“Discipleship by the Lakeshore:  Jesus Calls”

First Congregational United Church of Christ

July 3, 2011   (Worship at Highline Lake)

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

 

Scripture Reading:  Mark 1: 14-22

 

This morning, we don’t have to imagine that we are by a lakeshore (as we sometimes do in our usual place of worship) – because we are by a lakeshore – even if we can’t see the lake all that well from this particular location (in the pavilion).  We can close our eyes, and feel the breezes.  We can feel the heat of the sun on our faces.  We can see the water – or at least, glimpses of it.  We can notice that it’s a little hard to hear what I’m saying             over the other sounds around us – bird-calls, children playing, boats revving up.  We can smell the smells that happen near most lakeshores – a mixture of mud, and bugs, and a dead fish or two.  Quite wonderfully, except for those boats with power-motors, where we sit this morning, as we prepare to listen for a Word from our God, is not all that different from the way it would have been 2,000 years ago, as the people of Jesus’ time gathered to hear him preach. 

            We know that a lot of Jesus’ preaching and teaching was done by the lakeshore.  By lakeshores a lot like this one.  And particularly, along the shore of the Sea (or in actuality, large lake) of Galilee.  This large, harp-shaped lake,  (for comparison, roughly half the length of Blue Mesa, and about four times as wide) was bordered almost all the way around by a series of towns, including Capernaum, and Bethsaida, and other places we know from the gospel accounts of Jesus’ ministry.  In Jesus’ day, it was one of the largest population centers in Palestine, a flourishing area, where alongside the fishing industry agriculture and fruit-growing (especially viniculture) abounded.  In fact, from pictures of this region today, it looked a whole lot like the area we live in and are looking at right now. 

So it should be easy for us to imagine – and to identify with – the Galilean crowds that came to hear Him so long ago.   It should be easy for us to imagine that morning we heard about in our reading from Mark’s Gospel today. 

            Perhaps it was a Sabbath morning as people gathered along the shore of the large, beautiful lake … or perhaps it was some other morning of the week.  After all, Jesus was a travelling preacher, and we know that he preached and taught and healed on days other than the Sabbath. 

            Perhaps some of the people in the crowd that morning were local working-folks, fishermen and their wives, “taking five” from their hard day of work to listen for a few minutes to the travelling rabbi.  Perhaps some of the people lived in the town nearby, and decided to take the morning off from their housework, or cultivating their fields, or cleaning out their livestock pens, and cool off a little at the shore, where there was certain to be some kind of cooling breeze.  Perhaps some of the people in the crowd were the first-century version of hot-dog vendors, circulating through the people, selling their trays of fig pastries, or of newly-picked fruit, or other snacks, to the gathered crowd. 

            Almost certainly some of the people in the crowd were children, running and playing and hollering, and enjoying the beautiful day.  And some were adolescents, teen-agers, almost-adults, checking out the other young people in the crowd, perhaps with an eye to choosing a potential spouse, or looking lovingly at their own new bride or groom.  And some were elders, enjoying the beauty of the morning, the sun on their faces, its warmth in their bones.  Some were undoubtedly, well and healthy, and some were ill or infirm;  some were happy, because life was going well for them, and some were worried, because the last few weeks’ catch hadn’t been very good, or sales of their pottery, or carpentered goods, or farm-products were down, and they didn’t have enough money.  The bottom line is, these folks who showed up on the shores of the Sea of Galilee were crowds of people who were not all that different from you and me. 

            Crowds of people come together because they were working, or resting, or lonely, or bored, or because, for one reason or another, they were curious about what they had heard about this travelling rabbi named Jesus.  And as they sat in the sun, smacked the bugs that kept biting them, tried to keep an eye on their roaming children, wondered what they’d have for lunch in a little while, they remembered stories they’d heard about the kinds of things this travelling rabbi would say and do. 

            One day, a lakeside crowd had heard:  “Blessed are the merciful” (in other words, be merciful to others), “blessed are the peacemakers” (in other words, you are to be peace-makers), “blessed are the meek” (in other words, you are to be humble rather than arrogant, not think you know everything, or more than everyone else).  And I suggest that because while we think of those words as part of the Sermon on the Mount, surely a powerful preacher like Jesus would not have preached this incredible sermon, the one that sums up in a nutshell how God wants us to live and treat each other only one time.

            On a different day, a different lakeside crowd had heard:  “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near,” and “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,” and “love your enemies,” and “do not judge (other people),” and “whoever does the will of (God) in Heaven is my brother and sister and mother.”  On still other days, other lakeside crowds had seen Him heal a man who appeared to be possessed by a demon; heal a woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years, heal the beloved little daughter of a man who came begging for Jesus’ help, feed a crowd of thousands of hungry people.

            Over and over, Jesus shows up, preaching the “good news” – the “gospel” of God – the good news that God loves each and every one of them, each and every one of us, and the invitation – and the challenge – to love God back by loving other people just as much as they love themselves.  Over and over again, he offered people the invitation – and the challenge – to help bring about God’s reign right here on this earth – a reign of peace – between all people, a reign of justice – for all people, a reign of love – for, and among, and between all people,      and between all people and God’s beautiful creation.  Big stuff!  

            So when the crowd we’re imagining shows up on this particular day, by this particular lakeshore, they must have been curious … and excited … and wondering … what would the travelling rabbi say today?  What would he do today, that they could take home and tell their neighbors?  And while it might not have been quite as spectacular as some of Jesus’ other teachings and healings, what they do see and hear this day was perhaps just as surprising.

