Would I have answered when you called?

 

Matthew 4: 12-22
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
January 25, 2026

B &W photo of a person holding out a phone receiver connected to a spiral phone cord. The receiver looks like it is partially melted or damaged in some way.

When the author of the gospel of Matthew writes that Jesus “made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali”, he is signaling to those who are lost, those who live in the shadow of death, those who are alone and who have been forgotten, that Jesus has come for them. The territories of Zebulun and Naphtali, two of the lost tribes of Israel, to listeners in both Isaiah’s time and in Jesus’ would be like us hearing about places like Gaza, Ukraine, Congo, Sudan—places where oppression, war, and violence have made a living hell for those who live there.



Not only that, but the descendants living in those places centuries after: think of every Native American reservation, African Americans whose ancestors were brought here by force and generations enslaved, immigrants displaced from their home countries because of violence. Remember too that poverty is a form of violence, that addiction is a battle. Jesus and his disciples would not be fishing for converts but for those the world has left behind. They would be doing God’s work of gathering those still in exile: the poor, the marginalized, those considered apart from God. Jesus takes his message and his disciples to those who need him the most. He goes where they are. He does not wait for them to come to him, though many do. Jesus is more interested in closing the gap, making a connection with those who feel disconnected from God and from community.



Knowing that, would I, would you have answered when Jesus called?



This past Thursday, over 600 priests, rabbis, and pastors from across this country descended on Minneapolis as part of a general strike and massive protest against our government’s use of thousands of armed ICE agents to deport immigrants. 300 of those clergy members showed up at the Minneapolis St. Paul airport, about a hundred kneeling in a straight line, many wearing rainbow stoles, praying and singing, their warm breath freezing into frosty clouds, as they were restrained with zip ties and loaded onto a bus to face arrest, while the rest stood behind a barricade with protest signs and shouted “Let them pray!”



Would I, would you have answered when Jesus called?



The Rev. DeWayne Davis, a trustee of the United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities, referencing the city’s past experiences with organizing after the murder of George Floyd, said, “We didn’t do all that because we are heroes and saviors. We did it because we understand the meaning of our faith: that we are all connected. We join together. We are a part of a people, a body of humanity that is made in the image of a loving and beautiful God that wants all God’s children free.”



Bishop Mariann Budde, the Episcopal bishop of Washington, whose home state is Minnesota, put it simply, “Love of neighbor is not optional.”



Would I, would you have answered when Jesus called?



Most of the time, answering Jesus’ call doesn’t require risking life and limb, but very often it does require our bodies, disrupting our lives, our mind, heart, and strength. Answering the call looks more like serving at Hope Dining Room and Code Purple, donating food to the Food Bank of Delaware or meals to our friendly freezer, buying groceries for a friend, giving someone a ride, visiting them in the hospital, sending a card, repenting of our privilege by using it in service to others. But how do you answer the call when you feel like you have nothing to give? You befriend your lost self with mercy and compassion, be there for family and friends as best as you can, treat yourself and others with dignity and respect. If at all possible, forgive someone. Forgive yourself. Pray.



Answering Jesus’ call means getting close to Jesus, which means getting close to those Jesus was close to. Later in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells his disciples in a parable that whatever we do to the least of these—those who are oppressed and suffering—we do to him. When we neglect the suffering of others, we neglect Jesus. Right now in our nation, we are being asked to show up for each other in ways that will cost us something, that will hopefully pull us closer to each other. Now is not the time to give up on the kin-dom of God. Now is not the time to be silent, to look the other way, to fall back on our default of privilege, to think that answering the call of Jesus is futile. Resistance is never futile and neither is love, justice, or solidarity. And if we love Jesus, we love who Jesus loves. The stranger, the outcast, the immigrant, the oppressed, the poor, the lost. No exceptions. That’s what it means to be a Christian.



Maybe this story will help. There once was a man who was searching for answers in his life. He found a very wise old woman. He thought maybe this old woman could give him the answers he was searching for. Thus, he was surprised to hear the old woman speak of a great blunder she herself had been guilty of.


“What great blunder have you made?” the searcher asked the wise woman.


The wise woman thought for a moment and then replied, “They called me Christian, but I did not become Christ.”


That was an odd answer. The man was confused. “You did not become Christ?” he asked. “Is one supposed to become Christ?”


The wise old woman answered, “I kept putting distance between myself and Christ. I kept deploring the distance,” the old woman told her new friend. “But I never realized that I was creating it.”


“But,” the seeker insisted, “is one supposed to become Christ?”


“No distance,” the wise woman replied.*



Jesus put no distance between himself and those who needed help. When we answer his call, we are no longer lost but found and we open the way for others. Amen.

*Story is adapted from Tales of Magic Monastery by Theophane the Monk

Benediction – UCC Worship Ways


Go now in the presence of the One
who lifts what is heavy,
breaks what binds,
and opens the way before you.

As a new day unfolds,
may courage rise in you,
may compassion guide you,
and joy find room to grow.

The Spirit who descends and remains
goes with you,
goes before you,
and goes within you—
making glorious the pathway you travel.

Go in peace,
to begin again.
Amen.