John the Baptist has died.
He has been killed by Herod Antipas, the hand of Rome.
It is time.
Time for Jesus.
Jesus moves to Capernaum.
To a house by the sea.
He makes a home there.
Sets up a new routine.
He sips espresso on his deck in the evening.
Spends lazy afternoons lounging in a fair trade hammock.
Takes early morning walks by the sea.
Watches the boats coming in from their daily fishing expeditions.
Smiles, waves, and sometimes nods to anyone he sees.
And home again to rest his weary legs in that beautiful hammock.
Waiting for dusk and that perfectly pulled espresso.

All the while, over in the palace,
the Roman authorities are feeling pretty good about themselves.
John the Baptizer is gone.
Another minor rebellion is under control.
The few rabble rousers that remain…
surely they will lose interest
now that they see what happens to those
who preach a defiant message
of hope, of life, of power beyond
the grip of Rome.

I don’t often think about Jesus having a home.  I can picture him at home with Mary and Joseph as a child. As an adult though, I think of him as a wanderer. A traveler, moving from town to town, sleeping under the stars without a place he calls home. And yet, here the scripture tells us that Jesus settles in Capernaum, some translations say he makes a home there. By the sea…beachfront property. And while I admit his daily routine probably looked nothing like what I just imagined, it sheds an interesting light on the context from which he calls his first disciples.

Jesus lives in this community. He has chosen to move to a place under the ruling arm of the same man who killed his cousin, John. He may not lounge in a hammock in the afternoon, but he probably did walk along the Sea of Galilee. He would be familiar with the local fishing industry. He might even hear his friends and neighbors, many of them fishers, grumbling about how many taxes and fees they were expected to pay on their daily haul. Hear their worries about how to provide for their families when so much of what is earned goes to the empire. And yet there is no consideration giving to leaving the trade – it is the family business, it has been the life of the family from generation to generation. Fishing is how parents provided for their children and how children grew up to care for their parents. In this community, it is the way of life.

Being a member of this community,
Jesus is not unaware of the layered complexities he presents
when, one morning:
Jesus goes out walking at the edge of the sea,
like he does.
Only this morning he stops and lingers,
Watches the fishers, his neighbors, throwing their nets into the water.
And calls out:
“Come, follow me. I will make you fishers of humankind.”
And Peter and Andrew respond.
Drop their nets.
Follow.
Further down the beach,
now with Peter and Andrew in tow.
Jesus calls again.
And James and John respond.
Leaving their boat and their father.
They follow.

One can’t help but wonder how these fisher folk were so willing and able to drop their nets, leave their boats and family and follow Jesus. Perhaps it was the end of the work shift and they thought he was simply calling them to go for happy hour. Perhaps they were unaware of the depth commitment they were making through this action. Perhaps they knew Jesus, from around town, trusted him, and were the kind of folks who were always ready and willing to lend a helping hand to a neighbor when they asked for it. Perhaps they had already heard the beginnings of Jesus’ message of change and the kindom of heaven being at hand. Perhaps they saw a need in their community for something different, for a change from the taxes and priorities imposed on them by Rome. Perhaps they were ready for a new kind of rule, one that they could help usher in, one that would bring about change and offer life to their friends, family, and community in a new way.

Whatever their reasons,
They stepped up and chose to follow.
And there they stood,
At the edge of the sea
With Jesus.

I think we all know what it is like to stand on the edge of a sea of change. To look out over the expanse of unknowns and possibilities and to be excited and afraid. To mourn what we have, will, or might be losing. And yet to be awake and aware of a call to action, to step into the possibility of living out life in a new way.

One clear memory I have of being at the edge of a sea in the midst of a call to action and change, was in the months right before I came out. I was 21 years old and had known, in a variety of ways, since a very young age that I did not fit into the boxes of gender and sexuality expectations that had been taught to me by culture at large, by the church, and to some extent my family, although I do give my parents credit for knowing early on that I was not a typical little girl and for giving me a fairly broad range of expression opportunities as I grew up.  Yet still, for years of my life, I lived with the constant presence of an internal dueling arena where my understanding of my own identity and the identity I was told I should be growing into just did not mesh.

