Follow Me: A Loaded Request

Epiphany 3A-2020
1 Corinthians 1: 10-18 and Matthew 4: 12-23
Rev. Dr. Kimberlynn McNabb

January 26th is the date on the Christian calander that commemerates Timothy, Titus, and Silas; as missionaries in the early church.  All were at one time companions of Paul, who accompanied him on missionary journeys.  Timothy and Titus ended up as Bishops, Silas was imprisoned and later freed by earthquake. One needed to watch what one declared. Saying, “I belong to Paul,” could have had you either thrown in prison or elected Bishop.
Paul tells the people of the church in Corinth to only declare that one belongs to Christ.
This declaration will change one’s life, more than being elected Bishop or thrown in prison.
Let us consider what it means to belong to Christ; to be a Jesus follower.

Social media is full of platforms, like Snapchat, Instagram, Twitter, Facebook; each is used by people to gather followers. One can follow groups and people who interest them. Sites have follow buttons, and once clicked, you are a follower. The more followers, the more famous you are.
In a world where follow buttons are common place, how do we hear Jesus’ words, “Follow me?”
My guess is that Jesus would have had millions of social media followers.  Some would be watching for words of wisdom or challenge; others would follow his whereabouts so they could join him to learn, debate, or be healed.  Others would be followers to see what crazy things this man Jesus was going to do; Jesus actions would be their entertainment. He would be as popular on Twitter as Donald Trump.
To be a follower today only takes the clicking of a button. That’s all. There are no requirements to actually read the posts or content created by the person they are following. One need not comment or scroll through all posts.  One doesn’t even have to like the person or their beliefs. There is no commitment to being a follower. You are a follower forever, unless you click the unfollow button.
Jesus, social media free, calls to Andrew and Peter, “Follow me,” and immediately they leave their boats and nets.
Jesus calls to James and John, “Follow me,” and immediately they leave their boats, nets, and father.
Andrew, Peter, James, and John did more than simply click a button, and let life carry on as it was.  Everything changed, there was commitment, from the moment they chose to follow Jesus.

In the early 90s, Wilfrid Laurier University had a Hebrew professor named Dr. Fischer. Dr. Fischer was a gentleman in his 70s who wore thickly knit Scandinavian type sweaters and a poor-boy cap. He was a quiet teacher, methodical in method, and more or less succeeded in getting all his students to pass.  He was a favourite teacher for many because if you followed his lesson one learned about his passions.  He loved talking about his passions. Students could get him to regale stories or points of astute academia, or tidbits of new texts being found.  Dr. Fischer would get all excited, worked up he would bounce through the class, and talk with his hands.
A favourite topic was verse 6 of Psalm 23: “Surely your goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.”  Excitedly he explained to students that the word “follow” was a poor English translation of the Hebrew text. The English “follow,” makes the words of the Psalm comforting and reassuring.  In Hebrew, the word in the text is better translated as “pursue.” Meaning, God’s goodness and mercy will  pursue you, stalk you. You can’t, no matter how much you try, get away from God’s grace and mercy. Grace and mercy will chase you, even harass you.
What happens, then, if we were to hear Jesus’ invitation to the disciples as, “Pursue me,””Chase after me?” The invitation is not a simple click of a button. Pursue and chase is dangerous.  Consider Hollywood movies that contain car chases, police in pursuit; they are full scale drama, speed, aggression, high energy. There is collateral damage, and the possibility of prison, or life, or death. The chase is not for the weak of heart, or the stomach as may be the case for some.
Thesaurus.com suggests these words as alternatives for follow:
go after, seek, pursue; accompany, attend; badger, bate, but; hound, hunt; persevere, persist, plague; shadow, stalk.
After reading the synonyms, knowing that “pursue” is the best translation for the word in Psalm 23, the best translation for the original word in Matthew is worth investigating. The Greek word that we hear as “follow” literally means, “to be in the same way with;” as in two people were walking along the same road, or travelling a similar journey. The appropriate English translation is, to accompany.
Jesus calls Andrew and Peter, “Accompany me,” and immediately they leave their boats and nets.
Jesus calls James and John, “Accompany me,” and immediately they leave their boats, nets, and father.
Andrew, Peter, James, and John, did more than simply click a button, and let life carry on as it was.  Everything changed, there was commitment, from the moment they chose to follow Jesus.

