A Terrifyingly Beautiful Call

(Sermon at Luther House Chapel on April 10, 2016 - John 21:1-19)

Last year when I was working in a church, I was approached by a parishioner after preaching. He said, "Sarah, you should really stop starting your sermons with 'I love this story of Jesus.' Surely you don't love every story of Jesus. And anyway, you use the same beginning for every sermon."

At the time, I smiled sweetly and said, "Oh but I do love every story of Jesus. There is not a single story of Jesus and his disciples that does not bring me great joy. I love them. And I love telling them! But you're right - I should probably stop repeating myself."

And I do. I love every story of Jesus - but I understand his point. Sometimes saying I love every story of Jesus doesn't quite do every story justice. Take this story, for instance - I do love this story of Jesus and his disciples. The imagery is rich, Jesus nourished his friends - it is a beautiful scene. But I don't just love this story - this passage actually terrifies me.

Like the disciples, we really have no idea what we are getting ourselves into when we encounter God incarnate in Christ Jesus. We encounter God - or rather God comes crashing into our life - and suddenly things are turned upside down and inside out. It's terrifying.

My husband calls these "mountain-top experiences." And I would guess that many of you have had these experiences throughout your life. It could be while you are on a mission trip, it could be the moment you hold your newborn baby in your arms for the first time, it might be in the midst of great pain and sorrow... You can have these experiences throughout your entire life - in fact, for some of us, it is what brought us to church in the first place.

One of my mountain-top experiences happened in the Central American country of Honduras, literally on the side of a mountain in a small village.

It is the kind of experience that makes God feel so close. Suddenly and beautifully you know that you're walking on holy ground and the existence of God and the love of Christ are undeniable. And somehow, in some way, you know your whole life has changed. You know your identity has shifted and your goals and your mission in life are new and more important.

All of that happened to me on that side of the mountain in Honduras - everything change and all of a sudden I knew I wanted to do international mission work. I knew I wanted to travel the world and meet new people and fall in love with all of God's creation. I was so ready for the next adventure, I wanted to change my plans and change my life to go where God was leading me.

But ten days later, I was back in the United States and I decided not to quit seminary, I decided not to immediately become a missionary. I began classes again and I started work once more. And as I entered the usual drudgery of providing for myself and thinking of my own needs, I slowly forgot about all those powerful moments on the side of that mountain. The fire that had been blazing in Honduras started to diminish until it was just embers.

That's exactly where we meet the disciples in the passage this morning. They had been following Jesus for nearly three years - surely having mountain-top moments on a daily basis as Jesus healed people around him and taught them about scripture. Their lives had been changed, their hearts had been renewed and shifted in these moments. There was a fire lit in their hearts that was roaring for the mission that Christ had given them.

But then Jesus died, and the fire faded - they became scared and worried that maybe they couldn't live out this mission for Jesus. And then they witnessed him resurrected - another beautifully terrifying mountain-top experience.  But then he was gone again, and they were left with this mission that seemed too hard and too crazy.

And isn't that exactly where we are today? Two weeks ago, we came to church early (early early) and greeted one another with joy and thanksgiving that our redeemer lives! And we shouted "hallelujah!" And we sang songs and hymns with more energy than we should be able to muster at 6:30am.

And now, only a few weeks later we can barely drag ourselves out of bed to make it to church. We have forgotten that it is still Easter and we should still be shouting "hallelujah!" We have forgotten that Christ lives.

So the disciples are coming down off of all these mountain-top experiences and they know deep within their bones that everything has changed. They themselves have been changed but they are lost and they don't know where to go from here.

So they decided to go back to what they knew before Jesus had entered their lives and completely changed them. But if I know anything, it is that once Jesus enters your life, there is no going back to the way things used to be. You can try, but it will not be the same. So they went fishing. The disciples went back to the everyday drudgery of life. They did what they needed to do to provide for themselves and their families.

But I imagine that the reason they didn't catch any fish might be because they could feel that uneasiness, the restlessness, knowing everything had changed and that fishing was not what they were supposed to be doing. I imagine they felt something similar to what I felt when I came back from Honduras - I was restless and unsatisfied with life. Nothing seemed to be quite right because I tried so hard to go back to my old ways of living - before Jesus had come so close to me on that mountain.

And Jesus, as loving and persistent as he is, and wanting to make sure his disciples completely "get it" before he leaves them, he comes back and reminds them again. He reminds them who he is and what his mission is. He reminds them of whose they are and what their mission is.

And this is the terrifyingly beautiful part - Jesus doesn't just leave the disciples with a new job or a check list of things they need to get done as his disciples. He says, "feed my lambs, provide for my lambs, feed my sheep." He commands them to become shepherds. And if you know anything about being a shepherd, you know that "shepherd" is not a job title, it is an identity.

You can't take your "shepherd hat" on and off as you please. You cannot go out to the fields and throw food out to the sheep and lambs twice a day and call yourself a shepherd. Being a shepherd is 100% effort, 100% of the time. It is our new identity, it is our new mission and our new life. That is what it means to be a disciples of Christ.

Following Jesus is not easy and it is certainly not a list of things that we can check off our to do list every day. And that's why this passage is so terrifying to me. That is why mountain-top experiences are so terrifying and beautiful - because when God comes so close that we can no longer deny God,  we are in for real change. Our lives are no longer about taking care of ourselves. All of a sudden we are given all of these sheep in the form of our brothers and sisters in this world - our loved ones, our friends, our enemies, people in foreign lands we have never met - for whom we are called to lay down our lives. Just as Jesus laid down his life for all.

So this morning and throughout this season I pray that we take these mountain-top experiences, these moments when God comes so close that we suddenly feel changed and re-created, and we do not back away. When Jesus call us to feed his sheep and follow him, I pray that we understand the terrifyingly beautiful call to be his disciples and accept it - empowered by the Holy Spirit and renewed by the promise of our risen Christ and of the coming Kingdom. Amen.