Calling the Disciples

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In yesterday’s post we explored the meaning behind the Biblical land travelog that opens our gospel passage. Today we look to the people called to accompany Jesus on his mission.

17 From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” 18 As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew, casting a net into the sea; they were fishermen. 19 He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” 20 At once they left their nets and followed him. 21 He walked along from there and saw two other brothers, James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat, with their father Zebedee, mending their nets. He called them, 22 and immediately they left their boat and their father and followed him. 23 He went around all of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness among the people. 

Matthew includes the first of two important markers for the ministry of Jesus by telling us that “From that time on Jesus began to preach …” (4:17). The focus of the Gospel is no longer the identification of Jesus based upon the witness of others, but rather Jesus’ self-revelation in his words, deeds and signs. It is in these things he is revealed as the messenger of the Covenant, the King who declared that the kingdom of heaven was breaking into the experience of men and women.

The beginning of this record of Jesus’ ministry is marked by a note about those who followed him. Two sets of brothers are called by Jesus and become the first disciples. They are Simon Peter and Andrew, followed by James and John. The first call to discipleship is to fishermen, whose work is now to be ‘fishers of men’ – pointing to the later commissioning and mission to Israel and then to the ends of the earth.  In addition to the special call of the disciples, the ministry of Jesus calls out to a wider audience. As he teaches throughout Galilee and heals the sick, “great crowds followed him” (4:25).  But he does more than heal, Jesus is setting the stage to bridge to the “Sermon on the Mount.”

From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” The very wording of the passage indicates a fresh start, a new phase of Jesus’ activity. At the heart of this new ministry is the proclamation of a message identical with that of John the Baptist (3:2), and later to be echoed by Jesus’ disciples (10:7). Jesus calls for a decisive response to a new situation, the arrival in his ministry of the kingdom of heaven.

The first to make that decisive response are the first disciples. The story of the call of Simon Peter and Andrew is very similar to the following story about the call of James and John. Both stories echo the story of Elijah’s call of Elisha (1 Kgs 19:19–21; and the prophets generally, cf Amos 7:15) – people divinely called, uprooted from ordinary existence. The calls similarly possess a four part structure: (1) the appearance of Jesus; (2) the comment on the work of the prospective disciples; (3) the call to discipleship; and (4) obedience to the call.

The first disciples encountered Jesus coming to them in their everyday occupation of fishing in the Sea of Galilee — then as now, an important and profitable business in Israel’s economy. It is easy to assume that Jesus has made an ad hoc metaphor. However, the image of a deity calling people to a new life – in both Judaism and local pagan cults – as “fishing” was common. The common theme of this metaphor was that the person was being called to participate in the divine work.  Here God’s saving and judging mission to the world is represented by Jesus who calls disciples to participate in the divine mission to humanity.  This scene anticipates the formal mission sending (9:36 ff) and the wider mission imperative to the whole world (28:19-20)

Without any preparation and with little or no deliberation, they leave behind their business and their families in order to follow Jesus. Discipleship is first and foremost being with Jesus, and the quick response of the first disciples (“at once” according to verses 20, 22) suggests how appealing the invitation to be with Jesus must have been. But discipleship also involves sharing in the mission of Jesus (“fishers of men” according to v.19), and that dimension too is stressed from the very beginning.

Boring (The Gospel of Matthew, 169) notes that “Despite its small size, this pericope represents a major subsection of Matthew’s structure…The call of the first disciples is the beginning of the messianic community: the church. Jesus’ baptism and temptation were not merely individualistic religious experiences of a ‘great man,’ but the recapitulation of the birth of Israel in the Red Sea and the wilderness testing; they lead to the formation of a new community, the Messiah’s people (1:21).” 

It is here that we gain some insight into Matthew’s understanding of discipleship. A modern reader is tempted to refashion this biblical picture of discipleship into more manageable categories: accept Jesus’ principles for living, accept Jesus as a personal savior.  Jesus “barges” into our midst and does not call us to admire him or accept his principles, but issues the divine imperative to follow him. The reasonable reply, “Where are you going?” is suborned to discovery along the way.  Even without the language, the call of the disciples is a story of “belief,” “faith” and “trust.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in The Cost of Discipleship, notes that Jesus comes to men already leading useful lives. 


