[Sermon] The Immediacy of the Call

Rev. Kristy Daniels, guest pastor

January 25, 2026 + Third Sunday after Epiphany

When Jesus calls the disciples, their response is immediate—they leave their nets, their boats, and even their family behind. This Gospel moment challenges us to reflect on how quickly, or hesitantly, we respond to God’s call in our own lives. The season of Epiphany reminds us that Christ’s light shines even in times of fear, uncertainty, and transition. Through baptism, we are drawn into that light and invited to trust it. We are not sent out alone, but accompanied by community and the Spirit. Following Jesus means being sent into the world for the sake of love, mercy, and restoration.

Sermon Transcript

From YouTube's automatic captions, lightly edited by AI for readability.

You know, I’m a pastor’s kid, and my dad always said that you want a kid to cry at baptism to remind you that that’s how we enter the kingdom of heaven—kicking and screaming. And so, as we’ve just been talking about baptism, that’s a good reminder, right? That kingdom, although we’ve been invited to it, isn’t always what we’re looking to, because we want to live the life our own way.

So here we are in this season, Sundays after Epiphany, this third Sunday, and we have changed from the color white, a reminder of holiness, to the color green during this season, as we are learning who Jesus is. So green being a color of growth. We’re learning about who Jesus is.

In my congregation, we’re a very small congregation, and a lot of the guys that I work with like cartoons and things like that. So I tell them to think of this season like a giant light bulb going on in the cartoons over your head. And that’s what this season is like, as we’re learning who Jesus is.

And so we have some great stories about Paul during this season. You might be, if you were here last week, thinking, “We already heard about these guys,” which we did, from the Gospel of John. Heard the same people being called out into faithful ministry out in the world. And today we get Matthew’s take, and it’s a little bit different. This is maybe the one that you remember over the one from John, where the two sets of brothers are called to go out into the world and follow Jesus.

What always catches me in this text is the immediacy of the response. They are at work, the sons of Zebedee with their father, and they just abandon him in the boat and head off. And I really wish we had the surrounding story of the mothers and sisters sitting there—“What? Now what are we supposed to do? You great big oafs.” You know, something probably like that.

But it’s a beautiful thing, right? You hear that call. You hear Jesus calling, and you stop whatever you’re doing and follow. This is the good news.

Back to the season of Epiphany. For those of us who have short memories, like myself, the Epiphany is the season with the star, where the magi, or the wise men, have followed the star and encountered Jesus. And during this short season, we say that a light has come into the darkness that no darkness can overcome.

And that is so beautiful and so necessary, especially this year, I feel, as there’s so much going on in the world and in our lives that are challenging and uncomfortable, might be making us angry, not certain what the future will hold—kind of in a time of suspense or holding. A light has come into the darkness that no darkness can overcome.

Our gospel reading for today starts that way and reminds us of that before it moves into this story of calling. So we too have been called through the waters of baptism, and we come with the same understanding that although things might be dark and uncertain, there is a light that nothing—not our fear, not our hatred, not our jealousy—none of that can overcome what has been given to us in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

In our text, in our Bible study this week online with some of my church members, I was talking about how this text is so scary. I think it’s one of the most challenging texts in the scripture, that Jesus says, “You fishermen who know what you’re doing and have been doing it for generations, just leave that behind, and I’m going to have you come fish for people.” They think, “Yes.” I think, no. I’m a huge introvert.

But I was talking about how Jesus does this so kindly here. He calls two sets of brothers. And for those of you who don’t know, I’m a multiple birth, and one of my sisters is still living. So we call each other twin, and we’re the oldest in our family, and we always went everywhere together. So we started off together. There wasn’t this fear of the unknown, because we always had somebody else with us—somebody to lean on, somebody to pretend that we were brave for, you know, somebody to lead the way. You were never alone.

And how wonderful it is to go out in ministry or into life and know that you’re not alone. We have this very real example here, but we don’t go out alone either, even if we’re single births—sorry for all of you who are—because it’s so wonderful to be a multiple birth—that we go out with the Holy Spirit, and we go out with our brothers and sisters here.

Here we are called. Here we are gathered into this place, not in order to be saved, but to be reminded whose we are. Here, as we gather, we become the body of Christ—not for our own sakes only, but for the sake of God’s creation. So we are never alone, because we are just part of something bigger than ourselves, and we are responding to something bigger than ourselves for the sake of God’s creation.

Because what was really resonating with me about this text this week is, sure, we’re called out into the world—but why?

You come to church. You come to this place with the beautiful music and with friends and family, and it can be life-giving and soulful and joyful, that this is its own kind of light. It can be really safe to feel like we want to stay here in this place. But we are sent out into the world for the sake of the world.

We are sent out so that we can forgive sins, so that we can be forgiven. So that we can love and be loved. So we can share the good news, be the good news, receive the good news. We are sent out into the world so that the naked can be clothed, the hungry fed, the widow sustained, the imprisoned visited. We are sent out to be bearers of hope for the sake of the world.

So, I read a lot of poetry to my congregation, which I—in case you don’t know—I have a congregation mostly of men. And so I usually get some really big eye rolls, but I just keep doing it because I know they secretly like it.

So this is from Kneeling in Jerusalem, Ann Williams, and this poem is called Our Dreams.

Sometimes the pages won’t turn in our book of dreams,

and we are left clinging to a life we never lived, just wanted to.

Stuck in the stark reality of unlived dreams,

we sniffle and shred water.

Or we go in search of the Holy One

who will wipe the tears from our eyes

and offer to us the only dream that lives.

The only dream that lives.

Our texts for today remind us about repentance and that need to turn back to God and that life-giving relationship—to turn away from the things that hurt ourselves and hurt our neighbors and call us instead to healing and wholeness, to this true dream, to this true gift that we have been given.

So, different book, same author, Searching for Shalom.

Our Lord is called hope. Our Lord was a Lord who turned things upside down and inside out. A man who dined with sinners. A man who befriended prostitutes and tax collectors. A man who was called heretic. A man who broke the Sabbath rules. A man who changed water into wine. And he bids us to follow him, to turn things upside down and inside out, to go where the hurting is, to change water into wine, to change who we are into the kingdom of God.

We are called, individually or together, out into this world, this frightening place, so that there will not be one person who feels like they are isolated or alone. There will not be one person living out their life in fear or regret or doubt. That every person will know that they are valued, seen, loved, appreciated, necessary—a beautiful part of God’s creation.

Thanks be to God. Amen.