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O'Malley's Best

Call of the Apostles

That segment of Mark's gospel seems to sum up all four gospels: "Jesus appeared in Galilee proclaiming God's good news." And then Mark specifies just what that means: "This is the time of fulfillment. The reign of God is at hand. Reform your lives and believe in the good news." But I wonder if we might come at understanding what that means with grammar-school minds-because that's when we first heard about this Jesus business. And, to be honest, the explanations never really got much better, or more meaningful, or more appealing.

Okay, was it just me, or was the one word that also jumped out at you the word "Reform"? And isn't the content of that word still restricted to what it used to be when you were a little kid, when confession was like a visit to the dentist-not a time to grow, or even a time to liberate your heart, but a time for self-loathing? Is it any wonder that, all those years ago, we were incapable of seeing that as "good news"? And long, long before we reached puberty "fulfillment" couldn't possibly have had any meaning or importance whatever-because we hadn't been hurt enough to realize the world we found ourselves in was, at nearly every turn, unfair. And if "fulfillment" had any meaning at all, it was sunny days on the beach with no school. (For some of us, sadly, no matter our age, that's still all "fulfillment" means.) A few years ago a very smart senior asked me a very smart question: "Why is fulfillment always in the future?" (Again, a lot of much older people still wonder that, too. As if "fulfillment" can happen only a few minutes before you're dead. If then.) And "the reign of God" was restricted to meaning "heaven," and that reality was-beyond argument-unthinkably far off, like being 50 years old. And I tremble to suggest this, but isn't it also true that, in all those years since we first heard the gospel, we quite honestly had in great part to pretend we thought it was "good news"? It wasn't really like finding a treasure in a field, or a wedding reception, or winning the lottery, or falling in love.

Oh, the good news is gonna cost, all right, but it's not what a child is capable of comprehending. I no longer think "reform"-the apparent price of fulfillment--means just "grind out a list of your sins and give them up." I think it means surrendering other bad habits, too, bad habits a child can't understand-nor could many religion teachers, at least not the ones I had. Now I'm convinced "fulfillment" means finding your true self, the self God intended you to be from the time he quickened the ovum in your mother's womb, when he loved you into existence. And I firmly believe now the price of that fulfillment is giving up precisely the self-loathing I used to believe was a requirement for being the person God wanted me to become.

Now, I think that's precisely why Mark appends the story of Jesus calling Peter, Andrew, James, and John to that declaration of what the good news means. How is it that it took me so long to see? It's exactly the same situation as all those other stories: When Frodo Baggins is toasting his hairy feet and smoking his pipe, and Gandalf the Grey raps on his door with an unsettling invitation. When Obiwan Kenobi sidles up to Luke Skywalker and asks if they might talk a bit about The Evil Empire. When St. Ignatius stops Francis Xavier in his tracks and asks, "Is that really all you want out of life?" When Annie Sullivan scratches unintelligible messages in Helen Keller's hands about a world, a "reign of God," she can't possibly imagine in her silent darkness. When Branch Rickey says to Jackie Robinson, "Son, I'm looking for a player with the guts not to fight back."

In Luke's version of this same moment, Jesus precedes the invitation with a miraculous catch of fish-which is so unsettling that Peter says to Jesus, "Lord, leave me alone. I'm a sinner!" As if being sinful was enough to disqualify him! As if his imperfections could stand in the way of the God who found no difficulty creating a universe out of nothing! As if his petty flaws could impede the One who also chose Abraham and Sarah to be the grandparents of Israel-even though they were in their 90's and barren as a pair of bricks. Who chose Moses the stammerer and David, a spindly kid with a sling shot. When Einstein said, "God doesn't play dice with the universe," Nils Bohr reputedly said, "Albert, don't tell God what he can do."

Is it possible-is it just possible-that Christ is stopping by your little skiff and saying, "Psst! I have a job I'd like you to consider, okay? Leave behind your fears and open up your horizons, wider than just a suburban house with a two-car garage. Become more venturesome than you'd planned. I was thinking of going all the way to Oz. Fulfillment doesn't have to wait. In the going, you're already there!"

"Lord, leave me alone. I'm a sinner!"

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