Epiphany 3

“And when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew.”

Jesus withdrew? That doesn’t sound like the Jesus we know, does it? Don’t we have an image of the Jesus who never avoided trouble, who never needed to reassess his aims, or his motivations, or his mission? That tends to be the idea we have, I think.

Every culture creates a conception of Jesus that reflects the dominant values of that culture. And, just so you know, they can justify it in Scripture. To the impoverished people of South America, Jesus is seen as one of the poor, a figure standing in opposition to those who control the means of wealth and oppress the people. To the slaves of 19^th century America, Jesus was coming to set them free.

But there are a few interesting views of Jesus and of faith that became prevalent in 20^th and 21^st century North America. The first is that Jesus acts alone – at a church conference once I heard a guest speaker say that Jesus could play (and did play) all the positions on the football field at once – he’s the quarterback calling the plays, the offensive (never defensive) line, and the running back scoring the touchdowns, all at the same time. He was trying to illustrate God’s grace, and was using the metaphor to illustrate that salvation is won by Christ alone.

Coming close on the heels of that idea is the belief that we act alone – that we by ourselves work out what we believe. That we should pick and choose what we believe in order to live a “moral life” – which usually means “as long as what I do doesn’t harm anyone, why not do it?”

And those two ideas – that Jesus acts alone, and that we act alone – usually bring to reality the conception that churches need to find their ‘entertainment appeal;’ the so-called ‘magic bullet’ that will fill pews and plates and give them success. Church-shopping has become a favourite pastime of many people.

A few years ago I was greeting people after a Sunday service when I shook hands with a nice young couple with a young child. I asked them how they were, and if they were new to the area. They said that, no, they weren’t, but that they were church shopping, looking for a church that met their needs.

I didn’t see them again. Apparently, their needs – whatever they were – weren’t met. But I did debate calling after them – please! Choose us! We have low monthly interest, no fees, no hassles, and we’ll work for you! (If Capital One can do it, why can’t I?)

In reality, I think that that emphasis on the ‘me first’ is a symptom of a desperation that many people feel. That feeling of desperation is the result of seeing that we cannot save ourselves, but still insisting that we have to try.

One day as Jesus is out walking, he sees two sets of brothers working in their boats. And he calls to them, tells them both to come with him. It’s interesting that he doesn’t choose them one at a time – you’d think a little more one-on-one instruction would benefit them. But Jesus calls Andrew and Simon, James and John, to follow him.

And they did.

It makes you wonder: why? What did Jesus offer to them that they didn’t already have? They were fishermen. In their society they wouldn’t have been rich, but perhaps as close to a comfortable lower-middle class as you could be. It’s a hard life, a lot of work.

Maybe they were attracted to a life of quiet study. I grew up in the country, doing chores, raising horses, helping with calving and harvest and all the hard work in between. When I went to University, it was a like a window opened. “Hello, the sweet life!”

Yet as Andrew, Simon, James, and John found: being called as a disciple is not an invitation to the sweet life. Have you ever noticed that of all the miracles Jesus did, not one was for the disciples? They benefited from them, as Jesus calmed the sea and fed the 5000. One or two were object lessons – full nets of fish. And of the thousands of people who deserted Jesus and called for his death, only the disciples – who had been sent out in poverty to preach with nothing but the clothes on their backs – continued to meet. Jesus’ call to discipleship doesn’t make for large crowds; in fact, it thins them out. Anyone with a full belly finds it easy to believe – the disciple, in turn, believes when all has been taken away.

A story is told of Guiseppe Garibaldi, who freed Italy from tyranny in the 19^th century. One day, as he set out to liberate Italy, Garibaldi saw a group of smartly-dressed young men hanging out on a street corner. He asked them to follow him.

“Follow you?” they asked. “What do you offer?”

“Offer? I offer you hardship, hunger, rags, thirst, sleepless nights, foot sores and long marches, privations innumerable, and victory in the noblest cause that ever asked you.”

When you are called be the disciple of Jesus, be aware that it costs. In the society that lists self-esteem and self-fulfillment as paramount values, the gospel will falter, because being called to the life of Christian discipleship is not being called to be a lone ranger, but rather it is a call to become part of a community. A community defined by the cross of Jesus Christ.

