They saw him. As they threw their nets into the sea, they saw this man. I’m not convinced there was anything remarkable about him. I’m not convinced that he had some shiny glow. Or that it was obviously apparent that this was the kind of guy that could walk on water. I think, more than likely, he was a man like any other man that passed alongside the sea of Galilee while these two brothers were fishing.
But, of course, this man doesn’t just pass by. He says something to these two fishermen. In this particular gospel, the author is quick to point out that this message is the good news. These words that this man speaks while passing alongside of the Sea of Galilee encompass all that God wants. This is the good news that God desires.
The trouble is that these words don’t make any sense. It requires a Biblical scholar to understand what this time is. We have no idea. But we’re not alone. These two fishermen surely didn’t have a clue either. After all, this is the first time anyone has ever heard about the Kingdom of God. It’ll be repeated 66 times so that this phrase will become very familiar, but it’s not a phrase these two fishermen would know. Not yet.
Sure. They know that things aren’t so good. They don’t have to pick up the New York Times to realize how corrupt their government is. They don’t have to read the obituaries in the Portland Press Herald to know that this was a terrifying time to be alive. It’s what they heard along the shoreline. They heard it from their father. They heard it from the other fishermen. They heard it from the merchants passing by. They may even have heard it from the women doing their laundry. They knew very well that things were bad.
Things were really bad but that doesn’t mean that they knew what the Kingdom of God was. That doesn’t mean that they understood what it meant to change their hearts. That doesn’t mean that they knew what it meant to trust the good news. And it certainly doesn’t mean that they knew that this was the time.
No. No. I doubt that they heard this man at all. I don’t think that they really understood the intensity of the theological claims that Jesus was making that day by the Sea of Galilee. Don’t get me wrong. These words are important but I don’t think that these two brothers were paying any attention to the words Jesus spoke. I think something else happened that day while these two brothers were fishing.
In Leisurely Lectionary this week, we spent a lot of time discussing how old these two brothers were. One of the women in our group was insistent that it’s just like a man to leave his family behind and follow his dreams. A gentleman to her right wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sold on the idea that these two brothers were married and had children. In his imagination, they are young. They’re two boys following that sheer desire to be part of something bigger. Of course, we don’t know and it probably doesn’t really matter how old these two brothers were — except for the fact that it changes how we look at them. It changes how we think about them.
If they are just boys, then they don’t have the wisdom of older men. If they are just boys, then they can’t possibly understand the economic turmoil and oppression their father wrestles with daily. If they are just boys, then we don’t really give them a chance.
But, if they are men, then they must know what’s going on. If they are men, they understand the gravity of this time. If they are men, they have enough experience to know what life can throw at you.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I know plenty of adults that don’t have any wisdom. So I confess I’m not sold on this vantage point. Like the gentleman in Leisurely Lectionary, I’m not so sure they were old but my reasons are slightly different.
I have yet to meet a child that doesn’t surprise me with something she says. I have been stumped by more questions that children ask than the ones that their parents ponder. It probably has something to do with the fact that children have no filters. They haven’t been told as often and as frequently that you can’t ask that or you can’t think that. They haven’t been told over and over again to sit down and shut up. In our time, it’s rare to hear a parent speak these words. So children haven’t been lectured that they should be seen and not heard.
Bestamor, my mother’s mother, was a firm believer in this logic. (My mom’s family is Norwegian. Bestamor is Norwegian for grandmother.) May she rest in peace and may she not strike me down as I say this, but she didn’t value children. Bestamor fully bought into the idea that children were to be seen and not heard. She was so keen on this idea that it’s hard for me to believe that she didn’t author the phrase herself. As a little girl, I only remember the injustice of this rationale. I don’t remember particular moments that she told me to sit down and shut up but I do remember when Bestamor spoke these words to my brother. I don’t remember the words she spoke. But I most definitely remember the outrage I felt. I remember how stubbornly I asserted that this was not right.
I refused to believe this wisdom that children were to be seen and not heard — especially because I had a lot of questions. As you know, my mother died when I was a little girl. While other children wanted to understand the way things work, I had some very particular questions that adults don’t like to answer. If he had the answer, I never knew because my father didn’t entertain my questions. He had other worries as did my other relatives. I tried talking to my teachers and my guidance counselors — but the only place where I was really allowed to talk was in church.
I was 10 years old when I wandered into church. Like some of the children in our Sunday School program, I went with friends. My father never went. I went because it was the place I felt most safe. In the sanctuary, in the Sunday School classroom, in coffee hour and later in youth group, I was encouraged to talk. I was given the freedom to ask questions. It was the place that I was seen.
And so, it’s hard for me to imagine these two brothers getting excited about Jesus’ words because, quite frankly, that’s not how it happened for me. It wasn’t what anyone said to me. On the contrary, it was the fact that the members of that church in Chappaqua, New York allowed me to be seen. They could have dismissed this 10 year old child. They could have told her to keep quiet when she interrupted the pastor’s sermon (which I did) but they didn’t. They allowed me the space to be heard.
They didn’t pass me by. They saw me. When Jesus passed alongside the sea of Galilee, this gospel account tells us that Jesus saw the brothers. Maybe the brothers said something first. Maybe these two fishermen didn’t talk to him. Maybe they only lamented to each other. Maybe Jesus overheard. Maybe he was the only one that listened. I don’t know — but the gospel tells us, Jesus saw these two brothers. The story continues to talk about what these two brothers were doing. It emphasizes their actions which is just what we do here. When we gather to be the church, we talk about what we want to do. We set out together to accomplish those things that we believe will change our hearts and our lives, but something else happens here. Something else happens here that doesn’t happen anywhere else.
We touch each other. For some of us, those of us that live alone, it’s the only place that we’re touched all week. For a 10 year old girl, daring to speak up in the middle of the sermon, it’s the only place where she is seen. For you, this may be only place where you are heard. This may be the only place where you’re not told to sit down and shut up. This may be the only place where someone tenderly touches your arm and whispers, “I know. I know.” And with that tender touch, something else happens, something that doesn’t happen anywhere else, we encourage each other to keep talking. We listen. It can be upsetting to look into another’s eyes and see their hurt. It can be overwhelming to realize that your kindness brought another to tears, but this is what I think happened on that day when Jesus met these two brothers. Jesus saw them. He welcomed their tears. He felt how tightly these two fishermen clenched his hand. He didn’t look away. He didn’t tell them to stop. He didn’t insist they behave. He saw them.
He heard them. This is how they changed their hearts. This is how these two brothers came to trust in the good news. This is what we do for 10 year old girls, for fishermen, for you. We make space for each other. We don’t tell anyone — young or old — to sit down and shut up. In the United Church of Christ, where we believe that God is still speaking and God is most certainly still speaking in you, we want to make a space for you to be seen and heard.