Unholy Sh+t: The disciples didn’t just instantly follow Jesus because of the fishnets; it was the code word he used

Growing up, my best friend in the wide world was a girl with bright red pigtails, freckles covering her nose like constellations, and the frailest bones of anyone I knew; she was always in a cast. That didn’t stop her from running up and down the creek with me, catching frogs, snakes, and crawdads. I spent the last few idyllic summers of my life with her, bottling fireflies to light our treehouse while we stared up at the constellations that looked like freckles.

Her name was Patty.

When I was diagnosed with dyslexia, Patty was the only kid who didn’t make me feel stupid. She would read me stories and road signs when we passed stuff in the car. She would read the beginning scroll on Star Wars, so I would know what was happening in a galaxy far, far away. She believed in me when I said I wanted to be an actor, a doctor, an archeologist, write books, be a sculptor, a painter, and just all the dreams that rattled around in my brain.

Our church was putting on a Christmas pageant, and I wanted to audition so badly, but they wouldn’t let me memorize the lines first.

They said I had to read them.

Out loud.

In front of everyone.

I froze.

I tried to back out of the audition, but the Sunday School teacher called me up anyway. I stood there in a cold sweat, and panic gripped me. I tried to figure out the words, but they jumbled in my mind. They turned red. I couldn’t focus. I turned red. I didn’t know the sounds. I could feel tears of embarrassment welling up in my throat and then trying to escape from the corner of my eyes. It was one of the first days I wanted to die. Then Patty stood up right in front of everyone, walked past the teacher, and stood behind me. She leaned over and whispered the words in my ear. I acted out the scene, and she stuck behind me like a shadow, whispering the words like a muse. She loaned me a brain that could read, and for a moment, it was like I was reading.

I forgot to mention that this was a Western-themed rendition of the naivety story. They gave me the part of the bartender. I had a singular line: “Howdy” when Joseph and Mary walked into the best little whorehouse in Bethlehem. Though I didn’t get a starring role, it was a bit of foreshadowing because this wouldn’t be the last time I would serve up alcoholic beverages in a church. Believe it or not, my bishop never liked it when I called communion “serving up alcoholic beverages at church.” Oh well.

Unholy Sh+t: An Irreverent Bible Study

3rd Sunday of Ordinary Time

Today’s reading: Matthew 4:12-23

Sometimes, we become so accustomed to a particular Bible verse that we miss its blatant meaning. It’s really not our fault; it’s because Sunday sermons have to be entertaining to keep butts in the seats, and so pastors will milk a verse for everything it’s worth. Once they’ve run that teat dry, they’ll just start adding stuff in for flavor. They’ve got to keep it exciting year by year (or 🎶day by day🎶 for all the theatre kids out there.)

That’s where we are today, on one of those overused verses.

We all know the story: Jesus is about to start doing all the healing and exorcisms and speaking in code about his impending doom and sh+t. Like any good epic journey tale, you need a crew. Frodo had Samwise, Gandalf, Merry, and Pippin. Robin Hood has the Merry Men of Sherwood Forest. Joe Cabot had Mr. Brown, White, Blonde, Blue, Orange (Judas), and Pink.

Following in the same classic narrative, Jesus begins with Simon (soon to be Pete, aka Rocky) and his brother, Andrew, as the first catch. (Matthew 4:18-22 and Mark 1:16-20) He calls them to follow him, and they cast down their fishnets (sexy) and become catchers of men (double sexy) and before you can say “second breakfast,” the band has been assembled. Interestingly enough, because Judas couldn’t play any instruments, he was working merch and doing road management (John 12:4-6). Just like with the *NSYNC, this didn’t work out too well for anyone.

Growing up, I always thought it was strange that Jesus just walked up and said, “Follow me,” then everyone just dropped everything they were doing and went for it. Maybe I’m a bit of a cynic, but I would have a couple of questions about health benefits, vacation time, and profit-sharing in the book royalties before I just ran off with some smelly hippy. Then again, it worked well for Charles Manson, too, so maybe there’s just a type that goes for that sort of thing. Everyone is different, I suppose.

Such a simple phrase, “Follow me,” and they drop everything. Why?

During the time of Jesus, all young men studied the Torah, but not everyone was called to be a rabbi. Around the age of 14 or 15, if you had proven yourself worthy, the time would come when the rabbi would choose disciples. Now, imagine when you were in high school, and you auditioned for the school play or whatever sports ball thingy you were interested in. You wait, hopeful, dreaming about the future. In your mind's eye, you are making your Oscar acceptance speech or being selected for the NFL Draft. But everything hinges on you getting selected as Puck for this year's rendition of Midsummer Night's Dream. Then, the day has finally arrived, and the cast or roster is being posted.

Not today.

Had they been selected, the rabbi would walk in and say, “lech acharai,” which is translated into English as “follow me.” This meant you were chosen to “walk in the dust of the rabbi” and train under him. If you didn’t hear these words, well, it was time to go onto the fallback career.

Your dreams are dashed, and the next thing you know, high school is over, and you are now up to your eyeballs in fish guts, wondering, “How did I get here?” The future disciples were probably dealing with a little bit of that Matthew Perry level of Seventeen Again regret about their lot in life. Like most of us, they were probably thinking a lot about how things could have gone very differently if they had paid a bit more attention in school or had a backup plan. The reality is an existential crisis about our positions in life is not a new thing. It would not be a stretch to imagine that Simon would have moments of nostalgia about what could have been. And that is precisely where Simon (soon to be Rocky) and Andrew were that day—grinding away at their unglamorous and smelly job. We know that Simon is older, married, and has been working at the job for a while (Luke 4:38-41). He was lightyears away from the good ol’ days in high school when he thought he would be selected for rabbi duty.

Then Jesus, a rabbi, walks right up to Simon, looks him in the eye, and says, “lech acharai.”

Imagine the validation. It would be like a casting agent walking in today and saying, “I know you got passed over for Juliet, but I see you, I hear you, I validate your worth and your talent.” This is the type of timeline correction sh+t that we all dream about. The “what if” is becoming a reality, and I can imagine that they are all pretty shocked. The verse doesn’t say this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a single tear rolled down Rocky’s dusty cheek as the words he had spent his youth hoping to hear were spoken over him. Would he have been in shock? Confused? Maybe he accused Jesus of making a joke in poor taste. This is a radical thing Jesus is doing; he’s calling his disciples out of those who had been passed over. These are the guys that had been previously considered “not the best of the best.” They were the folks Jesus chose to build his new kingdom from, not the elite players but the second fiddles. These are the kids who had already been rejected, and Jesus is walking in saying, “I choose you.”

That is why Simon and Andrew immediately drop what they are doing. Because they finally heard the words they had longed to hear years ago: you belong. That, I suppose, is phase one of the good news: you’re always worthy, even if someone else didn’t see it back then.