When I was in elementary and junior high school, twice a year we were required to participate in the Presidential Physical Fitness Test as part of our PhysEd curriculum. There were a host of activities designed to test our various physical capabilities—the flexed arm hang, the standing broad jump, the shuttle run, sit-ups, and the 40-yard dash. While I generally detested this part of the curriculum, I never minded the 40-yard dash. Why? Because all you had to do was run as fast as you could for forty yards. The test itself was exhilarating—jumping off the mark, pumping as fast as you could down the asphalt, stretching across the finish line. It was easy, you didn’t have to practice or train to do it, and the excitement of racing your heart out gave you an euphoric high, at least for the next few minutes. Because the best part of the 40-yard dash test was that it was over in about 10 seconds, and the rest of the period was free time on the playground.

The 40-yard dash stood in marked contrast to the most dreaded test of the Presidential cycle—the one-mile run. Unlike the dash, the mile was a long, slow grind—a jog around the whole perimeter of the school three times. If you hadn’t practiced, running laps as the teacher had instructed all year, you’d never make it. Racing ahead at top speed was a recipe for disaster, because the mile required a consistent, smooth pace, attention to your breathing, and the determination unnecessary in a 10-second footrace. Running the mile even consumed almost the entirety of the 30-minute P.E. period, with no time left for the playground. And when I finished, I always felt far more exhausted than euphoric. But in that tiredness was the sure knowledge that I was strong enough to run a whole mile—and that seemed a real accomplishment. While it was fun and exciting to run that 40-yard dash, running the mile, in spite of its hardships, making it to the finish line, that was something to be proud of, a feat worthy of sharing with parents at the end of the day.

Of course, as an adult, here just feet away from the finish line of the Boston Marathon’s 26.2 miles, I realize how unremarkable running one mile is. But the contrast between the experience of the sprint and the marathon still holds, and reaches far beyond the playground yard. I believe that same contrast is at the heart of the Gospel story we shared today. As Luke tells it, there are some who experience Jesus’ presence like the 40-yard dash, but Jesus’s challenge is to step into it for the whole marathon.

The account takes place at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. He has just taken his message on the road, preaching and healing people in towns up and down the Galilean shore. Word of his healing powers and bold message attract larger and larger crowds of spectators. On this day, he is preaching beside the sea, and the crowd is pressing in around him. He enlists the help of the local fishermen, cleaning their nets after a long and unsuccessful night’s work, and asks to use their boats as a safe platform to address the growing throng. And after he finishes preaching, there is even a miraculous occurrence—the abundant catch of fish.

Imagine the attitude of that crowd—it is a spectacle, something exciting and dramatic that breaks the monotony of everyday life, something to gossip about. Their energy and excitement was probably not so different from the crowd I joined this past week, right out here on Boylston Street, a mass of thousands of Patriots fans cheering their beloved Superbowl winning team. Jesus caused great excitement, a fun disruption from the daily grind, something to rush out and see and do and experience. Like we football fans, that crowd was eager to drop everything, rush out and be a part of it—the miracles, the preaching, the healings. But what happened when the sunlight faded on that day? Well, what happened as the Duck Boats crossed Clarendon Street and moved toward Berkeley? Within five minutes, by the time the boats had rounded Arlington, the crowd had dispersed. Within an hour, the street sweepers removed the trash and police removed the barricades, and it was if nothing had happened at all. Folks went back to their offices and computers. They enjoyed the euphoria, but daily life continued unchanged. I imagine the crowd around Jesus was much the same. They returned home, back to that same routine. They had a bright memory to celebrate, and something to talk about for a day or two, but nothing had really changed. Their encounter with Jesus was like a forty-yard dash—no training required, no endurance necessary, just a quick-flying spectacle and fleeting euphoric high. Then back into the ordinary.

Contrast that with the reaction of Peter and the other fishermen who had been out with Jesus in the water. They are overcome—Peter drops to his knees in a moment of confession, James and John feel their hearts leap in amazement, and Jesus speaks to them, “Do not be afraid, from now on you will be catching people.” And the Gospel tells us, “When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.” For them, everything changed.

Most people focus in this story on the image of Peter and the others leaving everything behind. People marvel at their ability to give up a stable business, family and future to follow some guy they had just met, and many a listener has pondered whether God really requires giving up everything in order to be obedient disciples. But this time around, for me, the most haunting part of this story is one single phrase from Jesus’ mouth: “from now on.” Did the fishermen pick up on that phrase right away? From now on. Really? Forever? What about a two-year contract? Vacation days? Sabbatical? No, Jesus instructs these fishermen that they are in it for the long haul. This is no forty-yard dash. This isn’t even a mile run or a marathon—this is a lifetime. Did they know that’s what they were getting into?
 
The difference between the crowd and the fishermen is the difference between spectators and servants, between fans and followers, between enjoying the entertainment and dedicating oneself as a disciple. What makes that difference? It’s simple. Commitment. Relationship. Unlike the crowd, the fishermen enter into a relationship with Jesus—they entangle their lives with his, and they commit themselves to his service, indefinitely. And that makes all the difference.