This morning Jesus invites you, calls to you, “Accompany me,” and immediately...
Do you click a follow button? Do you leave your car, and job, and family?
I suspect that some of us dropped what we were doing when we heard the Gospel.  Jesus’ invitation was a recognition that we needed to, wanted to, change our lives and the way we were living. For many more of us, immediately following, has been a growth process that has been a journey of relationship with God and others over years.
Unfortunately, we have read a weak translation of what Jesus was asking, and calling the disciples to.  We now have to shift our understanding from “Follow me,” to something far more difficult.  Jesus invites us to accompany him.
Rachel Svenson, who works with young adults on ELCA Global Mission projects, begins her “Living Lutheran” blog with a quote from Linda Crockett’s book, “The Deepest Wound:”
Accompaniment goes beyond solidarity in that anyone who enters into its risks suffering the pain of those we would accompany ... accompaniment may include all of these acions (protest marches, pressing for change in law, civil disobedience) but it does not necessarily share the assumption that we can fix, save, or change a stiuation or person by what we do.  It calls for us to walk with those we accompany, forming relationship and sharing risks, joys, and lives.  We enter into the world of the one who suffers with no assurance that we can change or fix anything ... accompaniment is based on hope despite evidence that there is little reason for optimism.
Accompanying Jesus -Belonging to Christ – is not for the faint of heart or stomach.
Jesus called Andrew, Peter, James, and John into a life of accompaniment.  The passage we read this morning has John the Baptist in prison for his speaking truth to the powers of the day.  Jesus and his followers – people accompanying him – were often protesting and breaking laws (Jesus healing on the Sabbath, Jesus touching untouchables); the group as a whole gathered in large numbers for sit-ins to listen to Jesus (an illegal action in the Roman Empire); Jesus and those accompanying him bated the religious leaders with near heretical blasphemies, and insighted angst by taunting the authority of the Roman Empirer.  Every moment was a risk, as Jesus entered into relationship, with the powers of the day. Every moment was a risk for those who would accompany him.  Every moment was a risk as Jesus gave hope to the poor, the widow, the children; justice to the oppressed and imprisoned; and healing for the lame, the leperous, and demon possesed.

Jesus’ call, “accompany me,” was a loaded statement. Jesus did not invite people for a walk in the park, or stroll around the Sea of Galilee. Jesus’ call was for followers to risk being in relationship, knowing that God’s grace and mercy would be in pursuit to assist those who say “yes” to accompany others with all their hearts and souls and minds.

God, this morning we declare, “I belong to Christ.” We immediately drop our excuses, our fears, and all present preoccupations, to accompany you. Give us the courage “to belong to Christ” in a time when we are taught that to follow requires no commitment.

the Voice of the Lord: Louder and Louder

Baptism of our Lord A -2020
I once attended a rather interesting play at the Elora Gorge Conservation Area in ON. The Elora Gorge is a large section of parkland, full of trails above and below a 22 metre high cliff-face that runs along the deep and fast moving Grand River. It really is spectacular and the sound of the water in some spots is almost deafening. On this particular evening a group of people gathered at the remains of the old mill; remaining is part the foundation platform, and a few walls a little taller than myself.  This was the backdrop for the play. I assumed the play would happen in the ruin and we would simply watch and enjoy. 
It was past time for play to start, when there was commotion in the gathered audience.  It took a few moments to realize that the play had started.  One really had to pay attention and look around to catch what was going on.  We had no idea who the actors were and there was no sound system. We gathered what was happening from watching the reactions of those closest to the characters, or catching the actions that the actor had made; the audience spread what had happened to those standing behind them.  It was rather chaotic with the actors not being discernable from the audience.  We became as much a part of the play as the actors.  At one point there was a wedding, and towns-people came through the crowd handing out noise makers, banging pots and pans, dragging bystanders by the hand, dancing in jovial lines, moving the crowd around... I was cajoled into joining a party reveller, to refuse would make a worse scene than going along; I ended up on the foundation platform three feet from the bride and groom – I was all of a sudden part of the wedding party; the crowd was cheering and clapping and the pots and pans were being banged... I was like a deer in headlights...  I was uncomfortable, not sure I was to be where I was.  I felt out of place. The scene was WAY too loud, and I didn’t want to be asked to do anything or be pushed into an another unexpected role.  The wind picked up, the dew fell and settled, night descended, lanterns were lit--- and eventually the play came to an end as we all left the scene.
This is the image that came to mind when I reflected on the Psalm for this morning.
We have a very loud psalm.  The Voice of the Lord is over the waters, the voice thunders, the voice breaks and splits trees, the voice shakes the wilderness; it is mighty and full of splendor. I picture the wilds, with mighty wind, dust swirling, chaos, danger; a place for people not to be.

The origins of the psalm are found in the land and peoples North of Israel. Mentioned are the places of Lebanon, Syria, and Kadesh.  The words of the psalm echo the Mediterranean sensibility that it was the  gods that were the power of the natural phenomena – thunder, waves, wind, earthquake, volcano, storm- chaos and grand sound. There was other noise in the wilderness too.  Since the forming of peoples, caravans have come and gone, armies have trudged across the desert and back again – land has been laid waste, crops burnt, resources pillaged.  In more recent years, the land has been littered with landmines and missile shells; flattened by armoured tanks and the flight of millions of people.  The sound in the wilderness is loud – it is gun fire and rockets, mother’s wailing for lost fathers and children crying as they run for their lives. It is chaos and it is loud!

