“Immediately”

Third Sunday after Epiphany

Sunday, January 27, 2008

Isaiah 9:1-4

Psalm 27:1, 4-9

1 Corinthians 1:10-18

“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”

One of the things that I find constantly amazing about the biblical texts is the way that we can read a passage that we have read many times before, and suddenly be struck by some word or phrase in the passage that we had previously overlooked.

Such was the case with me when I sat down and read this passage, a few weeks ago, in preparation for today’s service.

I had read the passage about the calling of the fishermen many times before; I had sung “I will make you fishers of men if you follow me” since I was in Sunday School; but never had I noticed the repetition of the word ‘immediately’ in this text.

Twice, in the space of a few lines, the author of Matthew begins a phrase with the word, ‘immediately’.  In verse 20, we read, “Immediately they left their nets and followed him” and then, in verse 22, we again read, “Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.”

So why would the author of Matthew have repeated this word ‘immediately’, and thereby emphasize the immediacy of the fishermen’s reaction to the call of Christ?

Biblical scholars would remind us that the presence of this particular word may have as much to do with the history of composition as it does with any theological intention on the part of the author of Matthew.  Which is a rather nice way of saying that Matthew plagiarized this passage from the Gospel of Mark. 

The study of the history of the way that the Gospel accounts were written is a rather fascinating study – and worthy of our attention. Scholars agree that Mark was the first Gospel account, and that Matthew and Luke had the text of Mark in front of them when they were compiling their own accounts of the life of Jesus.  The reason that scholars came to this conclusion was because certain sections of Matthew and Luke are – almost word-for-word – copied from the Gospel of Mark.  A close reading of the different Gospels reveals that the authors of Matthew and of Luke must have had the text of Mark in front of them when they were writing certain parts of their own accounts. 

Such is the case with today’s text.  The words that we find in this passage from Matthew chapter 4 – and specifically, the story of the calling of the first disciples that is found in verses 18 – 22 – are copied, almost verbatim, from Mark chapter 1 verses 16-21.  One of the only changes that the author of Matthew makes to this passage, in fact, is that he rearranges the Greek words in verses 20 and 22 to create a literary structure, in the original Greek, which actually serves to emphasize the immediate responses of the disciples.  Even though Matthew knew that he was copying, he nonetheless rearranged the words slightly – to emphasize the immediacy of the disciples’ actions.

So what is the effect – and the meaning – of this emphasis on the ‘immediate’ reaction of the disciples?  

In order to fully appreciate the true significance of what happened that day, it is worthwhile for us to pay attention to what it was that the disciples were leaving behind them when Christ called them.  That is, it is interesting to realize what the fishermen left, according to the text, so ‘immediately’.

The text states that they left their nets, their boats and their father. 

Which is significant.  After all, for a fishermen, nets and boats are the tools of their livelihood; they are the symbols of their occupation; they are the signs of financial security and income.  And for a set of brothers to leave their father holds a similar degree of symbolic significance.  One’s father was the symbol of family, of kin, and even of identity.

The fact that Jesus met them – and called them -- while they were doing their jobs, surrounded by members of their family, is incredibly significant.  He did not call the first disciples during a period in their lives when they were contemplating their vocation or looking for a career change.  He did not call them during a ‘lull time’ or during some time of uncertainty about their meaning in life.  He called them straight out of the busyness of their lives – and at what must have been a most inopportune moment.

Of course, the text assures us that, even though the timing was perhaps unfortunate, they at least knew what they were being asked to do.  Jesus, after all, gave them ample opportunity to discuss his call, to them, with their spouses and families.  He gave them time to think it over, to ‘get back to him’ with their decision, to form a committee to study the question, and to ask whatever questions that they might have so that they could make an informed, wise decision about how to respond to his call to them. 

Or, maybe not.

Rather, his call to them offered no such ‘thinking time’.  It was abrupt. “Come and follow me”.  There was no consultation, no invitation to let him know later, no hastily called time for ‘discerning’ with trusted friends and family members.

So how did those fishermen respond to Jesus’ call to them at that ill-timed, inopportune moment – that call that asked them to leave behind their security, their vocations, their families, everything by which they defined themselves?

They responded immediately. 

But that was then; and this is now.

A few minutes ago, we sang a recently written children’s hymn which talks about Christ’s call to the disciples, and to each of us.  “Will you come and follow me, if I but call your name?”  It is a simple question, but really quite a profound one as well.  Would we have followed Christ so immediately and so dramatically, if he had but called our name? 

I can’t speak for everyone but, for myself, I doubt it.

