Disturbing Our Peace--January 24, 2024

 

Disturbing Our Peace--January 24, 2024

"As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea--for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, 'Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.' And immediately they left their nets and followed him." [Mark 1:16-18]

So, true confession here: there are times I am excited by this story of Jesus' first followers dropping everything to go follow him... and there are times when I can't bring even myself to read it, because I don't want my life to be up-ended by following Jesus.  And I suspect I am not alone on that count.

To be honest, I think for a lot of us, some part of us secretly (or maybe not-so-secretly) is only interested in a Jesus who will keep things in our lives going exactly as they always have, a Savior who is the guardian of our routines, defender of our expectations and, maintainer of our comfort zones.  I think for a lot of us, we have imagined Jesus as the person we turn to when things are out of order in our lives, for the expressed purpose of restoring the old status quo.  We credit Jesus (or God, more broadly) with helping us find our car keys, get a good parking space, not miss our flight or bus, and holding the rain off for our summer weekend at the beach.  We tend to picture Jesus as the one cheering us on to make the honor roll or varsity team, to help us climb the corporate ladder for that next promotion, and encouraging us to save up a big enough pile of money for that Caribbean vacation when the kids grow up, or whatever else is on our personal wish-lists.  In other words, we tend to picture our lives of discipleship with ourselves calling the shots and Jesus simply cheering us on--giving us a little extra divine power to achieve our goals, attain success, and make our dreams come true.  And then, in our golden years, having checked off the last item on our bucket list, we'll credit Jesus for helping us do it all, and for confirming our afterlife reservations at the Heavenly Hotel and Spa for a luxurious and peaceful eternity.

We rarely imagine Jesus as the disturber of our peace, however... and yet, that's a lot closer to what happens when Jesus calls Simon and Andrew to follow him.  His call--as compelling and utterly worthwhile as it is--is about to up-end their lives.  He will pull them out of all that was familiar to them, transform them along the journey, and send them back into the world they thought they knew with new priorities and a new perspective.  Once Jesus is done with them, the same old streets of Capernaum and rolling hills around the Sea of Galilee will never be the same for them--because they will be changed people.  Once you have been captivated by the vision of God's Reign that Jesus gives, you can never settle for just your own comfortable, complacent life anymore. Jesus' call awakens you to a new way of life--and to the way things are meant to be--such that you can't hit the snooze bar on it anymore, until everybody gets to eat, nobody lives in fear, and the last clenched fist opens up to be disarmed and embraced.  And because we live in a world still so bent on its own self-interest, greed, fear, apathy, and violence (what church folks have classically called in the collective sense as "sin"), the struggle to let the world step out of that tangle of rottenness by announcing the arrival of God's Reign is a lifelong commitment.  To answer Jesus' call is not merely to accept his help as we pursue "the American dream," but rather to learn how to surrender our old personal wish-lists and to let Jesus stretch our vision to be as wide as God's dream of a world made whole.

I'm reminded, on the days when I can bring myself to read and hear this story of Jesus' calling the fishermen, of a hymn that rarely gets sung these days. I don't think it was ever terribly popular, largely because it is so honest about the costs of discipleship when it comes to following Jesus.  It's a text from William A Percy, called "They Cast Their Nets," and it goes like this:

They cast their nets in Galilee, just off the hills of brown;
such happy, simple fisherfolk, before the Lord came down... before the Lord came down.

Content, peaceful fishermen, before they ever knew

the peace of God that filled their hearts, brimful, and broke them, too... brimful, and broke them, too.

Young John, who trimmed the flapping sail, homeless in Patmos died

Peter, who hauled the teeming net, head down was crucified... head down was crucified.

The peace of God, it is no peace, but strife closed in the sod.

Yet, let us pray for but one thing: the marv'lous peace of God, the marv'lous peace of God.

You can see, I expect, why nobody picks this song for the church hymn-sing.  And yet, I think this might be one of the most oddly beautiful and compellingly honest hymns about what it is to be called by Jesus.  Once you have been grabbed hold of by Jesus, you can't settle for the old way of life that just boiled down to getting more for yourself and insulating your own little clan from the pains of life.  In the wake of Jesus' call, you can never settle for "Me-And-My-Group-First!" thinking anymore, and you certainly can't be content with leaving others to suffer in a world full of mean.  Jesus comes to disturb all of that counterfeit "peace" and pulls us into his own kind of shalom--the sort of wholeness that isn't complete until it is given freely to all.

So, yeah, truth in advertising--this is what's in store for us, since we've heard this story without looking away, and since Jesus calls us with his own compelling voice.  Something in us is awake now, and won't go back to sleep--the Spirit Jesus gives us won't let us settle back into indifference, but keeps us restless for a world made new, and keeps us reaching out to draw others into his movement like a net hauling in fish. 

We've heard the story. We've heard the call.  We will never be the same.  Let us, like the song says, pray for but one thing: the marvelous peace of God, which disturbs us from old apathies.

Lord Jesus, enable us to give up our old notions of peace and quiet to be captivated by your way of shalom in the world.  Come and disturb our peace with your own.