As a congregation, we often consider as a model the breadth of Jesus’ love—the way he invited all people to the table, no matter who they were or why they came. We also regularly consider the depth of Jesus’ love—the way we are all loved intimately and equally and unconditionally, without regard to our own merit. We even reflect together on how to imitate the breadth and depth of Christ’s love by practicing an inclusive welcome, being an Open and Affirming congregation, and treating one another as equals, brothers and sisters in Christ. That’s one of the things I think we all treasure about this congregation. But what we don’t examine together nearly as often is the duration of the relationship Jesus offers, the duration of God’s love for us, and the duration of the love we are called to offer one another. Jesus tells those fishermen, “from now on.” This love is not just for all people, but for all time. And that is the kind of relationship we are called to build with God and with one another when we enter the Christian life.

Why? Because life itself is no forty-yard dash. The dramatic and exciting moments shared in the crowd will not give us meaning and purpose in our daily lives, and they certainly won’t help us find strength and peace in times of fear, anxiety or adversity. Only a deep and abiding relationship, nurtured over time and through commitment, can ever do that. We have to be in it for life, because we know that it is the relationship that gives us life.

Being a Christian, following Christ, joining the disciples is not about adapting to a set of rules for living or even simply imitating Jesus—it’s about entering into a relationship with God and with fellow Christians, participating a love that is broader, deeper and more enduring than any other we can imagine.

In generic terms, think about what is required to enter into a meaningful relationship, a relationship that might last over the long term. You have to spend time together. You have to communicate, to share feelings and experiences, to share intimately. You have to commit to one another, so that you can trust one another when times are difficult.

Now think about your connection with God, with Jesus. Is it that kind of relationship? Do you spend time together? We spend time at work, with family, at the gym—but our relationship with God also requires spending some time together. Do you communicate back and forth? Do you share intimately through prayer to God? And do you listen to God and come to know God better through meditation or study of the Bible? What about that commitment piece? God has committed to journey alongside us and support us through the roughest of times. Have we committed to following God even when it leads us into difficult paths? If you have not before, I encourage you to imagine your life as a Christian in these terms of discipleship—it’s not about learning the rules of Christian behavior, but like those disciples, it’s about entering into a relationship. And like any meaningful relationship, it takes time and commitment, and real, meaningful faith doesn’t happen overnight, it grows over time.

This is the same thing we experience in our human relationships, connections made between a parent and child, between friends, between siblings, and yes, between spouses and lovers. In fact, marriage is often used as the metaphor for our relationship with God as a loving, committed partnership. While it was not what I had intended, it was not in my master plan in thinking through my Epiphany sermons, and, it seems inappropriate in the context of a sermon about the life of faith on the model of loving, committed relationship not to make mention of the current debate raging in our state about the Supreme Judicial Court decision on same-sex marriage. I do not assume we are all of one mind in this congregation. But I ask you in your own reflections, in your own prayer, to consider your opinions and your corresponding course of action not based solely on Jesus’ model for a broad love that includes all people, and not based solely on Jesus’ model of a deep love that treats all people equally, as our statement of inclusion highlights.  But keep in mind also Christ’s call to an enduring love, Jesus’ urging us  to enter into faithful, loving, committed relationships with God and one another. I find nothing in the Gospel urging us to fret over loving, committed relationships between equal partners, and everything that calls us to enter just those kinds of bonds, and to support and empower people to commit to one another for the long haul, to make promises of faithful devotion from now on. Yes, this is a civil rights issue, a justice issue about equal treatment of all citizens of the Commonwealth, but it is also about persisting in all efforts to support loving, faithful committed same-sex couples by granting them and their relationships the same social supports heterosexual couples share. It is a matter of nurturing and supporting faithful commitments.

And that’s what this story with the fishermen is all about—the call in all of our lives to step out of the crowd and become a disciple, to commit to walking with God every day, and to practice a love that is broad, deep and enduring.

Christ doesn’t need spectators, eager for excitement but only in it for the ten-second sprint. What Jesus needs is disciples—those willing to enter into a real relationship with God and engagement in the breadth, depth and duration of God’s love for the world everyday, from now on. Christ doesn’t need a larger crowd, ready to cheer and applaud louder and longer. What Jesus needs is a church—a community committed to serving God and one another, a model of loving, caring, committed relationship for all the world to see.

As we think together about how God’s call asks us to step out from the crowd, to become more than a spectator, to stick around for the long haul, I’d like to close with a poet’s words, a description of the kind of wholehearted relationship God calls us to. The poem is entitled “Final Notations” by Adrienne Rich.
 

it will not be simple, it will be long
it will take a little time, it will take all your thought
it will take all your heart, it will take all your breath
it will not be short, it will not be simple

it will touch through your ribs, it will take all your heart
it will be long, it will occupy your thought
as a city is occupied, as a bed is occupied
it will take all your flesh, it will not be simple

you are coming into us who cannot withstand you
you are coming into us who never wanted to withstand you
you are taking parts of us into places never planned
you are going far away with pieces of our lives

it will not be short, it will take all your breath
it will not be simple, it will become your will