Observation: A crowd of people have begun following Jesus, learning from him, witnessing al that he does. And by some inner prompting, Jesus realizes that now it's time to decide: in whom will he be investing most of his time and effort? Who will he draw in close, with the hope that their way of life will begin to reflect his, so that they can be the building blocks for a beloved community? Clearly he doesn't take this decision lightly. In fact, he spends the entire night talking with his Father before emerging and calling twelve disciples (also called "apostles," which is Greek for "the ones sent.") And after all that, he includes Judas Iscariot, whom the Gospel narrator reminds us will end up betraying him.
An interesting question, which I don't believe any of the four Gospels really answers, is, "How much did Jesus know?" It's certainly true that Jesus is perceived as knowing more than an ordinary person would know. But do we approach these stories assuming Jesus is "omniscient," knowing everything there is to know? What makes this an interesting question as he calls the disciples, of course, is it raises the question: Did Jesus call these twelve men based on the best discernment and prayer available to him at the time as a finite human being, simply listening for his Father's voice and hoping for the best? Or...did he call Judas knowing full well how this would turn out?
Application: However we choose to speculate about the state of mind of Jesus in the first century, we know that God has called us as disciples knowing us inside and out. God knows our potential for good, should we allow the Holy Spirit to take the helm in our hearts. But God also knows our potential for catastrophic harm to our neighbors and to God's creation, should we try to take control of our own lives and respond to our world in fear and hatred. God knows. And in our baptism, God called us as disciples anyway. God called us as ambassadors for Christ, knowing full well the many ways we could mess it up, and probably would, given half a chance. And yet, God still chose to make us a part of this beloved community, trying in its very imperfect way to reflect Jesus' life for sake of the world.
In about a month, I will celebrate my 10th anniversary of ordination. I can't say I recall having many thoughts about what type of pastor and what type of person I'd be ten years in. If I did, surely I'd have thought I'd have more figured out about how to do ministry in this ever-changing world. Instead, I'm finding myself feeling more clueless by the day about where the Holy Spirit is leading the Church. Surely I'd have pictured myself as growing in discipleship, a lot more able to forgive, more able to seek justice, more able to give sacrificially. In fact, I still struggle with all those things. I sometimes wonder if God chose wisely when God chose me to do this work.
That's what draws me back to this song by Ani DiFranco that was kind of a de facto anthem for me when I was seeking ordination. Although on the face of it this song is about a human relationship, I still hear her voice as God's voice, saying to me exactly what she said ten years ago:
"And I've got
no illusions about you
and guess what?
I never did.
When I say
When I say I'll take you
I mean
I mean As Is."
(Note: one naughty word. You can probably handle it.)
Prayer: God, thanks for calling me as is.
No comments:
Post a Comment