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by Robbie Ketcham
It can be easy to laugh at the disciples – until you find that their stories seem oddly similar to your own. Especially in this lectionary year of Mark, the story of Jesus’ disciples stands out. When they are first called by Jesus, following that call seems laughably easy: Jesus says “Follow me,” and they follow, no questions asked! It’s as if the power of God so overcame the disciples that they couldn’t resist following.
Later in Mark, however, the disciples can seem laughably lost. Those who had so unhesitatingly followed Jesus at first don’t really seem to understand what they’ve gotten themselves into. They argue about who is best. They want power and prestige. They don’t want to hear Jesus talk about having to suffer and die. And, when the time of trial comes, they flee. A call that had seemed too good to believe is now a call that seems too hard to bear. Disciples who had seemed so eager to follow are now confused, challenged and laughably lost.
So it can be easy to laugh at the disciples – until you find that their stories seem oddly similar to your own.
Looking back on my five years since graduating Kenyon, the disciples’ stories are pertinent. Although a practicing Christian since birth and interested in theology before starting college, it was largely at Kenyon that church became a central part of my life. Through Harcourt Parish’s Sunday and Wednesday Eucharists and Sunday evening Compline, I found new power in liturgy and worship. Through Canterbury’s Tuesday night dinners or parish get-togethers, I found a vital network of Christian fellowship and support. Through the intellectual leadership of figures such as Don Rogan and Perry Lentz, I found a wealth of insight into life and theology. Through all this, Christ’s presence seemed strong, and Jesus’ call seemed clear: Follow me!
But after leaving Gambier, that call became more confused and challenging. The profession to which I thought I had been called didn’t end up being what I’d hoped. It was harder to find the same network of support, the same vitality in worship. There aren’t enough Mr. Lentzes or Professor Rogans in the world. Just as with those disciples, it became easy to lose the sense of God’s presence and call. Just as with those disciples, one started to feel laughably lost.
Even if the disciples felt lost, however, they never really were. At the end of Mark, we learn that the resurrected Jesus is going to meet them again – that, despite their confused and challenged lives, God’s presence remains. And, looking back 2,000 years later, we know what was not written in Mark: We know that the disciples continued to follow their calling, that they helped establish the Church. And in that later work, God’s presence was always there, with those “heights” when the Spirit of God was especially felt offering comfort and guidance for those “valleys” when the followers might have felt lost.
In my life, the Spirit of God was certainly felt on Gambier Hill, at Kenyon College and through the work of Harcourt Parish and Canterbury. And as I’ve sought to discern my call through all the twists and turns, peaks and valleys that have followed, certain lessons from those years of spiritual heights have been valuable. From studying the liberal arts, I found that God’s call can take many forms – that God is found not just in a single profession, but in any vocation carried out with love and faith, be it pastor or plumber, barber or bishop. From studying the great works of the intellectual canon, I found that, whatever one’s profession, any true vocation is centered in truth, wisdom, service and love – the fingerprints of God. And most importantly, from the love and support found at Harcourt Parish and Canterbury, I found an image of the true love and true support that Christ promises to always give, regardless of how we try to follow our call, and regardless of how often we flee or fall away.
Those gifts of the Spirit – the sense of vocation, the grounding of truth and love, and the eternal gift of divine presence – are powerful forces. As they did for the first disciples, these forces can carry us through the valleys of confusion and challenge. As they did for the disciples, they can lead us to new heights. And on those heights, we can indeed laugh – not at those first disciples, but with them. For we can laugh the laughter of pure joy. We can rejoice in the love of God.
Robbie Ketcham graduated from Kenyon in 2004 with degrees in English and history and is pursuing an M.Div. degree at the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, Pa. |