The Psalm and the Voice from heaven that we hear in the Gospel sit in contrast to each other.
As the psalmist sings, the voice of the Lord is over the waters, so the voice of the Lord is over the Jordan; yet, the voice heard comes from the heavens as the heavens open up to Jesus.  Matthew tells us that Jesus sees the heavens open and the dove descend, so we know Jesus also hears  - This is my Son the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.  The way the story is told it is rather undramatic in comparison to the Voice of the Lord from the Psalm. The event is somewhat underwhelming and subtle; one would have had to be paying attention, listening.  There would have been a large crowd out to see John the Baptist, and I imagine it was kind of like the play at the Elora Gorge – figuring out who was John, pushing yourself through the crowd to see and hear, but not too close so you could escape if you wanted to. The passage does not tell us who else hears the voice confirming that God is pleased with Jesus. The voice is not thundered across the wilderness in a grand majestic announcement; it is whispered and will grow in strength in coming days and weeks.

Jason Byassee from Vancouver School of Theology notes that, The voice of the Lord comes to the world as a baby - born without the ability to speak – just like Alastor who is being baptized today. Now Jason also reflects that the inability to speak is simply a loll before the storm; after Jesus’ baptism the voice of the Lord gets louder and louder.  The voice will call for justice, the voice spoken will have the blind see, prisoners  set free, and those who have lived in darkness will see a great light;  through the voice the dead will be raised.          
This is not unlike what is to happen and does happen through the sacrament of Baptism, for now Alastor is quiet—well mostly quiet... but there is to come a time when baptismal promises get lived out, what we learn in this place gets lived out with our voices and our words getting louder and louder; we are given voices to proclaim Christ in word and deed, to care for others and the world God has made, to work for justice and peace.

I just finished reading a memoir by Stephanie Saldana, an American student, attending a Catholic University, who after 9/11 went on scholarship to Syria to learn Arabic; the idea of the scholarship was to foster relationships with Arabs and teach young bright Americans that Muslims were not terrorists. While she was in Syria there was a lot of movement of people, displaced by civil unrest, conflict, and war.  She lived in the Orthodox Christian section of the old city of Damascus. It was not all that safe to be in Syria: one had to watch what one said, where one went, how one dressed; to be cautious as neighbours often informed authorities about people stepping outside the rules. There were the sounds of parades yelling for Americans to go home; there was the sound of rumbling tanks, missiles, explosions.  There was the sound of religion, the call of the minaret for prayer, church bells from Orthodox buildings and Catholic cathedrals; there was the noise of people in the streets and crowded markets. She recounts all sorts of situations and instances where the world descended on Straight St. in Damascus – Jews, Christians, Muslims; Arabic in dialects from Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Iran, Palestinian territories...it was a microchaosim of peoples who in other places simply did not get along.  And here amidst loud voices from the wilderness, Stephanie talks of her daily routine and conversation with neighbours and street vendors – these relationships formed because everyone was displaced – here everyone belonged. And it is here that Stephanie found God, whom she had lost so many years before – in the voice of the rug repairer who quoted the Koran, a fellow Jewish classmate who continued to observe holy days despite it being illegal, in learning to speak Arabic in an array of dialect --- it was poetry.  Arabic’s unique phrasing was the music – the quiet voice, beauty that whispered to the heart. It was the quirky greetings in the neighbourhood that fostered peace  – when peace was the last thing one would expect.

At the beginning I talked about my experience of unexpectedly participating in an outside play that was chaotic and loud, ---how I felt out of place, uncomfortable, unsure, and hesitant as to what could come next. There were voices and noise swirling all around and I did not feel like I belonged. Since then I have experienced a similar sensation living life.  There is a lot of noise and chaos.  There are many voices in the world. Often I feel like I do not belong.  ...  until I am reminded that the voice of the Lord moves over the waters. I am drawn in by the thought of the psalmist who speaks of the Voice of the Lord being a majesty and splendor above the chaos and being in the chaos – a creating power – Word to infuse the very elements of life.  Today I am drawn back to the voice of the Lord moving over the waters, in water of the baptism font and the promises of the hushed voice whispering “you are a child of God, beloved” – a creating power – Word to infuse my spirit with life, with belonging, a naming.  

Beloved, the Voice of the Lord is loud, the voice of the Lord whispers – God is in all and is all. Listen for the voice of creating power – Word that infuses the elements of life.  Participate in creating power, in word that infuses life, do so by claiming the words of baptism; you are a child of God, beloved... now therefore be the Voice of the Lord getting louder and louder: proclaiming Christ in word and deed, caring for others and all God has made, and working for justice and peace.   Amen.