After all, it is only the absolutely most extreme events which provoke such an immediate reaction in us – we hear a desperate scream for help; or we hear that our child is hurt; or we have some terrible physical crisis; and we drop everything and go.  But those extreme reactions are only to emergencies; to embrace the same sense of urgency and immediacy about some decision of faith, some decision that will forever alter the course of our lives, seems more usual and even strange. 

Will you come and follow me if I but your name?  Probably not.

After all, if anyone that we knew made as rash and as hasty a decision as did those first disciples, we would either assume that they had run off to join some strange cult, or we would want to sit them down and ask them to give it a bit more thought, to be a bit more responsible, and to act a bit more reasonably and rationally.

There is, therefore, a powerful lesson for all of us to ponder in the immediate reaction of the disciples.  That is, that Jesus’ call to us comes to us in exactly the same way that it came to those disciples on the shore of Galilee so long ago.  The call of Christ is a summons, an invitation, that is always offered to us now and that we are always invited to respond to immediately.

Jesus never, as far as I can read, ever said to anyone, “I’m going to call you to follow me someday; or I am going to invite your obedience someday, or I’ll have my people call you next week to find out how you wanted to respond to me.”

Rather, Jesus’ call to people always was in the present moment.

And when does he expect a response?  He expects it now.  Immediately.  Because this present moment is the only moment in all of eternity that we have any control over whatsoever. We cannot rely on a decision that we have made in the past; we cannot wait until later; we can only respond to him right now.

Which means that every moment of our existence -- every single moment -- is always pregnant with the possibility of response, and the promise of grace. 

But, some might say, what does this really have to do with us?  After all, many if not most of us have been trying to follow him for a long time.  So what all this discussion about responding to him immediately really have to do with us?

What we must remember is that the call of Christ is not a one-time invitation; rather, it is a call that is extended to us at every moment of our existence.  Conversion is a life-long process.  Our response to Christ is an ongoing experience.  Many of our brothers and sisters in the more evangelical streams of the Christian faith place a great deal of focus on the moment that one first makes a decision to follow Christ; and that is important; but what is equally important is the realization that, even long after we have made that first step on the journey, there are still decisions left to be made, levels of conversion that still call for a response, depths of commitment yet to be embraced.  

As a result, for every one of us, each and every day, we are confronted with his call to follow him.  Each and every day, we are confronted with the invitation to follow in his footsteps, and forgive the person that we think is unforgiveable; to put the needs of another in front of our own desires; to allow justice to be done, kindness to be honoured, and humility to be embraced.  Each and every day, we are called, again and again, to come and follow Christ, and his commands to us, at every moment of our lives.

Why would we want to respond to such a constant call? 

After all, does his call not imply some level of sacrifice and obedience?  Is it not true, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer once wrote, that when Christ calls a person, he calls them to come and die?

Absolutely.

But in that death, there is life.  In following him, we are called to die – to die to self-centered existence; to die to pride; to die to greed; to die to self-reliance; to die to hatred and to apathy.

And, once that death has taken place, we are ready to hear the Gospel; we are ready to live.

Because what Christ is setting before us, with his invitation to come and to die, is the invitation to true and abundant life.

Which brings us back to those fishermen on the shores of the Lake of Galilee so long ago.  Jesus was not just calling them to do something.  He was calling them to live.

Jesus was calling them to a life that was so much more abundant, so much more peaceful, so much more meaningful than the lives that they were living, or the lives that they were going to find in those fishing nets. 

Of course, those disciples, two thousand years ago, could have asked him to come back another day.  They could have reminded him that they were doing important things, that it was not the best time, and that they would prefer if he was to come back later.  If they had, they would have been a bunch of fishermen who lived out their days on the Sea of Galilee.  They would have mended their nets, each day; grown old; lived respectable lives and died.

Instead, they became witnesses to the most significant events in the history of our world.  They witnessed miracles.  They heard the words of eternal life.  They listened as Christ set before them God’s call to embrace a life of grace and compassion. They heard him speak words about a new covenant with God, in broken bread and a cup of wine.  They saw a crucified man rise from the dead. 

And then they went out and changed the world.

All because they chose to respond to his call.

Immediately.

And so it is with us.  We can put off his call to us.  We can live under the strange delusion that what we are doing is more important than obeying his strange and challenging commands. We can neglect his call, because we have ‘more important things to do’ or because it is not really a good time for us, or because reshaping our lives in response to the call and commandments of Christ does not really fit into our plans.  

But if we do, we should, at the very least, be aware of what we are giving up.  We are turning our back on the One who wants to give us life.

And so, in this present moment, his call comes to us, as it does at every moment of our lives. 

Will you come and follow me
If I but call your name?
Will you go where you don’t know
And never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown,
Will you let my name be known,
Will you let my life be grown
In you and you in me?