Casting and Mending – A Sermon on Mark 1:14-20, Epiphany 3B

Posted on January 23, 2012 | 4 Comments

The collect and readings for the Third Sunday after Epiphany, Year B, may be found here. The following sermon is based on the gospel, Mark 1:14-20.

Simon and Andrew were casting a net into the sea for they were fishermen. Day after day it was the same thing; the same sea, the same net, the same boat. Day after day it was wind, water, fish, sore muscles, tired bodies. They probably grew up watching their dad and granddad fishing, watching their future life, watching how they too would spend their time.

Cast the net, pull it in. Cast the net, pull it in. If you are not casting the net, then you sit in the boat mending the net. That’s what James and John were doing. Casting and mending. Casting and mending. You know about those days, right?

We may not fish for a living but we know about casting and mending nets. Days that all seem the same. One looks like another. Life is routine, lived on autopilot. Nothing changes. We don’t expect much to happen. This is our life. We cast the nets. We mend the nets. Casting and mending to make a living, to feed our family, to pay the bills. Casting and mending to gain security and get to retirement. Casting and mending to hold our family together, to make our marriage work, to grow up our children. Casting and mending to gain the things we want; a house, a car, books, clothes, a vacation. Casting and mending to earn a reputation, gain approval, establish status. Casting and mending our way through another day of loneliness, sadness, or illness.

Casting and mending are realities of life. They are also the circumstances in which Jesus comes to us, the context in which we hear the call to new life, and the place where we are changed and the ordinary becomes the extraordinary.

These would be disciples, Simon and Andrew, James and John, are not looking for Jesus. They are too busy with the nets. It is another day of casting and mending. They may not have even noticed Jesus but he not only sees them he speaks to them. Jesus has a way of showing up in the ordinary places of life and interrupting the daily routines of casting and mending nets. That’s what he did to the lives of Simon and Andrew, James and John. That’s what he does to your life and my life.

“Follow me” is Jesus’ invitation to a new life. If these four fishermen accept the invitation, their lives will forever be different. They will be different. They will no longer catch just fish. They will fish for people.

When Jesus says, “I will make you fish for people,” he is describing the transformation of their lives, not simply a job catching new members or followers. He could just as easily have said to the carpenters, “Follow me, and you will build the kingdom of heaven.” To the farmers, “Follow me, and you will grow God’s people. To the doctors, “Follow me, and you will heal the brokenness of the world.” To the teachers, “Follow me, and you will open minds and hearts to the presence of God.” To the parents, “Follow me, and you will nurture new life.”

Whatever your life is, however you spend your time, there is in that life Jesus’ call to “Follow me.” “Follow me” is the call to participate with God in God’s own saving work. It’s the work of change and growth. That work is always about moving to a larger vision, orienting our life in a new direction, and experiencing that our little story of life is connected to and a part of a much larger story of life, God’s life.

As Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee he saw Simon, Andrew, James, and John. Jesus called them. Mark records no discussions, no questions, no good byes. They simply “left… and followed him.”

I’m afraid that if Mark were writing about me – when he gets to the part when Jesus says, “Follow me” – Mark would write, “and immediately the questions followed.” “Where are we going? What will we do? How long will we be gone? What do I need to take? Where will we stay?”

But this conversation doesn’t take place in today’s gospel. Jesus does not offer a map, an itinerary, or a destination, only an invitation. This is not the type of journey you can prepare for. This is the inner journey, a journey into the deepest part of our being, the place where God resides. It’s not about planning and organizing, making lists, or packing supplies. It’s not that easy. If anything this journey is about leaving things behind. Listen to what Mark says:

  • “Immediately they left their nets and followed him.”
  • “They left their father Zebedee in the boat…, and followed him.”

The invitation, “follow me,” is also the invitation to leave behind; to leave behind our nets, our boats, and even our fathers.

That’s the hard part for most of us. We’re pretty good at accumulating and clinging but not so good at letting go. More often than not our spiritual growth involves some kind of letting go. We never get anywhere new as long as we’re unwilling to leave where we are. We accept Jesus’ invitation to follow, not by packing up, but by letting go.

“Follow me” is both the invitation to and the promise of new life. So what are the nets that entangle us? What are the little boats that contain our life? Who are the fathers from whom we seek identity, value, or approval? What do we need to let go of and leave behind so that we might follow him?

