“Come, Follow Me!”
Sermon: Year A, Epiphany 3
Texts: Matthew 4:12–23, 1 Corinthians 1:10–18
Preached: January 26, 2020 at Immanuel Lutheran Church, Evanston, IL

Grace to you, and peace, from God, our Light and our salvation, and from Christ Jesus, who calls us to come and follow. AMEN

There exists in me a strange mix of caution and impulsiveness. Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s the way for most of us. Throughout my life, though, I’ve found that there have been moments where I’m traveling along in the path I think is laid out before me, secure in the well-worn, comfortable tracks where my feet have been treading, headed toward what I think is a predictable—and safe—goal. And then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, comes a call, an urging, to take a path that is not at all what I would have planned for myself.

It happened at the end of high school. As the son of a Baptist preacher in Texas, it was simply assumed that I would go to Baylor University, the mother of all Baptist church schools. A few months back, I came across a clipping from my hometown newspaper, The Friendswood News. They had featured me in an article, which shows what passed for news in a small town. In the article I was quoted as saying that my next step was to go to Baylor, major in languages, and become a Wycliffe Bible translator. My grandmother had already crocheted me a Baylor green and gold afghan (or “African,” as she pronounced it) for my dorm room. And then out of nowhere came an invitation to apply to Northwestern University. To be very honest, I had never heard of Northwestern. It was off in the frozen North, as far away from my life as a Texas Baptist boy as I could possibly imagine. It wasn’t even on the radar. And yet, I felt called to apply. In fact, it was the only place I applied, which could be seen as rather foolhardy, given that I needed almost total financial support to attend. Yet I responded, and in that response found a way of blessing I hadn’t imagined. And my grandmother had to get her fingers busy crocheting a purple and white afghan. I still have the two she made.

A few weeks before the end of my studies at NU, on the brink of receiving a Master’s in medieval French literature, came another of those moments. The path I had determined for myself was to apply to law school, and in the interim to become a paralegal to earn some money. I had taken the LSAT, had an offer from Mayer, Brown, and Platte for a paralegal post, and it all seemed set. And then my eye fell on a little want ad in the Chicago Tribune—remember “Help Wanted” ads?—looking for an editorial trainee in the Modern Languages department at Scott, Foresman and Company in Glenview. Textbook publishing was not anything I had ever thought about, but in this tiny advertisement there was a sense of call, and it matched my gifts, so I turned down the law firm, sent my skimpy CV off in the mail—remember mail?—and two weeks later, newly minted Master’s in hand, I started a career that would last for 25 years, a calling where I prospered and where I felt that I was making a difference in young people’s lives.

But all along the way, there had been another calling urging me, insistent. And that was the call to ordained ministry. I didn’t think I could ever qualify. The rules were such that a partnered LGBT person was excluded from service. And yet, the urgent call was there. And so, in 2005, on my 25th anniversary of starting in publishing, with no guarantee that I could be ordained at the end of four years of seminary study, I walked in to my boss’s office at Prentice Hall, where I was one of the Editorial Directors, and announced that I was leaving in a month to move from the Boston area back to Chicago to start my seminary studies. Ron Laudert was actually on my candidacy committee, and encouraged me along the path, even when it seemed like it was futile. It seems crazy and foolish to me when I look back now. But everything fell into place. I received a bonus from my company that largely covered the costs of tuition. Tom’s brother sold us a three-flat he had built that was only 10 minutes from the seminary, and the rent from the other apartments allowed us to live there virtually for nothing. There was rich providing for following the path.

Another decision point came my third year in seminary, which is the parish internship year. The safe path was to apply for a local placement, one that would keep me at home with Tom. And yet, there was a calling, and I applied for a special internship off in Washington, DC, which meant uprooting myself and living apart from Tom for a full year. But at Luther Place in DC, I found surprising blessing as I worked with women experiencing homelessness, and was forever changed by those encounters. It wasn’t a path I could have imagined. But it was a path of blessing.