The apostle Paul both founded the church in Corinth, and worked to keep it moderately honest with itself. At one point, he threatened them with a stick if they didn’t stop fighting with each other (1 Cor 4:21). Now, it’s easy to get a chuckle at that, but Paul knew that one of the hardest tasks that we are called to as Christians is living with one another in peace.

That is a tall order in any group of people – and maybe even a taller order when faith is involved. That’s because – if you think back to what I talked about earlier, about the ‘me-first’ tendency – we all like to think we know what Jesus wanted for the church.

And you know what? It’s been that way from the very beginning. In the Corinthian church, people were quarrelling over which preacher was correct. Paul, Apollos, Cephas….there’s a long list. We like to listen, and to follow, those people with whom we agree. And certainly, as preachers, we all have those aspects of the gospel that speak most eloquently to us.

Yet Paul reminded the church in Corinth that the point of being a disciple is not about who baptised you, or who you listen to the most. The call to discipleship is a call to bear the cross.

As Paul writes, the power of the gospel is the cross of Jesus Christ – foolishness to those who are perishing, but to those who are being saved it is the power of God. What does that mean?

Imagine that you’re drowning. You’ve somehow landed in the middle of a bottomless lake. But you’re a strong swimmer, so you can tread water, which you keep doing for hours and hours. After a while, you see someone standing on the shore, which seems an impossible distance away. So far, in fact, that until you saw that person you didn’t even know that was the shore.

So you strike out for shore, swimming for all you’re worth. And your muscles are burning, your lungs are exploding with all the air you’re trying to gulp. After a while, you pause and tread water again. The shore doesn’t seem any closer. The figure on the bank throws you a rope, and amazingly it lands right next to your hand. The rope is there. Your safety – your salvation – is right there.

But you don’t need that rope right now. You reject the offer of life. “Don’t worry!” you yell, “I can swim closer! You don’t need to throw it that far!” And you begin to swim again, getting more and more exhausted. Again you stop, to find that you’re no closer to the shore, and that the rope is still right at your hand. But you refuse to grab it.

Does that sound silly to you? I bet it probably does. But that’s the same metaphor that Paul uses.

You are dying, drowning in sin. You are captive to sin, and you cannot free yourself. But you are saved solely by the power of cross of Jesus Christ. You don’t meet Jesus halfway, don’t do a little bit better each day until you accept his help.

But as you’re dying, it seems ridiculous that you don’t have to do anything, that this ‘salvation’ is a free gift. You’re treading water, keeping your head up, refusing the rope that is a few inches from your hand.

But when you grasp that, when you are being saved, you hold on to that rope so tight you know that by the time you get to shore its fibers are going to be a part of who you are.

You are called to be disciples – to take hold of the rope, to trust in the cross of Jesus Christ, even to share with Jesus that death on the cross. To be a disciple is to be crucified with Christ, to die to those self-centred longings that characterize our lives.

A.W Tozer tells a story of a young man who came to an old saint to understand the life of discipleship. The young man said to the old, “Father, what does it mean to be crucified?”

The old man thought for a moment and said “well, to be crucified means three things. First, the man who is crucified is facing only one direction.”

And the old man scratched his head and continued. “One thing more, son, about a man on the cross – he is not going back. When you die on the cross, you have said goodbye.”

And he went on: “another thing about the man on the cross, son – he has made no further plans of his own.”

Today after worship we will gather for our budgetary annual general meeting. We’re a lucky enough congregation that we get two of them, one now and another in May. But as we gather for it today, I want you to bear three things in mind:

The first is that you are called to be in this place, called to be a part of this community. It cannot function to the full extent of its potential without you. You look in a common direction.

The second is that this community is called to be a part of who you are. You cannot be a solitary disciple of Christ. The gospel calls you into relationship. There is no going back.

And the third is this: Your end is assured. You are saved from sin, death, and the devil by the power of Jesus Christ. Cling to that cross, take hold of that rope, never let go, until that rope leaves it mark on you and you are safely on the other shore.

Let the people of God say amen.