Author’s Note: This post is edited from a sermon delivered on January 20, 2024 Post

Scripture: Mark 1:14-20 (CEB)

14 After John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee announcing God’s good news, 15 saying, “Now is the time! Here comes God’s kingdom! Change your hearts and lives, and trust this good news!”

16 As Jesus passed alongside the Galilee Sea, he saw two brothers, Simon and Andrew, throwing fishing nets into the sea, for they were fishermen. 17 “Come, follow me,” he said, “and I’ll show you how to fish for people.” 18 Right away, they left their nets and followed him. 19 After going a little farther, he saw James and John, Zebedee’s sons, in their boat repairing the fishing nets. 20 At that very moment he called them. They followed him, leaving their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired workers.

Around fifteen years ago, my home church had a guest preacher.  He was someone well thought of in our area, so our pastor had him come and speak, and everyone was appropriately excited.  But, after the service, as my family and I were walking out to our cars, I remember telling my dad that I hadn’t enjoyed the sermon.  When my dad asked why, I zeroed in on a story this preacher had told, about how he, along with a few others, had successfully helped push a woman’s car free from a bank of snow.  I remember telling my dad something like this: “It felt like he wanted us to know how great he was.”  My dad agreed.  We struggled to connect with someone who spoke like this. 

All kidding aside, I have noticed, both when I preach and when others do, that oftentimes, the more the speaker is willing to talk about their struggles, their mistakes, their foibles, the more relatable their message is.  That’s pretty revealing.  It says a lot about how we understand ourselves, and what we actually come to church for.  In a world where people seem to swing wildly between unstoppable condemnation and immovable positivity, the church is one of the only places in which we can face our limitations in a way that’s focused not on pronouncing judgment, but on pursuing growth and healing.  There’s a good reason for that: the story we tell about who we are–the story of Jesus of Nazareth–hinges on the notion that we are limited beings.  That we make mistakes.  And that we are given grace, not according to how much we have earned, but how much we need.  

Still, we owe it to each other to remember that there are both healthy and unhealthy ways to speak about our limitations.  Today, we meet Jesus in the early days of his ministry, proclaiming a familiar message.  “Now is the time!” he says.  “Here comes God’s kingdom! Change your hearts and lives, and trust this good news!”  In this translation, Jesus’ message is invitational, and positive.  It’s not an accident that the CEB does this.  It’s afraid to use a word that earlier translations of the Bible delighted in.  In the NIV, this verse sounds a bit different.  “The kingdom of God has come near” Jesus says.  “Repent and believe the good news!”

Repent.  One word.  One word that, for some of us, carries with it painful connotations.  Today, many of us associate this word with a specific version of Christianity.  For them, the story of Jesus is a story laden with guilt, shame, and the ever-present threat of divine wrath.  Many years ago, while I was working at a Christian camp, I experienced what this story could do.  I remember sitting in our clinic, cooling my heels while one of my campers sat with the camp nurse, when one of my fellow counselors rushed in, and excitedly explained that she had just been leading a devotional with a group of young kids, and had launched into a harangue about how disgusting God found humanity.  She was especially excited because one of the kids had covered their ears and closed their eyes in a desperate attempt to block out her verbal onslaught.  God was convicting that child, she said.  And eventually, that child would repent, experience God’s mercy, and embrace the “Good News” of Jesus Christ.  That, to her, was how things should be, because to her, the Gospel story is the story of how disgusting we are to God, and how lucky we are that, in God’s disgust, God is also merciful.  

This version of the Christian grand narrative should bother us.  It presents God as little more than a manipulative parent who continually asks us “Do you know how lucky you are that I love you?”  Accountability is healthy.  Exploring our limitations is healthy.  And we owe it to God and each other to acknowledge the harm we cause.  But fixating on these things is neither healthy nor faithful.  We all fall short.  We all make messes.  But those messes will never be our whole story.  

Here, then, is a more faithful story.  After proclaiming his message of repentance, Jesus walks along the edge of the Sea of Galilee, where he runs into some fishermen.  In Mark, this is where Jesus first becomes the leader of a movement, the moment in which he picks up his first followers.  This is a strange way for Christianity to start.  The fishermen Jesus meets, named Simon, Andrew, James, and John, are not cultured, not educated, not particularly wise.  It would seem that, if Jesus wants to change the world, being a fisherman should exclude these men from Jesus’ inner circle.  But what we see as limitations, Jesus sees as strengths.  After all, fishermen know how to be patient, how to work as a team, and how to show courage, and stand tall in the face of a storm.  “Come with me,” Jesus tells them, “and I’ll show you how to fish for people.”  “Come with me, you fishermen, and I will make you into fishers of men, and women, and children.  Among your number is the rock upon whom I will build my church, and together, we will bring hope to those trapped in despair.”

There is a form of repentance in this story.  The disciples change every aspect about their lives in an instant, and go to follow Jesus.  But there is no disgust in this story.  There is no shame.  No humiliation and disdain.  There is only Jesus’ awareness that, in God’s hands, limitations become strengths.  Yes, the grand narrative of Christianity is a story replete with limited people.  People who fall short, and often seem inadequate to the tasks of a faithful life.  But from end to end, the grand narrative of Christianity is also a story of God continually chasing after inadequate people, and using the very things that make them inadequate to serve, and love, and save the world.  Moses and David, Mary and Paul, Martin Luther and John Wesley.  The list goes on and on.    

And now, the list also includes you and me.  Today, may we give thanks for the grace that transforms our struggles into strengths.  And may we, this ragtag band of fishermen, follow Jesus, and fish for people together.  Amen.