Image credit: Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

Japan and Social Darwinism

In the previous post we considered the late 19th-century events in Hawaii that led to the overthrow of the Hawaiian constitutional monarchy and eventually the annexation of Hawaii as a U.S. territory. The post ended with the Japanese reaction to these events. This post explores the lens through which the Hawaii events were seen and the rationale for the coming wars with China (1894-1895) and Russia (1904-1905). It also forms the basis on how the United States will be increasingly seen from Japan’s point of view.

If you ask most people who coined the phrase “survival of the fittest,” the most probable reply is Charles Darwin. But the correct answer is Herbert Spenser, a 19th century English philosopher. He is best known for his theory that, much to his chagrin, came to be known as Social Darwinism. Spenser’s work was based on the evolutionary theory of Lamarck, who posited that organs are developed or diminished by use or disuse and that the resulting changes may be transmitted to future generations.  Spenser applied this view of evolution to society, proposing that societies, like organisms, evolve from simple to complex, and individuals/groups best adapted to competition thrive (“survival of the fittest”). He might be thought of as sociological “libertarian” as he advocated for minimal government interference (laissez-faire) to allow natural progress through specialization and adaptation, viewing society as an evolving organism. He argued for individual liberty and believed societal advancement comes from the “fittest” succeeding, leading to a more complex, efficient world.

When Spenser’s work reached late-19th-century Japan it reshaped elite thinking leading to a re-evaluation and view of China and East Asia after the Meiji Reforms. The core assumptions absorbed in Japan was that the nations compete like organisms in which there will always be a struggle for the resources that make life flourish and history will be governed by conflict in which weak states are absorbed or eliminated. Moral intention will not stave off extinction. For a nation that had long been invested in Confucian life where virtue and moral order are essential elements, the shift away from moral intentions to survival of the fittest, the natural pathway was imperialism and permanent competition for local, regional and global dominance.

It was a rapid shift away from traditional and classic ways of understanding the world order because they watched it unfold in the living laboratory called China. For Japanese elites and leaders social darwinism was evident in the Opium Wars, the Unequal Treaties, loss of economic control, and disintegration of internal cohesion. China became the empirical proof that moral civilization without power equals extinction.

Even before Spenser’s work reached Japan in 1870, Fukuzawa Yukichi published “Conditions in the West,” a meditation based on his observations in Europe and America. He introduced the concept that international relations operate by power, not morality and as a result weak nations are exploited regardless of virtue. He pointed out that China, while being morally refined, is politically helpless, no nation at all and is subjugated to the economic interest of the non-Asian world powers.

Among Japanese elites the dialogue asserted that Asia was collectively at risk, only strength and modernization could prevent subjugation, and equality would be granted only to those who could enforce it. Thus national survival required military parity, industrial capacity and territorial buffers

In 1882 Katō Hiroyuki published “A New Theory of Human Rights,” work in which Katō explicitly rejected natural rights, arguing that rights arise from power. He applied what was essentially evolutionary logic to politics: “The strong rule; the weak are destroyed—this is the law of nature.” Why this is significant is that his work marks the moment when evolutionary struggle became normative political theory. And then Spenser’ s work was translated by Katō and was propagated throughout academic journals tied to Tokyo Imperial University. Spencer’s philosophy opposed imperial aggression, but the Japanese elite emphasized struggle and survival.

In 1886, Tokutomi Sohō moved social darwinism to general readership with his work “The Future Japan.” In the popular work he combined social darwinism, national destiny, and historical inevitability. He argued that nations are competing organisms with only two outcomes: domination or eradication. He used China as the proof. This text popularized elite theory for mass readership, turning Darwinism into common sense.

In 1890 social darwinism was explicitly militarized as state strategy in the writings of Yamagata Aritomo. He was not translating western works, but synthesized western military theory to highlight key elements of national strategy: buffer zones and strategic depth. His famous idea was describing Korea as “a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan.” Yamagata asserted that since conflict was inevitable, preemptive expansion was critical and the first goal was Korea. If Japan did not dominate Korea, another power would. 

