First Responders
Matthew 4:12-23
Not until I became a pastor, and therefore responsible for planning worship, did I fully appreciate just how quickly the liturgical calendar transitions from the seasons of Advent and Christmas into the seasons of Lent and Easter. Not long after the wise men arrive in Bethlehem and we put away the Christmas decorations than it seems it’s time to begin preparing for Ash Wednesday and the journey to the cross. The echoes of the Epiphany hymn “We Three Kings” are still reverberating when the strains of “O Sacred Head Now Wounded” are sung during Holy Week.
Yet between Christmas and Easter, and their precursors, Advent and Lent, there is a brief window in which we return to so-called Ordinary Time. Here in the church we are in the midst of that Ordinary Time right now. But outside the church the last two weeks have been anything but ordinary, and not in a good way. After nearly three years of hearing me preach you know me well enough to know that I don’t respond to every outrage in the news as though it’s the moral crisis of the century. I try to take a long view and remain focused on the gospel of God’s grace for sinners and good news for the poor.
But what’s been happening on the streets of Minneapolis—a masked paramilitary force dressed like an invading army—kidnapping citizens, using children as bait, shooting first and asking no questions later, reflexively telling outrageous lies about the victims of state violence—is simply…I’m going to go Old Testament here…an abomination. It is something abhorrent to the God who says, “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deut. 10:19).
This is not a matter of politics, it’s a matter of morality. While I believe that the Church ought to remain politically neutral, the Church cannot remain morally neutral. Not if we’re the church of Jesus Christ. And what’s happening in Minnesota right now could just as easily happen here. In fact, local civic leaders are already preparing for the possibility. The Village, after all, is seventy percent Hispanic, and I’m sure many of our neighbors are undocumented, including those who come to the monthly giveaway, who shop for bargains at the thrift store, and who learn English at our ESL class.
The daily outrages that we’ve witnessed of late—not only the shootings in Minneapolis and the confrontational tactics of the federal authorities—but the arrest of journalists, the weaponization of the law, the attempt to criminalize dissent—it’s all real. It’s happening. And the constant barrage of it all, well, it’s like we’re living in dog years. Each day brings a week’s worth of news stories, any one of which, in ordinary times, would have been front-page news for weeks on end. Now, it’s simply Tuesday.
All of this is depressing. It’s infuriating. It’s exhausting. If you feel overwhelmed, that’s by design. A kind of spiritual and moral darkness has descended upon us, spreading chaos, cruelty, and constant, constant lies.
Considering all that, it’s tempting to think that we are living in unprecedented times, and as a nation perhaps we are. But as Christians our historical memory goes well beyond the past 250 years. If we look at the context in which Jesus began his ministry, we see some things quite similar to our own day. We see a darkness in which cruelty and injustice appear to have the upper hand. John the Baptist, a prophet of the Lord, has been imprisoned for speaking the truth. For likeminded prophets, for someone like Jesus, for instance, who proclaims the coming of God’s kingdom, the message would be clear: tread lightly or what happened to John may happen to you.
That’s not all. Our reading today begins with verse 12 of chapter 4 of Matthew’s Gospel. However, in verses 1 through 11, which we’ll read on the first Sunday of Lent, Jesus is confronted with one temptation after another. I’m referring to the temptations that he faces while in the wilderness. He is already in a weakened state, having fasted for 40 days, when the devil rides out to tempt him. First, with bread, then with spectacle, and lastly with power.
Jesus, if you’re hungry, command this stone to become bread. You are the Son of God. You have the power.
Jesus, if you want people to follow you, you need to do something spectacular. Throw yourself from the top of the temple so that God’s angels will catch you. Such a miraculous display will win you lots of followers!
Jesus, if you want to establish your kingdom, I will give you all the kingdoms of the world. Imagine all the good you could do—all the mouths you could feed, all the healings you could perform—with that kind of power. All you have to do is acknowledge my rule. It’s a small price to pay.
