Matthew 4:12-23
Now when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: “Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles— the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned.” From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.
Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease and every sickness among the people.
I saw the movie “Just Mercy” a couple of weeks ago. It’s about the life and work of Bryan Stevenson, an African-American Harvard lawyer who has made a life and a living through the work of his Equal Justice Initiative, which is a non-profit organization, based in Alabama, that defends prisoners who can’t otherwise afford it and prisoners who have been denied a fair trial, and most notably saves the wrongly-accused and convicted from dying on death row.
He does the hard, holy, patient, persistent, courageous, faithful work of doing justice and loving kindness and walking humbly. And through that work, he has helped free 125 innocent men from death row after being unfairly imprisoned for decades – decades – and nearly murdered by the state for crimes they didn’t commit.
There’s a book by the same name – Just Mercy – which is even better than the movie, of course. And a fantastic documentary on HBO, if you have it, about the impact and importance of his work. The youth at Cross of Grace who traveled to Houston for the ELCA’s National Youth Gathering in 2017 got to hear Bryan Stevenson speak there. He’s an amazing human being. Doing God’s work in the world, for sure. I’m kind of a fan. He makes me wish I would have gone to law school, sometimes.
Anyway, there’s this point in that movie about his life when Bryan Stevenson, fairly fresh out of Harvard law school, is ready to leave his life – up north in Delaware – for a new one – down south in Alabama, by way of Atlanta. And young Bryan, circa 1980-something, is talking with his mother, who is deeply worried about what her son may be getting himself into: a young black man, heading for the southern states in the US, to start a career fighting the legal establishment at every level for its crimes against the poor in general, and against people of color, in particular.
His mom is as proud as she is worried about her son, of course. And you get the impression that if she could have stopped him, she would have. And she says to him, “What you’re doing is going to make a lot of people upset.” And she says, “If you can’t see the danger in what you’re doing, you need to ask Harvard for your money back.” Stevenson explains that he just wants to help people and reminds his mother that she’s the one who always taught him to fight for the people who need it most.
Like I said, I think Bryan Stevenson is an amazing human being, doing God’s work in the world as clearly and courageously as anyone. And it’s why I thought about him again – and this moment with his mother, especially – when I read this morning’s Gospel where Jesus invites these young men to follow him; to leave their friends and their families and their lives as they knew them; and to fish for people – whatever that means – doing God’s work in the world.
See, I thought about Bryan Stevenson’s mother when I wondered about Zebedee this time around, left behind in the boat that day. I feel sorry for the father of James and John, who gets left in the boat with the nets, with who knows what kind of work left to be done, or with what sort of business to run while his sons take off to “God-knows-where,” literally, to follow this Jesus around. And I wonder if he worried for his sons the way Bryan Stevenson’s mother worried about hers.
Because following Jesus – in first Century Galilee, or in 1980’s Alabama, or anywhere, today, a lot of the time – isn’t always easy or safe or sensible, if we’re doing it well.
Because it wasn’t always any of those things for those disciples we heard about this morning, either – James, John, Simon and Andrew, or the others who joined them. Sure, there were miracles and healings and feasts and some measure of fame around Galilee, I imagine, that went along with being part of Jesus’ inner circle. But it wasn’t all that, all of the time.
They were sent out as sheep among wolves with this “good news” Jesus wanted them to share, remember. Not everyone – and especially not those among the popular, the powerful, or the privileged – wanted to hear what they had to say about justice, or generosity, or fairness, or faith.
There were times when they would not be welcomed and would have to shake the dust from their sandals as a testimony against those who refused them. There were times when their own families would be divided because of what they were up to.
They were being invited to cozy up to lepers and to cast out demons and to make friends with tax collectors, prostitutes, prisoners, and sinners of every stripe. In other words, the fish Jesus meant to catch were not, necessarily, the catch of the day.
They were called to love their enemies, to bless those who persecuted them, to turn the other cheek, to put themselves last instead of first, to give up one coat if they were lucky enough to have two, to sell all of their possessions, really…
Oh, and to take up a cross … to lose their life for the sake of this Gospel … on behalf of this “fisherman” who was really a carpenter … for the sake of these “fish” who were really just people – broken, hurting, lost, sick, sinful, untouchable people the rest of the world wanted nothing to do with. Again, none of this was easy, or safe, or sensible on the surface.
And when they couldn’t do it, they just had to watch Jesus take their heat; to take up the cross they refused to bear; to watch him suffer, be crucified, die and then be buried for their sins and for the sake of the world.
I wonder if it all sounded like a different kind of adventure in the beginning. I wonder how many times James and John longed to be back in the boat with their dad, just fishing for fish, again. I wonder how many of those early followers didn’t stick around or follow for long. I wonder how many said “no,” and never followed along in the first place. And I wonder what I would have done – if I would have dropped anything, let alone everything, that day on the beach – and how long I would have stuck it out, if I had.
But, those early disciples – and people like Bryan Stevenson – give me hope and inspiration and the holy challenge to keep trying; to keep following Jesus and living this life of faith as best as I can, I mean.
There’s another moment in that movie about his life, when Bryan Stevenson is trying to convince one of his clients – on death row for a crime that wasn’t his – about why he does the work and that he’s not just another unqualified, incapable, uncommitted attorney – like the ones who had failed this guy in the past. Stevenson says he won’t quit or give up or leave him, like the other attorneys had, because he knows “what it’s like to be in the shadows.”
Which brings me back to this morning’s Gospel again, because this morning’s Gospel reminds us of why Jesus did it all in the first place, too. And why we can – and perhaps should – just the same: Because people are sitting in darkness, still. There are so many people – too many people – living their lives in the valleys and in the shadows of death. And we have too… or we do, now… or we will, someday… know what it’s like to be in the shadows, just the same.
It may not be prison – or death row, even – for a crime we did or did not commit, thanks be to God. But we might know the shadow of sickness or a sadness that seems insurmountable. We might know the darkness of addiction or divorce or a fear we can’t shake. We may one day sit in the various and sundry shadows of loneliness, despair, depression, anxiety, joblessness, victimhood, failure, abuse, guilt, shame, and so on down a longer list than we have time for this morning.
Whatever the case, there is someone in your life – someone in your midst – someone in this room, perhaps – someone in the mirror – who could use a little light… a little grace… a little forgiveness… a little mercy… a little bit of hope for a change.
And that’s why we follow Jesus. Because he’s already been there and done that – been to and through the darkness and the shadows, I mean, and lived to tell about it. And because of that good news, we are invited to have courage to do the hard, holy, patient, courageous work of faith; to follow Jesus – doing justice, loving kindness, walking humbly; bringing the light, sharing grace, extending mercy, offering love and hope and second chances in his name.
Amen