Please don’t think this is simply about changing careers, disowning our family, or moving to a new town. It is about the freedom to be fully human and in so being discover God’s divinity within us. We let go so that our life may be reoriented, so that we can now travel in new direction, so that we may be open to receive the life of God anew. When we let go, everything is transformed – including our nets, boats, and fathers. That’s why Jesus could tell them they would still be fishermen. But now they would fish for people. They wouldn’t become something they weren’t already, but they would be changed. They would become transformed fishermen. They would more authentically be who they already were.

Ultimately, it’s about letting go of our own little life so that we can receive God’s life. This letting go happens in the context of our everyday activities; work, school, families, paying the bills, running errands, fixing dinner, relationships, and trying to do the right thing. It happens in the casting and mending of our nets. These are the times and places Jesus shows up and calls into a new way of being and our world changes. It happened for Simon, Andrew, James, and John. It can happen for you and me.

Jesus Calling Simon and Andrew

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Jesus of Nazareth Meets Nathanael of the Fig Tree – A Sermon on John 1:43-51, Epiphany 2B

Posted on January 16, 2012 | 3 Comments

The collect and readings for the Second Sunday after Epiphany may be found here. The following sermon is based on John 1:43-51.

Jesus Calling Philip and Nathanael

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael has some opinions, some assumptions, about Nazareth. You ever make any assumptions?

“I’ve seen his type before; he’ll never change.” “She’s always so negative; I know what she will say.” “He won’t understand; he never does.” “It’s always been like that; it will never get any better.” “Nothing good can come of that situation.”

People of faith, people like Nathanael, people like you and me, make these and all sorts of other assumptions everyday. Sometimes our assumptions are about other people; how they will behave, what they will say, what we can expect, what they think or believe. Other times we look at particular situations, our marriage, the state of the middle east or the church, a teenager trying to grow up and we declare it hopeless. We are sure nothing good can come out of that situation. Then there are those times we look at our selves or a part of our life; maybe it is a secret we have carried for years, the illness we face each day, the addiction we hide, the hurts we have caused other, the loneliness and lostness of grief, and we say it will never get any better. How can anything good come out of this? We may or may not speak our assumptions out loud but they rattle through our heads and influence what we do.

You know what happens we when we assume, right? The old saying has some truth to it but I am thinking of something else. The assumptions we make destroy relationships, love, and life. We think we know more than really do. Assumptions act as limitations. They narrow our vision. They close off the possibility of change and growth. Our assumptions deny the possibility of reconciliation, healing, a different way of being, or a new life. Ultimately, they impoverish our faith and proclaim there is no room for God to show up and act.

It is no coincidence that Nathanael is sitting under the fig tree when he makes his comment. It is the fig tree that gave Adam and Eve the leaves behind which they hid from God and themselves. It is the fig tree that Jesus will later curse for producing no fruit, no signs of life. Assumptions become our hiding places. They are not fruitful. They keep us from engaging life, ourselves, each other, and God at a deeper level.

Nathanael doesn’t doubt that God will fulfill the Old Testament promises. He isn’t surprised by and doesn’t even question that Philip could have found the one about “whom Moses in the law and the prophets spoke.” His shock and disbelief are that this could come out of Nazareth. Nathanael has as much faith as the next guy, but Nazareth? No way. Not there. Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

We all have our Nazareths. We think they are about other people, particular circumstances, or even pieces of our lives. Mostly, though, our assumptions are about us; our fears, our prejudices, our guilt, our losses, our wounds. We take our past experiences, real or imagined, and project them onto another person or situation. Assumptions keep life shallow and superficial. If we assume, then we do not have to risk a deeper knowing and being known.

At the deepest level our Nazareths are about our understanding of God. We just can’t see how anything good can come out of Nazareth. We cannot believe that God could be present, active, and revealed in Nazareth whether it be another person, a relationship or situation, or our own life. It’s so hard to see life in the midst of death, hope in places of despair, and the good and beautiful in what looks like the bad and ugly. It’s sometimes easier to assume. For us Nazareth is a blind spot. For God, however, Nazareth is the place of God’s manifestation and self-revelation.

It just seems so unGod-like to show up in Nazareth. Whether it is the town, a person, or a situation, Nazareth is too common and ordinary, even mundane. Shouldn’t the person or place of God’s coming be more deserving, special, acceptable, holy, better behaved, likable, more regular at church, someone who prays more, better dressed? The Nathanael in us has a particular set of conditions or prerequisites that must be met before God will appear and act. That says more about us than it does about God.

