“The time has come.” What is this time that has come?
The time that has come is the fulfillment of Israel. From the cut off, burned out stump of Jesse, a shoot arose; from that shoot a single flower blossomed, producing a seed. Which seed fell to the ground, and thence arose a new tree, but not without its forebears’ life—a new covenant, but not without the fulfilled promises of the first.
John was the final prophet of the old covenant and the messenger of the end of the former days; Jesus is the source of the new covenant and the bringer of the latter days. Venerable Bede wrote, “John, being put in prison, fitly does the Lord begin to preach. For when the Law ceases, the Gospel arises in its steps.” When the Law ends, then grace appears.
The time has come for the Lord’s arrival. “Prepare the way for the Lord” (Mk. 1:3). “After me will come one more powerful than I, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit” (Mk. 1:7–8).
“The kingdom of God is near.”
The angel blocking the gate to Eden has been dismissed. The pathway to God is again open. This kingdom was prophesied long ago by Samuel. “The LORD declares to you that the LORD himself will establish a house for you: When your days are over and you rest with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring to succeed you, who will come from your own body, and I will establish his kingdom… I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be his father, and he will be my son” (2 Sa. 7:11–14).
The kingdoms of this world are waning, and their glory is fading. But, as Isaiah prophesied, “Of the increase of his government and peace there will be no end” (Is. 9:7). Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Greece, Rome, Germany, France, England, and yes one day even the United States—every great kingdom, nation, and rule in this world emerges, rises, peaks, and then collapses. Despite the increase in our government—and I say that tongue-in-cheek—our nation shall one day cease to be, and another empire shall govern this land. But the kingdom of God, from its introduction, knows no diminishment. The setbacks that we see on this earth do nothing to lessen the reign of God. His kingdom is established forever, whether or not men choose to pledge their allegiance to it, or to some other authority. We see clearly the truth in the Psalmist’s words: “Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save” (Ps. 146:3). Our salvation does not have its origin among the sons of men, but from the Son of Man, the Son of God.
“Repent and believe the good news.”
The coming of the kingdom of God forces us to react. When a person knows—knows in their knower—that “Now is the time for judgment on this world. Now the prince of this world will be driven out” (Jn. 12:31), then action is required. Surely there will be people, as it was in the days of Noah, who will carry on as they always have, eating and drinking, marrying and being given in marriage, until they are taken away, swept away along with this world.
But Jesus offers us a better response, a salvation. “Repent” and “Believe.” Repentance and belief—faith—are inseparable. We repent because we have sinned and need a Savior. We believe because God is faithful and true. When we repent, we abandon a stronghold in which we trusted. When we believe, we place that trust in a new place, on the Rock who saves us. Repentance sees the coming judgment; belief fastens onto the good news. Repentance is retrospective; while belief looks to the future.
“Without faith repentance becomes despair, and without repentance faith becomes presumption. Join the two together, and the faithful soul is borne onward, like a well-balanced vessel, to the haven where it would be” (Pulpit Commentary).
Okay. Fr. Jon Mark, I see that the kingdom of God is near, and I want to repent and believe the good news. What’s that look like? I’m glad you asked! Because today’s Gospel is filled with riches.
Jesus did not seek his disipcles among the chief priests, or teachers of the law, or kings (nor did he turn them away when they came to him). But he sought out fishermen, normal folk like you and like me.
Well, I’m not a fisherman, and I certainly haven’t had Jesus tell me to follow him while on a boat. Jesus comes to us not only in the extraordinary places, but—as I have found—most often in the seemingly ordinary moments, in the midst of daily life. He calls to me not on a fishing boat, but in a desk chair. He says, “Don’t be blinded by these books and drawings, but come and follow me!” He really likes to get me in the shower, particularly with shampoo in my hair; I suppose the vulnerability of that position makes me more receptive to him. He calls me to be different, but not different. God makes each of us with aptitudes and gifts. He’s gifted me, in addition to the grace of sharing in His eternal Priesthood, with architecture; and he wants me to use those skills to build up a beautiful temple made of living stones—the faithful. He’s calling Dr. Jeff, not only to heal physical hearts, but to bind up the hearts broken by sin and loss. He’s calling Steve, not only to insure people against physical loss, but to tell them that life apart from Christ is hazardous and risky.
Jesus is calling each one of us. He comes during the midst of daily toil, using words that we understand. Rudyard Kipling’s poem “MacAndrew’s Hymn” speaks this from the view of a salty old ship’s engineer.
“Lord, Thou hast made this world below the shadow of a dream / An’, taught by time, I tak’ it so—exceptin’ always Steam. / From coupler-flange to spindle-guide I see Thy Hand, O God— / Predestination in the stroke o’ yon connectin’ rod.”
We can expect the Lord’s arrival. Moses commanded the Israelites, “Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” These words, the Shema, we hear each week in the Summary of the Law. But hear Moses out further:
“These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them upon your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates” (Dt. 6:4–9).
When the good news is the constant subject of our thoughts, when God’s work of reconciliation of all men colors our every view, we see things that we previously missed. When I look at the night sky through a telescope, on first glance, Jupiter appears a fuzzy disk. Blink, and it’s russet color resolves. Gaze a little longer, and the bands of clouds are seen. The more you observe at it, night by night, the more your eye is trained to pick out the subtle details. “The man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does” (Jas. 1:25).
“Come, follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”
It would be more accurate to read: “I will make you become fishers of men.” Fishing is not a skill innate or instantly learned. It requires practice, patience, skill, endurance, and apprenticeship under an experienced mentor. Becoming a fisher of men is a process; it will not happen overnight. But Jesus promised to do it. He made the initiative. If given malleable material, He will create something new.
Jesus offered His disciples a task, a mission. He does not call his disciples—He does not call us—so that we may remain ever the same: God has no frozen chosen, or if He does, it’s not by His choice and plan.
Jesus calls men and women to come, follow him. Following Jesus is a journey. There is a glorious destination; there is a less glorious place from which we set out; and there is a sometimes arduous and dangerous journey to the destination. The rich young ruler couldn’t make the choice. “Go, sell all your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me” (Mt. 19:21).
I pray that we fearlessly cast off all that impedes us from pursuing Christ. “When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died, my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride… Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a present far too small: love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all” (Isaac Watts).