I struggled and struggled to figure out how I would be able to live in the presence of these different realities without losing one or the other.  I didn’t want to lose my family or my church and the message I had heard growing up was that my church was definitely on the line, and my family would be at the very least injured if I was honest about who I was. Yet, I had also come to know that I could not live life in its fullness, with authenticity, and integrity if I was not honest with others about what I had finally come to terms with for myself. There I stood, at the edge of the sea, knowing that I could either choose to set myself free by coming out, or I could stay in silence and live a half-life under the rules of other people’s expectations. Either choice was full of layered complexities.

I can tell you though, when the opportunity for fullness of life beckons, it is hard to resist. From the moment I started coming out to my family, then friends, then church community, the wave of change that rolled through my life was staggering. Yes, I lost friends, I lost some of my family, and I lost some of my church community. I also experienced love, friendship, care and a sense of wholeness in life that I had never experienced up to that point. In many ways, I thought pain and hardship would prevail in my life after coming out because that is what I was surrounded by in my inner turmoil and that is what I expected folks to respond with. What I found though, was that my expectations were not the correct measure of how folks actually responded. In giving people the choice to respond for themselves, I have been surprised to see again and again, the power of love in action.

When the first disciples left their boats to follow Jesus,
They had no clue what they were getting into.
Yet, Jesus doesn’t carelessly throw them into his mission.
He calls them out from where they are,
in the familiarity of their daily lives,
And he uses language that they understand:
“I will make you fishers of humankind.”
They may not understand what all that entails,
But they know fishing
and if fishing for humans is what Jesus wants to do,
then surely they, of all people, will be equipped to do it.
No, this is not a careless call to action from Jesus.
He knows what he is asking these neighbors to risk
When he disrupts their lives with this call.

Last weekend we held a non-violent intervention skills workshop here at the church with researcher and activist Marty Langelan. We held it in part because of our commitment to be a Safe Congregation, where people of ages can live without fear of bullying, abuse, and harassment, and in part because of the political climate we currently live in which seems to be attempting to normalize dehumanization. Marty offered us a toolkit of actions to take when we experience, or encounter others experiencing harassment. The tools are primarily focused on interrupting the moment. Disrupting the actions of an aggressor can create space for a new path, or a shift in the dynamics of the interaction. Disruption offers the opportunity for change.

Change is scary, it is unpredictable, it hurts.
Change also makes space, it frees, it offers life.

Jesus’ message is one of change. It is a disruptive proclamation of a new kindom, a disruption that creates space for a new way of life that can be lived right where people are, even in the midst of empire. A fullness of life that ripples within, around, and beyond any empire. Jesus’ call is a disruptive invitation to each of us to participate in the creation of that kindom in our own time and place. It is an invitation to live in the fullness of life and to extend that opportunity to others, especially those for whom the fullness of life is denied by systems, structures, and powers of oppression.

Participation starts in our daily lives, right where we are. We need not look for a grand plan to join in the disruptive work of the Spirit. Although, the Women’s Marches yesterday in DC and around the world show us that it is a powerful thing when there is a big plan to speak out for the right to fullness of life for all people and a lot of people show up. The sense of connection and community created by those gatherings offered a kindling [if not a bonfire] of hope in a time that has, for many people, felt full of uncertainty. Yet the work and opportunity for kindom living is also present in our less dramatic days.

In any given moment, while our hands are busy with a daily task, we may be called to awareness and invited to look up, to stand up, to speak up, to stop what we are doing, or to intervene in what another might be doing so that we can disrupt the mundane flow of that moment and create space for the Spirit.

This was the path of Jesus and his disciples. In the midst of the uncertainties that came with life lived under the rule of the Roman Empire, they traveled throughout Galilee, teaching, proclaiming the Good News of the kindom of heaven and healing all kinds of diseases and sicknesses among the people. In the building of the kindom, they offered hope and healing to both body and soul.

As we stand at the edge of a sea of uncertainties in our own time and place, may we have the ears to hear the call to action, may we accept the invitation of participation, and may we have courage, beyond our fears, to follow the disruptive path of healing and hope that Jesus offers so that all might have the opportunity to live in the fullness of life.