The ideas of Yamagata pointed to zones of survival that were more than geography. Given Japan’s lack of many natural resources, Manchuria became seen as a repository of needed resources and a buffer against Imperial Russia. Zones of survival were never neutral. It was in this view that imperialism was not aggression but was defensive in nature. The implications are that the “empire” was inevitable and forced by global conditions. This allowed Japanese leaders to claim: “We do not seek conquest; we seek existence.” It is a logic that removes ethical restraint.

Another important work was “Leaving Asia (1985) by Fukuzawa Yukichi. It was an essay that argued that Japan must separate from backward Asia (pointedly referring to China and Korea).  Strategically this transformed these two nations to “zones of survival” for their resources and to position to serve as a buffer against major powers.

The evolving integration of social darwinism into national polity and strategy began to transform Pan-Asianism. Early Pan-Asian thought was focused on solidarity among Asian nations in order to form a mutual defense in terms of culture, economy and border integrity. But under the concepts of social darwinism, Asia needed a leaderJapan’s view was that they were the only viable candidate. Solidarity was replaced by the architecture of hierarchy within Asia.

This thinking was not uniform across the range of Japanese elites. Some Pan-Asian thinkers opposed the imperialism embedded in the fusion of the two forms of strategy. At the same time, business leaders worried about economic stability and national budgets being redirected to military expansion. But military and bureaucratic elites set the national policy

What this means is that, depending on who governed, international relationships would be increasingly less reliant on the role of diplomacy as international relations became zero-sum, evolutionary and amoral. This logic carries will become evident in the First Sino-Japanese War (1894–95), the Russian-Japanese War (1904–05), the aftermath of the Mukdan Incident (1931) and the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945; the opening action the the Asia-Pacific War) and in the attack on Pearl Harbor.

When Japan adopted a Social Darwinist lens, East Asia ceased to be a shared moral world and became a competitive ecological system. China was re-imagined not as a fallen elder brother but as an endangered species whose weakness threatened Japan’s own survival. Russia, Britain, France, Holland, Germany, and the United States were existential threats to Japan’s independence.

From this perspective, imperial expansion was a necessity for the very sake and survival of the nation.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives.

Biblical Geography

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In yesterday’s post we placed our gospel reading in context of the unfolding of the events after Jesus’ time in the desert and before the calling of his disciples. In today’s post we explore the meaning behind the Biblical land travelog that opens our gospel passage.

12 When he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. 13 He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, 14 that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet might be fulfilled: 15 “Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles, 16 the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death light has arisen.” (Mt 4:12-16) 

Jesus’ first stop in Galilee was Nazareth, the village where he grew up (2:23). Matthew does not dwell on Nazareth (cf. Luke 4:16–30), preferring to stress Capernaum because its location has prophetic significance. Capernaum is on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee, roughly two miles west of the Jordan River. 

While Capernaum is mentioned in the other Gospels as a scene of Jesus’ ministry, only Matthew makes explicit that Jesus now made it his home or at least a ‘base’ to which Jesus and his disciples returned from time to time from their itinerant ministry. Matthew’s reason for mentioning this may be due to his own connection with the town where he served as a tax collector (Mt 9:9) or there may be a more theological motive in stressing the unique opportunity offered to this town which failed to believe (11:23–24). In any case, Capernaum, as a busy lakeside town, ensured a wider audience for Jesus’ teaching than Nazareth; leaving Nazareth may also reflect the rejection of Jesus by his own people recorded in Luke 4:16–30.

Because Capernaum is not mentioned in the OT, Matthew stressed its location in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali (cf. Joshua 19:32–39); these two are mentioned in Isaiah 8:22-9:2. The territory of these two tribes was the first to be devastated (733-32 B.C.) at the time of the Assyrian invasion. 

The expression “the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan” in Isaiah describes Galilee from the perspective of the Assyrian invader, as the land west of the river. “Galilee of the Gentiles” was now an even more appropriate description than in Isaiah’s day, as successive movements of population had given it a predominantly Gentile population until a deliberate Judaizing policy was adopted by the Hasmonaean rulers, resulting in a thoroughly mixed population in Jesus’ time.

