Photo from Pixabay
Karen Hollis | January 21, 2024
Epiphany 3
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be reflections of your word to us today, in Christ’s name we pray. Amen
If you attended or watched our Christmas service from a few weeks ago, you may remember that I invited people to be attentive. The light of Christ is born to us at the darkest time of the year. Through the season of Epiphany and into Lent, that light increases. Days grow longer, in worship we develop this theme of aha!, of newness, of possibilities, and within us, perhaps we notice the development of something new. I invited people to be attentive to the growing light.
At my house, we like to go for a walk about an hour before sunset, so our schedule is in flux throughout the year, as the light changes. Here in worship, we began 2 weeks ago with aha! and being open to a new idea or a new way of being. And last week we explored the internal landscape of being known by God and meeting God’s light in new spaces within us.
Even though Mark doesn’t include a birth narrative, this morning’s text bridges in a way the whole season we’ve come through. From Advent and the announcement of God’s kindom on earth, to the arrival of Jesus and his epiphany message along the Galilean Sea to come and follow. Mark’s gospel moves at a rapid pace and opens with big energy – the kindom of heaven is at hand, there is not a moment to lose.
As a preacher, I spend plenty of time wondering about these stories about Jesus . . . where does this story come from, why was it written this way, what can we discover between the words? I read a gorgeous novel a few years ago called The Book of Longings, which includes a storyline of Jesus, a day labourer, spending time on the Sea of Galilee on the fishing boats of people like the Zebedees, who had hired hands. What if when he went to call his first disciples they already knew each other? “Hey guys, remember all those conversations we had on the boats? I’m ready to start a movement . . . come follow me” . . . what if they already knew each other? I’ve been trying to put words to why I find this idea so moving. Perhaps, in part because it provides an opening for new ideas and possibilities that could exist between the lines of Mark’s tightly constructed narrative.
Mark wrote about 40 years after the earthly life of Jesus, which is at least a couple of generations in their day. While our default or our comfort zone may lead us to think of these texts as history, think about stories we tell from 40 years ago or stories told by our grandparents. We don’t tend to listen to these stories for the sake of accuracy . . . humans are all too unreliable with details. We hear them to connect with one another, to receive what was important to those who came before us.
These days I think of gospel stories more as expressions of faith and meaning our ancestors made from their experiences, than an account of history. Even if the stories aren’t factual, they still hold power today . . . when they mean something to us, when they speak into the moment in which we are living. In Mark’s gospel, the author frames the moment . . . the time of God’s promises has come near . . . turn toward what God is doing, for the world will never be the same. Jesus has come with a message of good news for anyone who knows something, for instance, about maldistribution of resources. He comes to the fishermen along the seashore. They are trying to make a living while the government taxes their boats, fishing materials, and catches . . . we can just imagine the discontent among the fishing communities.1 Fully engaged in their circumstances, Mark’s Jesus calls them from the shore to come and participate in a movement that redistributes resources and restores human dignity for all. The time is ripe for the movement to come together and the world will never be the same.
As Jesus calls out to us today, he finds us in our own “the world will never be the same” moment. There are numerous storylines we can bring into focus that illuminate its shape. Climate is sitting right at the top of the proverbial iceberg. Tensions are growing, conflict is growing, divisions crystalizing . . . and Jesus calls out, come and follow. God is doing a new thing – come and be a part of it.
The thing that made Jesus’ ministry so powerful in his day was sheer numbers of people who responded to his message. It was their collective aha, their collective healing, their collective action toward the vision Jesus cast that gave the movement such power.
Here and now, the liturgical tradition draws on the natural rhythms of the earth, frames this season with fresh insight from God, and invites our reflection and collaboration.
As I asked at the opening of the service, when you hear Jesus calling, what stirs in you? What piece of the whole is being revealed to you? Is there something you are being invited to let go of or put down as you answer this call?
As the physical body of Christ, each of our pieces complete the whole. So, what do you bring? I think Comox United is a place where we can and do share what we hear and learn about what others are hearing. This is a place where we weave the tapestry of response to our individual and collective call.
So I say to us again, let us listen deeply – for some of us that might mean developing a new skill, which can be learned here in this place where we value spirituality – let us listen deeply, be attentive . . . and let us be in conversation and seek out safe spaces to explore the movement of the holy in us, between us, and connecting us to groups who are doing a similar kind of listening. If there was ever a moment to meet God in the work, this is it. Thanks be to God.