“Discipleship: A Call to Fullness”
Matthew 4:12-22
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
1/22/17
“Nature abhors
a vacuum.” This famous axiom is attributed to the Greek philosopher Aristotle. Aristotle
could not imagine a naturally-occurring situation in which a space might open
up and remain empty. At the very least, it would fill with air. I hear
Aristotle saying that it’s impossible for nothingness to constitute the heart
of anything.
Contemporary theologians who are
being influenced by the deep insights and truths of Celtic spirituality are saying
that the theological doctrine of creation
ex nihilo, creation out of nothing, has all but destroyed Christianity’s,
and especially western Christianity’s respect for the Creation.1 And
by Creation, I mean the entire natural world, humankind included. If nothingness
lies at the core of Creation, then we can treat it as a mere resource to be
owned and exploited. If, however, we recognize the Creation as something not
only made by God, but something saturated with the presence of God, revealing the
very heart and mind of God, then we will value it, love it, steward it as a
precious gift, a gift bearing God’s own fullness and holiness.
In the Creation, Presence is an eternal given. So, with God, it is impossible for emptiness
to exist in any absolute sense.
Similar principles
apply in communities. When one person or group vacates a particular role or
responsibility, another person or group almost always fills that void.
Sometimes these successions are planned, or at least expected, as with the
comings and goings of elders and pastors, mayors and presidents. Other times, a
crisis generates an absence. And that absence may get filled by a new presence
rising positively to meet a need, or negatively to exploit an opportunity. If
that doesn’t happen quickly, a veritable stew of influences may settle in that
spot, splintering the community. Think of federal troops, carpetbaggers, scalawags,
and the Ku Klux Klan all trying to fill the void in the south after the Civil
War.
My dad is a
student of Aristotle, and he has often said that he thinks Jesus studied
Aristotle, as well. Dad bases his theory on the teachings of Jesus, but Jesus’
teachings begin when John the Baptist speaks truth to power, and the
self-serving, fear-mongering Herod arrests the prophet and throws him into
prison. Herod’s effort to silence criticism creates a void in the spiritual
life of the community, and Jesus steps in. Stepping
in becomes signature for Jesus.
In John’s
gospel, a crisis occurs when the wine empties out at a wedding. And, at Mary’s
endearingly manipulative urging, Jesus steps in.
Bartimaeus’
life is defined by the void of darkness, helpless dependence, and grief. Then
Jesus steps in.
Ten lepers are
shunned into the abyss of exile where there is scarcely air to breathe, because
they use it all crying, “Unclean! Unclean!” Then Jesus steps in.
For Martha and
Mary, life empties out when the death of their brother leaves a devastating
void. Then Jesus steps in.
Jesus himself steps
into the terrifying void of death. And he transforms it. He fills it with new life.
Wherever emptiness opens up, Jesus
pours in.
At first, he simply fills John’s
space by regurgitating the Baptist’s own words: “Repent, for the kingdom of
heaven has come near.” Soon enough, however, Jesus finds his own voice. He lays
out the Beatitudes. He rewrites much of the Old Testament by saying repeatedly,
“You have heard it said…but I say to you…” When Jesus comes into his own, he
does more than occupy the space left by John the Baptist. He fills it with his
own, unique fullness.
There’s an
ever-expanding reach to Jesus’ presence. There’s a gravity to his fullness.
Wherever he goes, he creates new openness, new space, and he pulls others into
it. He becomes a magnificent paradox As more people enter his fullness, more room
is created. Jesus is a fullness that cannot be filled.
Peter and
Andrew are fishermen. Every day, they look out across the shimmering blue of the
Sea of Galilee. Sometimes the surface is placid and calming. Sometimes, it
sparkles with sunlight or moonlight, and it’s like watching laughter.
Sometimes, it darkens and heaves. Whitecaps flash like the teeth of a hungry
lion on the attack. At all times, however, the lake represents a fullness that
for countless generations has regenerated itself and provided for the people
who live around it. As fishermen, Peter and Andrew trust the lake. Surely, they
trust the lake far more than they trust the fish for which they cast their nets.
They live in grateful relationship with the lake, loving its fullness, its
generosity, respecting its wildness and mystery.
The same holds
true for James and John, who, along with their father, Zebedee, are mending
nets. Apparently, they’re successful fishermen. Nets break when the catch is
good. And dry-rotted nets aren’t likely to get attention.
Walking by the lake, watching
fishermen at work, Jesus seems to realize his desire and need for companions. Fishermen! Fishermen know how to respond
to a fullness that is, at first glance, anyway, only suggested by the presence
of water. Fishermen can look across the surface of something as beautiful, as overwhelming,
and life-giving as the sea and accept its invitation to crawl into a small boat
and to do the occasionally dangerous, the often-fruitless, and the always exhausting
labor of dropping fragile nets into the deep and gathering in whatever the water
might yield.
When calling disciples, Jesus fills
us with the vision, perseverance, and faith of fishermen. He strengthens for
the risk of leaving emptiness in our own wakes, trusting that what we leave
behind, God will fill with others who want and need opportunities of their own.
James and John demonstrate this when they walk away from the father who has
raised them and who depends on them. I can’t get into Zebedee’s mind, of
course, but if I were that father, I would feel utterly forsaken. What will
fill the void his sons leave behind?
Matthew leaves Zebedee’s story
unfinished. But if the old fisherman blames Jesus for his family’s demise, who
can blame him?
We have a choice to make every
morning. We can resolve to live in disintegrating fear and vengeance, or to
live in transforming gratitude and generosity. Every single day will present us
with something that has the potential to destroy faith, to leave us feeling
empty and hopeless. And honestly, sometimes emptiness gets the best of us,
doesn’t it? Sometimes nothingness seems like ultimate reality.
Discipleship becomes, I think, our
response of transforming gratitude and generosity in the face of each new emptiness.
Most often, you see, Jesus appears to us not as the answer to every question,
but as the most pressing need before us at the moment.
The greatest emptiness, the most
lifeless void that faces you today, that
is your fishery. It may cost you to respond. Like Peter, Andrew, James, and
John, you may have to leave unfinished business behind.
Now, I am not encouraging anyone to
wash your hands of commitments. I’m simply saying that wherever your heart is breaking
in the face of what appears to be some nihilistic vacuum in this world, look
and listen precisely there for Jesus calling you to some bold, radical act of
faith. Pour yourself into it, trusting that the fullness of Christ, a fullness
that can never be filled, will step into that place through you.
And remember, at the heart of that
place, as at the heart of all Creation, lies the ever-beating heart of God.
Charge:
Years ago, Frederick Buechner aptly
defined the call to discipleship as that “place where your deep gladness and
the world’s deep hunger meet.”1
Jesus sends
you into the world’s deep need and brokenness, but he sends you out as bearers
of his compassion, Love, and joy.
Go in peace,
and trust his fullness.
1I am grateful to J. Philip Newell for this insight
which he addresses in several of his books.
2http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/19982.Frederick_Buechner (This quotation comes from Buechner’s book, Wishful
Thinking: A Theological ABC
No comments:
Post a Comment