You Do You: A Sermon on Matthew 4:12-23

In the Monday yoga class, we frequently do a stretch that involves sitting on the mat with one leg out straight, and the other leg crossed over it. You then twist your body in the direction of the bent leg, stretching your back. I’d demonstrate, but an alb is really not the best yoga clothing. While not quite as complicated as my description probably sounds, you do end up contorted into a bit of a pretzel. So, Monday, we’re all twisted up into this weird position, and the instructor remarks that this pose is called a “Half Lord of the Fishes.” To which, because I am pretty curious and don’t always know when to keep my mouth shut on that curiosity, I ask what would constitute a Full Lord of the Fishes. Because, quite frankly, I could not imagine any way my body could be any more contorted than it already is. The instructor was, of course, delighted by my question, and assured me and the rest of the class that next week we will attempt a Full Lord of the Fishes pose, a comment which met with universal groans from the rest of the class. I can let you know next week how that goes; my expectations are not particularly high.

One of the blessings and curses of yoga is it involves taking your body and moving it in ways that you don’t normally go. This helps strengthen and loosen muscles that don’t normally get used. Which is great because, while there is nothing in my daily life that necessitates twisting my body into a pretzel, I do spend a lot of time sitting in a desk chair, which weakens my back muscles. That pretzel position stretches and strengthens those weakened muscles. The other good thing about yoga is it is designed to be very individual. The instructor is always very quick to remind us that every body is different and every body moves in different ways. So there is no perfect way for each pose to be done. She always offers modifications for poses and encourages us to find our own modifications that work for us. Of course the curse of yoga is that, while we’re told to only do what works for us, we are in a class with other people, and despite my best efforts to focus on my own practice, I always find myself fighting the temptation to compare myself to others. The Monday class is really supportive, but I remember a class I took when I lived in LA, where I was intimidated before the class even started just by the clothing of the other students. In my preferred yoga wear, a free cotton t-shirt and basketball shorts, I looked not like a Lord of the Fishes, but like a fish out of water in a sea of perfectly coordinated Lululemon outfits. And of course, this was west LA, so they were all tall, lean, and tanned with perfectly done hair and make up. They looked like they were there to model yoga clothing, not to take a free exercise class in a 24 Hour Fitness in the back corner of a mall. In actual yoga skill and ability I could fit in, but I just didn’t look like I belonged.

Comparison is an innate human trait. It can challenge us to do our best, but it can also stop us by convincing us we could never measure up. This isn’t just true of yoga; it can also be true of faith. We have in our minds this image of what being a person of faith looks like, and I don’t know about you, but for me that person is always some sort of mystical combination of Mother Teresa and a contemplative monk. Someone who is constantly selflessly devoted to service and yet somehow at the same time has countless hours to spend in prayer, contemplation, and the uninterrupted study of scripture. Even my guy Martin Luther, patron saint of anxiety and self-doubt, lets me down on this. Luther said that he devoted an hour a day, first thing in the morning, to prayer and reflection, and on days when he didn’t have time to devote an hour, he would devote three hours, because when he was busy, he needed prayer more. Come on, Luther. I, on the other hand, tend to come dashing into Wednesday morning Bible study just a few minutes late every week, because I yet again overscheduled my day. I remember when I was discerning my call to ministry, telling my pastor that I couldn’t be a pastor, because every pastor I’d ever met got up early to spend time in prayer, and I simply wasn’t a morning person. She, rightly, laughed at my insistence. Though, it should be noted, that she herself is one of those people who just naturally doesn’t require much sleep, and she does get up every morning at five to pray and study scripture. I get up at five if the house is on fire or I have to catch an airplane, and even then all bets are off. I share this also because I get the sense that some of you have the same lofty ideals of me that I have about her, and friends, it freaks me out a bit sometimes.

Which is why, I think we all could stand to learn from this story of Jesus calling his first disciples. Last week we also heard the calling of Simon and Andrew, but you’ll notice Matthew and John had very different memories of the event. Last week, John’s Gospel had John the Baptist pointing Jesus out to Andrew. But in Matthew, John the Baptist is already in prison, and Simon and Andrew did not seem to be followers of John the Baptist anyway. They were just two guys standing on a lakeshore, going about their daily work. Sometimes in Christian circles, we use language about there being a God-shaped hole or void in our lives that we are all seeking to have filled. These guys did not seem to have any such hole. They weren’t looking for a teacher, they weren’t looking for a profession, they weren’t looking for fulfillment of any kind. They had jobs, and lives, and fulfillment enough, a lifetime of occupation eeking out an existence with their nets and their boats and the Sea of Galilee.

That is, until Jesus showed up and said, “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” And they did. Which is crazy, because, think about it, this is Jesus’ first public appearance, they have absolutely no idea who this guy is. This isn’t John’s Gospel, where John the Baptist identified Jesus as the Lamb of God, and the one they should follow. No, this is just a stranger on the beach coming up to them and saying, “follow me.” One of the commentaries I read called this Jesus’ first miracle, that he could convince these total strangers to drop everything, leave their poor father stranded in a boat, and follow Jesus. It’s crazy, when you think about it.

But here’s something my friend Kelli pointed out, that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind. Notice what Jesus called the disciples to do; he called them to fish for people. They’re fisherman, and he called them to fish for people. He didn’t call them to farm for people, or to teach people, or to be accountants for people, he called them to fish for people. He called them to take the skills and gifts they already had, that God had already given them, and use them for the betterment of others. Jesus didn’t call the disciples to become something radically different; rather he called them to be the best versions of themselves; the best versions of who God had created them to be.

This, I think, is maybe what is meant by discipleship. Not to contort ourselves into some cookie-cutter version of what we think God expects from disciples, but to recognize the skills and gifts, the talents and traits, that God has given each and every one of us, and to use those God given skills and gifts, talents and traits, to be the best version of who we already are. Which means, you may not be being called to fish for people, or to be in the streets of India like Mother Teresa, or to be a contemplative monk. God may be calling you to work at the food pantry for people or be an accountant for people or a nurse for people or to pray for people.

And if you focus on that, on being the very best person that God has created you to be, instead of trying to mold yourself into some ill-fitting version of who you think you should be, I think you will find that the same miracle that happened to those first two disciples, will have happened to you. That without knowing it, and without knowing quite why or how, you will have moved from metaphorically fishing for yourself, to metaphorically fishing for others, metaphorically fishing for God. So just do you, just be you. Because you, who you are, as you are, is exactly the sort of person Jesus is walking along the beach in search of. Thanks be to God. Amen.