"Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him. 
~Matthew 4:19-20
 
What does it mean to fish for people? Many of us were told by church voices it was a sort of collection, a saving of souls of one kind or another, like gathering so many fish in a net, as if the entity that became “the church” was somehow the way of salvation rather than a sign of it.
 
Ironically this wouldn’t be good news for the fish! Nor has it been good news for other religions and their paths to God. These notions grew out of a particular identity, out of a sense that we who were doing the fishing had already achieved something—some understanding or status or privileged relationship with the holy that situated us on the inside of a circle we were looking to draw wider.
 
Is there another way to understand this that takes into account what we have learned about our own stories and others’, that resist our predilections toward division and the ego’s need for self-justification that drives it? “I belong to Apollos, ” “I belong to Cephas…” said our ancient Corinthian siblings in their embittered community. Paul rejoins, “Has Christ been divided?” (1 Corinthians 1:12-13).
 
The practice of the early church seemed to have much to do with making a space in the present for those who were not finding one. Mothers and brothers—siblings with which to travel life joyfully and with everything that was needed, an astonishingly rich tapestry of the human family. It was the presence of a new economy, if you will, and a way of thinking about whatever we do—fishing or otherwise—as a vocation, as a way to use what we have been given—talents and tongues, bread, education, medical care, time, even suffering—to bless and be blessed.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 9:1-4 † Psalm 27:1-4-9 † 1 Corinthians 1:10-18 † Matthew 4:12-23
 
About the Art: Koenig, Peter. Ceiling Painting for St Bede's, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58545 [retrieved January 20, 2026]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.
 
About the Artist: Peter Koenig is a Catholic artist located in the United Kingdom. Of his work, he says, “The goal of my life is to make a richer Christian-Catholic art. I want to paint the drama, romance and poetry of the sacred book.”
 
This painting on the ceiling of St. Bede’s church in Newport Pagnell, UK, was inspired by a number of passages, including:
Psalm 144
Reach down your hand from on high;
deliver me and rescue me
from the mighty waters
Psalm 18
He reached down from on high and took hold of me;
he drew me out of deep waters.
Matthew 4
“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” At once they left their nets and followed him.

[My servant] will not cry or lift up his voice,
or make it heard in the street;
     a bruised reed he will not break,
and a dimly burning wick he will not quench;
he will faithfully bring forth justice.
~Isaiah 43:2-3

The image from Isaiah—the first of the “servant” passages offers this breathtaking image of compassion, care, and gentleness: a bruised reed he will not break, nor snuff out a wick in danger of losing its fire. And yet, justice is the ultimate end of this tenderness. The contexts for both the ancient poet and our own share more than we would like to acknowledge. Black and brown bodies continue to be targeted by state actors. Our queer children and siblings are increasingly marginalized by policies that threaten their well-being. Our own leaders occupy the news programs with their neo-imperial message that we have every right to invade whichever countries we wish, to take and take whatever we want as long as we have the arms to do so. Abuses of power and callous demostrations of force are seemingly divorced from the well-being of people. We might wonder about the link between compassionate care and acquisitiveness, how the one can follow from the other.
 
And yet, here it is. Our Christian story suggests that the way to justice somehow travels through the wildernesses of vulnerability. This exposure is not something we want to achieve or experience. We do not seek it or praise it. But there is something about knowing vulnerability that can awaken in us a sense of the possible, of a dying to self that rebirths us as agents of solidarity, as the body of Christ in the world in which God genuinely delights.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 42:1-9 † Psalm 29 † Acts 10:34-43 † Matthew 3:13-17
 
About the Art: Zelenka, Dave. Baptism of Christ, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56385 [retrieved January 6, 2026]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Baptism-of-Christ.jpg.​

And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
~Matthew 2:12
 
Yet again in Matthew, a dream alters the future. This one comes to the magi (did they all three share it?). Do not trust Herod and his hungers. Go home by another way.
 
Another route home, of course, is also no new thing. Whenever we meet truth we are changed by it; souls awakened, lives transformed, we are set on a corrected path, the way forever altered.
 
Enter into worship.
 
Readings: Isaiah 60:1-6 † Psalm 72:1-7, 10-14 † Ephesians 3:1-12 † Matthew 2:1-12
 
About the Art: Herod with the Wise Men, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58872 [retrieved December 22, 2025]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ahrweiler_St.Laurentius609.JPG.