” inviting his brother to experience the revelation that has just changed his world. Several times in the gospels this is the role we see Andrew in. Writer Carol Miller notes that:

Andrew’s claim to fame is that whenever we see him, he is bringing someone to Jesus. Here he brings his brother, Simon Peter.  . . . We don’t hear Andrew preach or teach, but we see him doing the most important thing one human being can do for another: He opens the door to God for the other to step through![v]

The end of our story puts us at another beginning. The pattern of seeking, inviting, and revelation is not just an impressive progression of education; it is a cycle that becomes a way of being. The beauty of becoming a disciple of Jesus is that it’s not just a one-time experience. It is something that happens over and over again as our lives continue to be changed by the one who came to walk alongside us. What is more, we are called to keep it going. Just as the disciples emerged from their first lesson with Jesus, eager to tell others, we, too are called to share this message. It’s as simple as inviting someone else to “come and see” what the Lord has done in my life. The cycle also continues with us personally, as again and again we become seekers, asking questions that deepen our faith and prompt us to remain with God. John’s gospel invites us to take part in this wondrous journey, seekers together, dwelling with God. Perhaps the question to us now is more than “what are you looking for?”  – it’s “What are you waiting for?” Come, and see. Amen.

~Rev. Elizabeth Lovell Milford

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[i] Joseph J. Clifford, “Pastoral Perspective: John 1:35-42,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 1, Chapters 1-9, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).

[ii] Ibid.

[iii] Paul Tillich, Systematic Theology (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951-63), as quoted by Joseph J. Clifford, “Pastoral Perspective: John 1:35-42,” Feasting on the Gospels: John, Volume 1, Chapters 1-9, Cynthia A. Jarvis and E. Elizabeth Johnson, editors. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015).

[iv] “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” written by Adam Clayton, Dave Evans, Larry Mullen, Paul David Hewson, and Victor reina, performed by U2,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3-5YC_oHjE

[v] Carol J. Miller, John: Immersion Bible Studies, (Nashville, Abingdon Press, 2011).