Matthew finds that the area is the place of revelation of the Jewish Messiah in Isaiah’s prediction of new light dawning in Galilee after the devastation caused by the Assyrian invasion. After Isaiah’s prophecy to King Ahaz that the Lord’s sign to him was that a virgin would give birth (Is 7:14), Isaiah goes on to prophesize of a new salvation under a future Davidic King in which the lands lost to the Assyrian King Tiglath-pileser III in Ahaz’s time, would be restored to the rule of the throne of David. Isaiah describes those lands as “distress and darkness, oppressive gloom, murky, without light” (Is 8:22). It was true during the time under Assyrian rule, but even in Jesus’ time Galilee was often the underdog both in political fortunes and in the eyes of official Jewish religion.  But in Jesus’ ministry in the region “the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death light has arisen” (Mt 4:16)

Matthew connects the political darkness facing Israel in the days of Isaiah to the spiritual problem that caused it. Israel’s defection from the Mosaic covenant had led to her oppression by other kingdoms. Centuries later the linger effects point to the need for the redemption from sin that was now coming through Jesus the Messiah. In this way, Matthew highlights another fulfillment theme. Galilee was looked down upon by the Jerusalem establishment and those who supported it. Its population was a mixture of Jews and Gentiles. It was to this darkened place (cf. Ps 107:10; Luke 1:79) that Jesus brought the light of the Kingdom of God. His mission was not primarily geared toward the Gentiles during these early days of the Galilean ministry, but the beginnings of Jesus’ ministry in a remote, despised place, largely populated by Gentiles, foreshadows the expansion of mission to all the nations at the end of Jesus’ ministry (Mt 28:19).


Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

Intersections

Old garments and old wineskins represent the established religious practices, traditions, and structures of Judaism at the time, particularly those associated with the Pharisees and their legalistic interpretations of the Law. New cloth and new wine symbolize Jesus’ ministry, His teachings, and the Kingdom of God. This new way of life emphasized grace, faith, and a renewed covenant relationship with God rather than strict adherence to rituals and traditions.

Just as an unshrunk cloth will tear an old garment and new wine will burst old wineskins, the message and life Jesus brings require a transformation. Trying to merge the old and the new will lead to conflict and possibly destruction given the inherent nature of the old and new.

Jesus is inviting people into a renewed relationship with God that goes beyond the limitations of the old covenant. The “new wineskins” symbolize the need for hearts and lives to be transformed and made ready to receive the dynamic, expanding reality of God’s Kingdom.

What will the next three years bring with our president, Senate and Congress, mid-year elections, tariffs, armed conflict, wars, rumors of war… and the list goes on. Is this new wine trying to be poured into old wineskins? Old wine into new wineskins? Will things come apart at the seams? Who knows? Time will tell if the next four years are transformative.

On this day I wonder about the old and the new as I recall Dr. Martin Luther King’s Letter from the Birmingham Jail where he writes: “…. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard many ministers say: “Those are social issues, with which the gospel has no real concern.” And I have watched many churches commit themselves to a completely other worldly religion which makes a strange, un-Biblical distinction between body and soul, between the sacred and the secular.” These words were written 62 years ago. Are they “old” or “new” wine? Do they have transformative power?

Dr. King went on to wonder with deep disappointment at the laxity of the churches to respond to the injustices in the world. He wrote:

“There was a time when the church was very powerful – in the time when the early Christians rejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town, the people in power became disturbed and immediately sought to convict the Christians for being “disturbers of the peace” and “outside agitators.”’ But the Christians pressed on, in the conviction that they were “a colony of heaven,” called to obey God rather than man. Small in number, they were big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be “astronomically intimidated.” By their effort and example, they brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contests. Things are different now. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an arch defender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church’s silent–and often even vocal–sanction of things as they are.”

These are some who proclaim that as a nation we are at an intersection of rights, freedom, rule of law, and even the foundation of the Constitution.  But you know….as Church and as believers we are always at that intersection, year in and year out. We are not called to be thermometers that simply reflect the temperature of civil society. We are always called to be the thermostat that transforms the mores of society to model the teaching of Jesus and the Kingdom of God. Democrats and Republicans come and go. Opinions rise and fall. Dr. King knew that even 2000 years later, the words of Jesus are ever “new wine” – everlasting words.

