Sunday, February 9, 2025

Epiphany 5 (Year C) – 8:30 am only

Isaiah 6:1-8, [9-13]; Psalm 138; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

The Rev. Clint Brown

We can all name events in our lives that, when we look back at them, had a significance far beyond what we could have imagined at the time. Perhaps it was meeting your spouse at the party you had only planned to pop into for a few minutes; or you were standing around and a friend of a friend off-handedly mentioned an opening at their company to which you applied; or you were unexpectedly tapped to take the lead on something that was way outside your comfort zone; or perhaps the most important event in your life was a non-event, the opportunity that didn’t materialize for one reason or another and that, looking back, you realize would have been all wrong for you. What all these brushings up with destiny share is that they were not the product of any well-thought-out plan on your part; instead, they just kind of happened to you. And yet, despite that, they had the effect of changing the whole course of your life. For me it was the second day of 6th grade. On that day I was sitting in orchestra class, feeling very awkward and shy (as one does on the second day of sixth grade), and that was the day we were to pick what instrument we wanted to play. I had signed up for orchestra not because I had any special connection or affinity for classical music – certainly, no one was listening to classical music in my house – but because I had this vague notion of wanting to be cultivated and refined and because Sherlock Holmes played the violin and he was the smartest guy I knew. So when it came time to say what I wanted to play, I said I wanted to play violin. The problem was that, physically, I wasn’t all that suited to play the violin. My arms were a little too long and my hands were a little too big, and so the teacher asked if I wouldn’t consider playing the viola instead. Of course, I said okay, despite the fact that I had only just heard of the instrument for the first time that day. But that one decision has made all the difference. That is how I came to play viola and get a full scholarship and enjoy a career as a freelance musician and school teacher and eventually become music director at an Episcopal church, which all led to me becoming a priest – all because I said yes to playing viola. That decision turned out to be one of those moments I was speaking of, a turning point in my life, a crossroads moment that changed everything that came after it.

Which is precisely the same situation that Simon Peter, James, and John find themselves in today. They are old acquaintances, probably buddies since childhood, who have turned their friendship into a commercial partnership. On this particular day they are minding their own business, doing their best to make ends meet, when they have a fateful encounter with Jesus. Jesus has come to town as something of a local celebrity and has drawn a huge crowd of curiosity seekers and admirers. Jesus is pressed for space so he opts to stand in a boat where all can see and hear him, and of all the boats that Jesus could have gotten into that day to address the crowds, it so happened that the nearest one belonged to Simon. Jesus asks Simon if he wouldn’t mind letting him use his boat for a while and the rest is history. A chance encounter has turned into a life transforming event. Nothing will ever be the same. We can call this “life interrupted.”

Actually, life interrupted is a common theme in the Bible. The great figures of the Bible are all called while in the middle of the ordinary business of life: Moses and David while tending sheep (Exodus 3; 1 Samuel 16), Gideon while beating wheat (Judges 6), Elisha while plowing a field (1 Kings 19). Isaiah has his spectacular vision of God while taking his regular turn of service in the temple (Isaiah 6) and the Apostle Paul literally has the sense knocked into him when he is thrown from his horse while on the road to Damascus (Acts 9). God showed up while each of them were doing their own thing, not expecting anything unusual to happen.

It turns out that life interrupted is the essence of the Gospel. After all, the very life of this world has been interrupted by the incarnation of Jesus Christ. The implications of this event are so profound and its demand to be recognized by us so great that we have a special word for it – we call it an “epiphany.” And we even name a whole season for it. What makes it all so incredible is the fact that the birth of Jesus was actually a minor event in the broad scheme of things, hardly attracting any attention at all when it happened, and yet this life and death played out in a remote corner of the Roman Empire far from the corridors of power, relative to all the others that have ever happened, is the crossroads event of history. After this, nothing would ever be the same. And now, God wants to break in and interrupt your life, to claim his rightful place as your Lord. Here you are minding your own business – mending your nets, stowing your tackle, looking forward to getting out of your boots and getting a hot meal in you – and Jesus comes along and asks to use your boat. That’s how it’s always been. Jesus comes along interrupting and disrupting your whole life, and now nothing will ever be the same.