            As they’re greeting other folks in the crowd, (sharing their sunscreen with each other), someone notices and points out a rather ordinary-looking man wearing a dusty, travel-stained robe and scruffy sandals walking toward them along the shoreline of the lake.  They watch him approach a group of fishermen, some sitting and fixing their nets, some smearing fresh pitch on their boats, some of their partners out on the lake actually casting nets for fish, and stop to talk to those fishermen.  And to their astonishment, the crowd members hear him say – as if it’s really no big deal – to these very ordinary, rather dirty, rather smelly men, “Follow me.”  “Don’t be afraid.”  “Follow me, and I will teach you to fish for people.”

            And I’d be willing to bet a million dollars (if I had it), that at least some of the people in that watching crowd thought, “wait a second … why them?  what’s so special about them?  why didn’t he call me?  I’m just as good as they are.  I can follow him just as well as they can.”  Which is pretty ironic, when you consider the fact that when Jesus does call other people – like the rich young man, for example, or the people in his own hometown who came to hear him preach, or us – you and me – their thoughts (and ours) usually don’t sound a bit like those the crowd may have been having that day. 

            And certainly, their answers – our answers – don’t look a bit like the answers of Simon and Andrew and James and John that day.  All of the Gospel versions of this story tell us

that when Jesus asked them to come and follow Him, they immediately said “Yes,” and put down their work, and followed him.  No excuses.  No questions.  No hemming and hawing.  In fact, for all we know, maybe Jesus did call some of the other folks on that lakeshore that day, but like an awful lot of us do, those other folks said “no, but I appreciate the invitation,” or “I’m sorry, Jesus, it’s just not convenient right now,” or “well, I need to think about it, Jesus, maybe do a costs-benefits analysis; I’ll get back to you.” 

            And I’d be willing to bet another million dollars (if I had it) that there were folks in those crowds 2,000 years ago just like some of the folks in our “crowd” this morning … and in other “faith crowds” gathered for worship this morning in other places, who thought to themselves something like this:  “what exactly does he mean, ‘follow me’?”  “What exactly does he mean, ‘do our part to help bring about God’s reign here on earth?’”  “What exactly does he mean … be my disciple?”

            Those are good questions.  And they are important questions for all of us would-be people of faith to consider and to answer.  And the good news is, both in Jesus’ day, and now, the answer is pretty simple. 

            The word “disciple” means “pupil” or “learner.”  So, a “disciple” was someone who aligned him- or herself to a particular teacher, literally travelled with (or travelled to) that teacher, and did his or her best to understand – and to emulate – the teacher’s teachings. 

            A “disciple” was someone who listened (or today, might also read) what the teacher had to say.  A “disciple” was someone who paid attention, who took the teacher’s teachings seriously, who knew those lessons mattered deeply.  A “disciple” was someone who understood

that “learning” is not just in your head, but is shown by the way you live.

            We have a bunch of teachers and former teachers in our congregation, and everyone who has ever been a teacher, from a parent, or god-parent, or grandparent, or a Sunday School teacher, or a regular classroom teacher, or a teacher’s aide, or a story-teller, or an athletic coach,

or someone who demonstrates an art or craft or skill they know in settings like Cross Orchards Farms, or at the Denver Livestock Show … every teacher knows what it means for their pupils to truly learn something.  They know that a student has not learned something until they are able to

use that knowledge, to apply it in the real world in some concrete way. 

            For example, math teachers know that students have not learned fractions until they can take three apples out of the fruit-bowl on the counter, and divide them evenly among four people.  Second-language teachers, whether the second language is English, or Spanish, or French, or something else, know that students have not truly learned the second language until they can have a conversation with someone else fluent in that language, or read a book in that language without having to stop every third word and look it up in a dual-language dictionary.  Coaches know that pupils – learners – haven’t actually learned how to hit a baseball or a tennis-ball, or to kick a soccer-ball, until those pupils start knocking them out of the park (or over the net, and winning Wimbledon or the World Cup).

            In the same way, while we may be willing to call ourselves “disciples,” pupils of Jesus,

learners of what Jesus taught, we really are not until we take time to stop, and listen, and read again what Jesus had to say; until we make time to pick up our Bibles, and re-read the Gospels,

and see what new things we have to learn about what it means to follow Jesus.  We really are not “disciples,” serious pupils of Jesus, until we once again take him seriously, until we aren’t embarrassed to talk about Him with other people, until we’re willing to actually look to what He says and how He lived as we’re making decisions about what we should say and how we should live.  We haven’t really learned Jesus’ teachings until we can and do engage them – apply them – demonstrate them – in our everyday – and every day – living. 

            Which is a darn hard thing to do, since most of Jesus’ teachings run dead counter to most of what popular culture tells us about what and how we need to be and do and have.  For the next several weeks, we’re going to consider some of the challenges that discipleship presents – and the help our God offers us with those challenges – as we think more about discipleship by the lakeshore – and everywhere else. 

            In the meantime, I leave you with a couple of questions to ponder. 

            First, when you think about what it means for you to be Jesus’ disciple, what does that mean to you?  And second, what do you think about that?  And, how do you feel about it? 

I’m guessing that all of us know that calling ourselves “disciples” – or that calling our efforts to learn from, and to follow Jesus’ teachings “discipleship” – isn’t a particularly popular – or necessarily appealing – thing to do.  In fact, in an awful lot of churches, the concept of “discipleship” has fallen pretty badly out of favor.  It feels old-fashioned.  Or unsophisticated. 

Or irrelevant. 

So perhaps the first step for us back toward discipleship – back toward the ability to say “yes,” to leave what we’re doing and follow Him – may be figuring out how we think and feel about the possibility of being His disciple.   Once we do that, we’re a lot closer to being able to formulate our answer when He calls us … which He does – over and over again – this morning, tomorrow morning, each day that we live.  Alleluia!  Thanks be to God!  Amen.