There was a time of nail biting when I graduated in June 2009, because the rules still precluded me from service. But the Churchwide Assembly met in August that year, and by a single vote changed the rules to allow for my ordination. The next obstacle was to find a congregation willing to call me. I had already been turned down by the congregations that everyone assumed would be the most welcoming, and was beginning to despair, wondering if I had followed down the right path. Then one day I got a call from the bishop’s assistant, asking if I would put my papers in at Christ the Lord Lutheran in Elgin. “No!,” I said. It was out in the most conservative part of Kane County. They were all Republicans! They had never had discussion around any questions of sexuality. One of their members had spoken vociferously at Synod Assembly against changing the ordination rules. This did not bode well! I did not want the rejection. But finally, I agreed, and followed, and much to my surprise, they issued me a call to come be their pastor. And in that unlikely response, I found blessing.

Then out of nowhere came a calling to come to Immanuel. I will be very honest with you, I fought God on this one. I resisted. Immanuel had a reputation in the Synod at that time as being insular, set in your ways, and not a welcoming place for LGBT folks. You were still using the old LBW hymnal, for goodness’ sake! But at the bishop’s urging, I put my papers in. I will tell you something that may come as a surprise to most of you: I actually had told the call committee that I would accept the call, and then I got cold feet. Chickened out. Decided not to follow. And I withdrew my name, much to their disappointment. I allowed my fears and assumptions to overrule the sense of calling. Many months later, the bishop’s assistant came back to me, and even though the rules said it shouldn’t happen, he told me that it seemed the call was clear, and asked me to reconsider. And that time, I answered the call. And I have found blessing here.

And now, without seeking it out, a new call has come for me, to go and serve the wider church in a very different capacity, one that will actually take me back to using some of the gifts and skills I used in corporate life. This is not the path I had envisioned. My safe, secure plan was to stay here with you until I retire in seven years. It was all worked out in my mind. But I am hearing the urgency of the call. And so I am going to follow.

As we look at the gospel story of the calling of the first followers of Jesus, I’m struck by the pattern, because while it seems so strange, it nonetheless feels so very familiar to me at the same time. Here are these young men doing what they do: fishing. They’re not looking to become disciples of some itinerant rabbi. They’re just going about their settled daily lives, following the path that is expected for them, the path they assume is what they’re supposed to be doing. They will fish, and mend their nets, and trudge home tired to spouse and family, doing what is their calling at that time. But then out of nowhere comes this stranger, who says nothing more than “Follow me,” and they immediately get up, leave their livelihood and family behind, and set out down a new path, following behind Jesus. Can’t you imagine poor Zebedee’s shock at seeing his two sons heading off down the road? Now, I should note that they keep coming back and exercising their first vocation alongside their new vocation. Being called to follow doesn’t necessarily mean that we have to completely abandon the things we know and love. But it does mean that we need to be ready when we hear the call to stand up and follow, immediately, because there’s blessing to be found on that path.

One of the things I love about being Lutheran is the Lutheran understanding of vocation, of calling. Luther stressed that calling, vocation, is not reserved for clergy and ordained ministry. My path as a student, and as an editor and publisher, was every bit as sacred a calling as my call to become a pastor. And your call to your own vocation, whether that be a work vocation or another role in life, is sacred. We are called to serve a purpose in bringing this Kingdom of Heaven to reality here on earth. Each of you, sisters and brothers, regardless of age, regardless of gender, regardless of education, regardless of financial status, regardless of any of those things that we use to classify people, each of you is being called. You were called here this very day to gather in this assembly, and you followed. The life of a follower of Jesus is one of daily picking up whatever Christ has called you to carry, and to follow, and to serve.

Calls can come suddenly, and surprisingly. They may be hard to discern, or easy to overlook. Or calls can return day after day, year after year, virtually hitting you over the head, and they can be resisted with might and main. But if we want to find blessing, we need to watch and listen for the calls that come to us, and we need to develop the trust in Christ Jesus that allows us the freedom to respond, immediately or reluctantly, to the urging to “Come, follow me!” Following the call of Christ will sometimes mean letting go of things that are dear to us. Sometimes following means even dying to things, and stepping out onto paths of which we cannot see the ending. But always, if we are faithful, we will somehow find blessing.

Let’s end with a prayer I love: “O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” AMEN.