In the days, weeks, months and years to come lots of words will come from our civic leaders. Surely, they will be different words, but test these words against the Word of God lest we and the Church become thermometers that only reflect the ebb and flow of secular power.


Image credit: Pexels | Photo by Tom Fisk | CC-0 | https://www.pexels.com/photo/bird-s-eye-view-of-roadway-during-evening-1692694/

Hawaii: a view from Japan

The history of how Hawaii came to be part of the United States is not, in my opinion, a shining moment in our nation’s history. The Hawaiian archipelago consists of five major islands and a number of smaller islands – including Midway at the extreme northwest. The five major islands and several smaller ones in proximity were united under the great King Kamehameha in 1795. It was not a bloodless unification, but the Kamehameha dynasty was the reigning monarchy of the Hawaiian Kingdom. The Kingdom was formally recognized by the United States in 1846 and as a result of the recognition of Hawaiian independence, the Hawaiian Kingdom entered into treaties with the major nations of the world and established over ninety legations and consulates in multiple seaports and cities.

Europeans had first come across the islands in the late 1700s and by the 1790s was an active destination for American merchants. The arrival of outsiders brought new technologies, goods, diseases, and political dynamics, ultimately leading to Kamehameha’s unification of the islands. One of the key elements of Hawaiian that outsiders quickly encountered was that the land is a gift and not to be owned by individuals. It is a concept that the Hawaiians managed well enough in the normal matters of houses, villages, farms and the such. It was a concept unthinkable to merchants, missionaries, and members of the western business community.

Over the next 100 years more and more outsiders came to the islands. American merchant ships began stopping in Hawaii for supplies, and some sailors jumped ship to live among Hawaiians. The first wave of Americans were the New England missionaries who arrived in 1820. They were soon followed by business men, investors, and all manner of commerce. Plantation agriculture first appeared in Hawaii with the establishment of the first permanent sugar plantation in 1835, marking the start of large-scale commercial sugarcane production that would define the islands’ economy for over a century. It also led to immigration from China and Japan.

Immigration to Hawaii

Between 1852 and 1899, around 46,000 Chinese immigrated to Hawaii. Although many came as laborers for sugar plantations in Hawaii, they concentrated on getting education for their children. When their contracts expired, many decided to remain in Hawaii and opened businesses in areas such as downtown Honolulu’s Chinatown.

In 1868 the first documented group of Japanese immigrants arrived seeking work in Hawaii’s sugarcane and rice fields, though this initial wave was small. The major waves began in 1885 when the first large-scale, government-sponsored group of almost 1,000 Japanese laborers arrived, following King Kalākaua’s diplomatic efforts to secure workers from Japan for the plantations. Following this, many Japanese women arrived as “picture brides,” marrying men they’d only seen in photographs to join the growing immigrant community. In time, the Japanese community was well established in the islands.

All during this period land ownership was a constant source of friction between the native Hawaiians and the outsiders. In 1875, the U.S. considered Hawaii as critical to their national interest in the Pacific region and began discussions with the Hawaiian government about the use of Pearl River Lagoon as a naval base. We know the area as Pearl Harbor.

Imperialism from within

During the summer of 1887, while the Legislature was out of session, a group of Hawaiians (most also U.S. citizens) with land and business interests, essentially hijacked the nation. Under the threat of armed revolt and assasination, King Kalakaua signed what is known as the Bayonet Constitution. This resulted in disenfranchising two-thirds of the native Hawaiians as well as other ethnic groups who had previously held the right to vote but were no longer able to meet the new voting requirements. The new constitution was to the benefit of the white, foreign plantation owners. Of interest to this series is that Asian immigrants were completely shut out and were no longer able to acquire citizenship or vote at all.

The ruling elite almost immediately began to petition the U.S. to annex Hawaii. They sent a delegation to Washington in 1894 seeking annexation, but the new President, Grover Cleveland, opposed annexation and tried to restore the Queen. Spurred by the nationalism aroused by the Spanish-American War, the United States annexed Hawaii in 1898 at the urging of President William McKinley. Hawaii was made a territory in 1900.

