“Darkness Runs Through It”


January 26, 2020 | Matthew 4:12-25  

Some of you will recognize that we have the same picture on the bulletin this morning as we had last week.  Cary Bunt’s painting called, “Some People Following Jesus.”  These are ordinary people pulling grocery carts, carrying purses, sporting work overalls, hoisting ladders, dressed for an office job, walking the dog.  And the point of last week’s sermon was to say that we don’t give up our regular daily lives and callings to follow Jesus.  Everyone of us has multiple callings—we are sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, parents, grandparents, life partners, neighbors, we have daily work, and things that we do in the church and the world to give expression to our God-given gifts, abilities, and loves. And I asked the question last week, “if we were to paint a picture like this on the wall of Bethany Hall that included each of us, what color would you be wearing, and what would you be carrying or pulling along to represent your calling or callings.”

Several of you thought diligently about this question and let me know how you answered it.  And I was not surprised that some of you had to play around a bit to imagine precisely what you would carry to symbolize your callings.  This morning again we have a Biblical story about calling.    And today the question before us seems to be, “if we were to paint a picture that included all of us, what color would you be wearing, and what would you be leaving behind to follow Jesus?”

When Jesus appears along the shore of the Sea of Galilee proclaiming, “Repent,” which literally means “’turn around’ cause here comes the kingdom of God,” four fishermen immediately leave behind, nets, boats, anchors, and a father, to follow Jesus.  There is no indication here that they intend to do it permanently.  Today is today, and Jesus says follow me, and they go.  It is a step in a direction.  Not necessarily a lifelong commitment.  Just a step in a direction that may turn out to be nothing more than part of a day or two.  Sometimes it goes like that for us.  We take a step, say “yes” to something without any certainty of what it will mean or where it will take us.   Then years later we look back and think “who knew that one step would get me here!?”

Maybe these fishermen weren’t planning to sign on for the long haul, but maybe they did experience something in Jesus that was especially compelling.  Maybe there was a kind of light emanating from him—a light like the prophet Isaiah describes.  Some of us have been reading a book about together near death experiences in which people report again and again that they were surrounded by an overwhelming light that they felt as pure, unconditional, all-embracing, love.  Maybe it is something like this that Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John see, not with their eyes, but with their hearts and souls.  Maybe they do leave boats, nets, anchors, and family behind that day with no intention of turning back.  Maybe, without a clue of what it will mean ultimately, they have turned their lives toward a love and a light that they sense no darkness can overcome.

There is a darkness that runs through the story of Jesus.  A few weeks ago, we heard Matthew story about the wisemen looking for the infant Jesus.  He begins that story by saying, “In the time of King Herod…”   It is a historical marker that points to a particular time and place.  But it is also a political marker that reminds us that Herod, King of the Jews, and his lackeys are anxious to hold onto the fragile, precarious power they have been granted by the occupying Roman Empire.  They will do anything to protect this power and privilege.  In an attempt to kill the baby Jesus, Herod kills all the baby boys in the region where Jesus was born.

Today’s story about the calling of these disciples begins with the words:  “When Jesus heard that John was arrested….”   It’s a marker of time, and place, and political power.  Matthew doesn’t say here why John the Baptist was arrested or by whom.  But Jesus knows.  John was thrown in prison by Herod for proclaiming exactly what Jesus now proclaims:  “Turn your lives around ‘cause here comes the kingdom of God!”  In the end, King Herod has John’s head served up on a platter because he had the audacity to criticize the King’s behavior.  It is gruesome stuff.   A darkness runs through this story of Jesus.

Maybe Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John don’t know about Herod and his violence.   They live in the most removed of the Jewish provinces, farthest from both the political and religious centers of Judaism.  There is no 24/7 news cycle.  But they do know something about the darkness.  They belong to a people who carry in their bones the traumas of war, defeat, loss, exile, poverty, fear, and deep sense that they cannot change their situation.  They cannot liberate themselves.  They cannot overcome the darkness.

And Jesus knows the darkness.  He belongs to these people.  He knows that John is in prison.  Knows that Herod will do anything to keep a grip on his power. Knows that preaching the good news of an alternative kingdom will not win him friends in high places.  Knows that he is engaged in a risky mission.  Jesus walks away from the centers of political and religious power to the margins—walks into the ragged ache of frightened, wounded lives announcing good news.   Jesus goes to the land of deep darkness, the place where despair overwhelms easy optimism.

And four fishermen leave behind their boats, nets, anchors, and families because they sense a courage, a possibility, a light in him that the darkness cannot overcome.  And I wonder if we painted a picture of all of us following Jesus, what color would you be wearing and what would be pictured in the background, what would you leave behind?

Maybe it is something material that you need to leave behind.  Possessions that anchor your security and weigh down your generosity.  Work that isn’t particularly satisfying, but that pays the bills, and doesn’t demand too much from you.  Or maybe what you might leave behind is the leisure that allows you to spend yourself doing whatever you choose to do.   Or maybe it is something less tangible.  Something more deep-seated in your being.   Something like trauma from your past that keeps shaping the ways you respond to people and events in your life.   Maybe it’s something like fear of other people’s judgement, or fear of not being liked, or fear of losing control that drives you, even though you really don’t want it to be so.   Maybe what you and I most need to leave behind cannot be seen or painted in a picture.

Darkness runs through the story of Jesus, and through our own stories, and through the stories of peoples and nations.   And one day a person radiating love and light, a person without fear of anyone or anything, walks into that darkness and the jagged ache of human experience,  speaking good news about a beautiful, alternative kingdom, healing all our human ills, inviting folk to walk in the light, just one step at a time, one day at a time.  And some people fall in step with that light, not knowing exactly where the journey will take them.   And somewhere along the way, that light gets in, deeper and deeper, fuller and fuller.  And somewhere along the way there is a letting go, a leaving behind of the things that belong to the darkness.   And the picture that appears is of a gaggle of ordinary people clothed in light and carrying in them the love that heals and makes whole.


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