God does not allow himself to be limited by our assumptions. For every Nazareth there is an invitation to “come and see.” For every assumption we make there is a deeper truth to be discovered, a new relationship to be experienced, and a new life to be lived. Our Nazareths become the place of God’s epiphany.

Over and over Jesus shows up from the Nazareths of our life and calls us out from under the fig tree. Whenever we leave the fig tree we open ourselves to see God present and at work in the most unexpected places and people. As the assumptions fall a new life and a new world arise.  The fulfillment of God’s promises and earthly life happen in Nazareth. The last place we would have thought that possible is the first place God chooses. Come and see. Our salvation and healing happen where we thought nothing good could happen. Reconciliation and love are revealed in relationships we were certain nothing good could come from. The seemingly hopeless situations of life begin to bear fruit. Words of forgiveness and compassion are spoken by people we were sure could never say such things. God puts lives back together in Nazareth.

There is more happening in Nazareth than we ever thought possible. You see, not just “anything good” comes out of Nazareth. The One who is Good comes out of Nazareth.

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In Whose Name Shall I Baptize You?

Posted on January 9, 2012 | Leave a comment

Seeing you, O Christ our God, drawing near to him in the river Jordan, John said Why are You who are without defilement come to your servant, O Lord? In whose name shall I baptize you? Of the Father? But you bear him in yourself. Of the Son? But you are yourself the Son made flesh. Of the Holy Spirit? But you know that from your own lips you give him to the faithful. O God who has appeared, have mercy on us.

- by Anatolius. From the Great Service for the Sanctification of the Water.

Icon of the Theophany: The Baptism of Jesus

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The First Day – A Sermon for the Feast of the Baptism of Jesus; Mark 1:4-11, Genesis 1:1-5

Posted on January 8, 2012 | Leave a comment

The collect and readings for the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, Year B, may be found here. The following sermon is based on Genesis 1:1-5 and Mark 1:4-11.

Icon of the Theophany - the Baptism of Jesus

Have you ever had one of those days when wanted a do-over? A day when you wanted to take a mulligan and start again? I remember a guy telling me, one time, “You know, I’ve had a bad decade. There are so many things I wish I could go back and do differently.”

Whether it is a day or a decade there are times when we wish we could back up and do things differently. Choose different words to speak. Act in a differently way. Handle a relationship better. Sometimes we just want to do life differently. I think the wishing goes deeper than just doing differently. More than anything we want to be different. Our doing arises out of and reveals our being, who we are, how we see ourselves, one another, and the world. Being and doing are intimately connected.

Wishing we could do things differently, and the deeper wish to be a different creation, is really the wish for the first day. Think about some of your first days. The first day as a married person. The first day as a parent. The first day of that job or vocation you had been waiting for and working toward. The first day you took seriously, as a matter of life and death, your faith. First days are filled with light. They hold the promise of all that might be. There is an excitement, newness, and innocence to first days. First days are vibrant, alive, full of dreams and possibilities. I imagine that is how God looked at the first day, in the beginning. No harsh words had been spoken. No feelings had been hurt. No relationships had been broken. There was no guilt or regret. There was only light; the light of life, the light of love, the light of promise and hope; the light of God. And it was good. The first day is always a day of creation.

Sometimes in my work with people someone will say, “Oh, I wish I could go back and ….” Often a married couple will say, “We want to go back to the day when our marriage was….” They are all looking for the first day. We cannot go back to the way it was. First day wishing, however, is not really about turning back time. It is about becoming a new creation, a new being. Ultimately, it is about returning to the waters of Jesus’ baptisms.

Every time we return to the baptismal waters we return to the first day. Creation and baptism cannot be separated. They are intimately connected and mirror each other. Listen to what Genesis says and how St. Mark describes Jesus’ baptism.

  • In the beginning a wind (or breath, or spirit) of God swept over the face of the waters.
  • At Jesus’ baptism the spirit (or breath or wind) of God descended on Jesus as he is coming up out of the water.
  • In the beginning God said, “Let there be light.”
  • At Jesus’ baptism God said, “You are my Son, the Beloved.”
  • In the beginning “God saw that the light was good.”
  • At Jesus’ baptism God was “well pleased.”