No sooner does Jesus emerge from the wilderness and this onslaught of temptations than he is greeted with the news that John, the man who had baptized him and identified him as the chosen one who would redeem Israel, has been arrested. It’s not mentioned here in chapter 4, but later in the Gospel Matthew will explain the reason for John’s arrest. John had the temerity to call out Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great, for his sin. And for speaking truth to power, John, the servant of God, was thrown in prison.
This is the context in which Jesus, the Son of God, begins his ministry. He has returned from the wilderness of Judea to his home region of Galilee, a land ruled by a cruel and corrupt man. Matthew writes that “when Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee.” That word “withdrew” suggests some trepidation on Jesus’ part. Nevertheless, even amid spiritual and moral darkness, the Light of the World shines. Referencing the prophet Isaiah, Matthew writes, “the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned.”
Light has dawned in the message that Jesus proclaims: “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Please note that Jesus does not say, “Repent so that the kingdom of heaven can come near.” Even though that’s not what Jesus says, that’s often how we hear it. We think that God is standing by waiting for us to make the first move. It’s as if God is watching from afar and saying, “Gee, you know I’d love to come down there and reveal the signs of my heavenly kingdom, but first they need to show me that they’re serious. I need to see some signs of repentance before I get up from this sofa.”
Just as we can do nothing to hasten nor delay the light of dawn breaking across the morning sky, so the kingdom of heaven draws near to us not because of anything we’ve done but solely because God, in God’s wisdom and mercy, has decided to draw near to us, to be with us, and to call us into and form us for life in the kingdom of heaven.
The first recruits that Jesus calls are Peter and his brother Andrew. They are fishermen, as are the other set of brothers that Jesus calls soon after, James and John. Matthew makes a point of saying that each pair of brothers immediately respond to Jesus’ invitation without any hesitation. They don’t look at their calendar or consult their financial advisor. Peter, who is married, presumably tells his wife. James and John straight up and leave their father behind. I wonder what he must have thought, watching both of his sons leave with this charismatic stranger.
I wonder as well what these first disciples thought they were signing up for. “Follow me and I will make you fishers of people” is not exactly a clear job description. Fishers of people? What does that even mean? But if this question ever crossed their minds, Matthew doesn’t say. He seems more concerned with telling us how quickly these four men, Peter and Andrew, James and John, respond to Jesus’ call to become his disciples. Not only are they chronologically the first of the disciples to respond, they are in a sense first responders of another kind.
When we hear the term first responders we of course think of police officers, firefighters, EMTs, and paramedics—the people who respond to the call for help, who jump into action when the alarm sounds, who race to the scene in the face of danger to serve in the manner in which they’ve been trained. God bless them!
To be a disciple of Jesus Christ is also to be a first responder… IT is to be called to the places where grace, mercy, and compassion are needed most urgently.
But let me suggest to you that to be a disciple of Jesus Christ is also to be a first responder. To be a disciple of Jesus is to be called to the places where grace, mercy, and compassion are needed most urgently. In our homes. In our schools. In our workplaces. On our streets. That that is what Jesus calls us to do. That is what we have been trained to do.
What? Did you not receive your certification in grace, mercy, and compassion? I’m only partially joking. The passage from Matthew 4 that we read today, the calling of the disciples, was the Gospel lectionary reading for last week. This week’s reading, which I chose to forego, is Matthew 5:1-12, the Beatitudes. The Beatitudes are the foundation of Christian discipleship. They are a series of blessings that Jesus pronounces upon those who have answered God’s call. Blessed are the meek and the merciful, Jesus says, blessed are the pure in heart and the peacemakers, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
As disciples of Jesus we are first responders, administering God’s grace, mercy, and compassion to a wounded world. We’ve seen as much in Minneapolis, where clergy have been a visible presence, advocating for mercy, attempting to be peacemakers, and seeking God’s righteousness. But God’s grace, mercy, and compassion are needed just as much here in Haverstraw as in Minneapolis, and who better to answer that call than you?