Creation and Jesus baptism are God’s gifts to humanity. Everything God does God does for humanity. Jesus did not need to be baptized. We needed him to be baptized. The baptismal water did not sanctify Jesus; he sanctified the baptismal water. His baptism is not the means by which we identify with him, but the means by which he identifies with us. Our baptism allows us to participate in his baptism.

Through Jesus our humanity was present and baptized in his baptism. Our humanity was the humanity upon which the spirit descended. Our humanity was the humanity to whom the Father spoke and with whom he was well pleased. Our humanity was recreated in Jesus’ baptism. It is the first day. In baptism we are a new creation, a new being.

Every time we return to the baptismal waters we claim our identity in Jesus as beloved sons and daughters. Every time we return to the baptism waters God again manifests and reveals himself in humanity. Every time we return to the baptismal waters we return to that first day of light, love, life, and the promise of all that might be.

Whatever your life has been or might now be, the baptismal waters await you. So return to the water. Let the waters of God’s life wash and rid you of fear, resentment, and despair. Cannonball into the mercy of God. Immerse yourself in the water of God’s love. Splash in the waves of God’s forgiveness. Backstroke through the pool of God’s grace. Dive deep into the gift of having been created in the image and likeness of God. Drift in the stillness of God’s peace. These are the waters of new birth.

So come on, the water’s fine!

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The Nightlight of God’s Presence, Jesus – A Sermon for the Feast of the Epiphany, Matthew 2:1-12

Posted on January 6, 2012 | 1 Comment

The collect and readings for the Feast of the Epiphany may be found here. The following sermon is based on Matthew 2:1-12.

Magi Following the Star

When our sons were young they often wanted a light left on when they went to bed. There was the nightly reminder, “Dad, don’t forget the nightlight.” Sometimes it was “Dad, would you leave the light on and crack the door.” They wanted a light that made sure the darkness would not overtake them. They wanted a light that would guide them through the night to the dawn of a new day. They wanted a light to remind then that everything was okay.

I always turned on the light because I understood. I still do. I know what it is like to want a light to guide me through the darkness of life, a light that offers peace in the midst of anxiety, a light that will shine in the night times of life. I’ll bet you know about that too. Regardless of our age we are all looking for the light that shines in the darkness of our world, a light that will lead us beyond the borders of our life to a new country, a light that illumines the night skies of our life with hope, peace, and union with God. That is, I think what kept the wise men in tonight’s gospel watching the night sky. They were seeking the transcendent.

They did not just happen to see the star in the sky one night. They “observed [the] star at its rising.” They were watching, searching. They saw it rise and in its rising their heard its call to follow. These astrologers teach us something about faithfulness. Often faithfulness in the night means simply watching and waiting, looking and searching, trusting and knowing that the darkness is not the final reality, light will shine in the darkness, and the darkness can never overcome the light.

If the created light of human ingenuity, electric light, can comfort and guide two little boys through the night, imagine what the uncreated light of Christ does in our lives. The paradox is that the epiphanies of life, the manifestation of Christ’s light, happen in the night skies of our lives.

Sometimes those night skies are the difficulties and sorrows of life. Other times they are the great mysteries that we cannot comprehend; the miracle of life revealed in the birth of our child or grandchild, the love of husband and wife, a peaceful and holy death. Sometimes the night sky is when we trust beyond what we can see with physical eyes or understand with logic, when we travel a path of unknowing, not sure of where we are going or how we will get there. The night sky is always about faith. Regardless of what your night sky is, it is the background, the context, the life in which Jesus’ presence, his life, his light, and his love illumine your way and change your life. It is the one light that makes all the difference in the world; not because the world is changed but because we are changed.

On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. (Mt. 2:11)

When we experience the epiphany light we can do nothing but open up the treasure chest of our lives. Nothing is held in reserve. We give to Christ all that we are and all that we have. We have been “epiphanized.” God has appeared in humanity. The treasure chest of humanity is now filled with divinity and it’s time to return to our “own country.”

Epiphanies are not an escape from home. They always take back to where we came from. But like the wise men we leave for our “own country by another road.” The old road can’t get us there. We can no longer speak, act, or think in the same old ways because we are not the same old person. We have seen the glory of God face to face. We have become epiphany.

“Dad, don’t forget the nightlight.” The words echo throughout the world, our lives, our night sky. And the Father always responds, “Oh, my child. The light has never been turned off. It’s Epiphany!”

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