Why annex Hawaii?

What were the considerations when the U.S. annexed Hawaii? Perhaps it can best be explained in three arenas: strategic considerations, economic motivations, and political rationale.

The strategic motivations can arguably be seen as an extension of “manifest destiny” extended into the Pacific for access to Asian markets. At the same time, acquiring territories like Florida and Louisiana was crucial to secure borders, control Gulf Coast ports, and prevent European powers from establishing footholds near U.S. territories. In the same light, security and economics merged by establishing Hawaii (Pearl Harbor) and the Philippines as vital naval bases and coaling stations, projecting American power into the Pacific and challenging European empires. This was also part of the political calculus

Economic motivations were basic: American industry needed raw materials and new consumers, making territories rich in resources or with potential trade routes in the Pacific highly valuable. This also gave added impetus to the development of west coast ports such as San Francisco, Los Angeles and Portland. 

From a distance

By the 1880s Hawaii had become strategically and demographically important to Japan as Japanese laborers were the single largest ethnic group on the islands with many under state-supervised emigration contracts. Hawaii was also strategically important sitting astride Pacific sea lanes. Japanese naval planners viewed it as vital to Pacific security. Hawaii also had a symbolic importance to the Japanese. It was an independent non-Western monarchy, like Japan. Thus, its fate was watched closely as a test of whether non-Western states could survive. Thus Hawaii was both a practical concern (citizens, trade, security) and a symbolic mirror of Japan’s own vulnerability.

After the Hawaiian coup, Japan formally protested, viewing the coup as an illegal seizure of power and a threat to Japanese residents’ rights. The protests focused on unequal treatment of Japanese subjects as agreed to under international law. Japan dispatched the warship Naniwa to Honolulu (1887) to signal their protest in sign of deliberate restraint as there was no attempt to restore royal authority.

Despite outrage in some Japanese newspapers and among naval officers Japan feared diplomatic isolation and being labeled an “uncivilized” power – and mostly conflict with the United States and Britain. Many Japanese commentators concluded: “Even civilized, independent states can be destroyed if they lack power.”  This sentiment was to come to a fuller fruition in the years to come. 

When the U.S. annexed Hawaii, there were diplomatic objections similar to the ones a decade earlier, but there was also a pragmatic realism: Hawaii was firmly within the U.S. sphere. At the same time Japan was between wars in their own home region. The First Sino-Japanese War had just concluded and other war clouds were gathering for possible conflict with Russia. Japan protested symbolically but accepted the new reality.

Lesson learned

The events in Hawaii had a tremendous influence on the Japanese strategic mindset. The elites and military of Japan drew these lessons:

  • International law follows power
  • Legal sovereignty offers no protection without force.
  • Western powers will not tolerate non-Western autonomy in strategic zones
  • Emigration creates strategic vulnerability
  • Japan must secure its own buffers and so Korea and Manchuria became increasingly urgent.

Japan responded to the Hawaiian crisis with protest and symbolic force but no intervention, and it accepted U.S. annexation as unavoidable—drawing from Hawaiʻi the sobering lesson that even “civilized” non-Western states could not survive without overwhelming power, a conclusion that hardened Japan’s later imperial strategy.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives.

Beginning of Public Ministry

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A when our primary gospel source is from St. Matthew. Our gospel passage is placed after the heavenly voice has identified Jesus as the Son of God in whom He is well pleased in the baptism account (3:13–17). It also follows the text where Jesus proves what kind of Son of God he is during the temptations in the desert (4:1–11). In our passage Jesus journeys from Judea to Galilee in order to begin his public ministry (4:12–17). In the course of this journey Jesus will call his core disciples (vv.18-22) and witness to his proclamation with powerful deeds (vv.23-25).  His journey will cover the wilderness of Judea and the towns of Galilee. This begins with the barest of comments: “When he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee.” (v.12)  

From the beginning of Matthew’s narrative up through the “temptation” in the desert (4:1-11) we have been introduced to Jesus of Nazareth, Israel’s Messiah and Son of God. A rich profusion of scriptural quotations and allusions has traced a variety of prophetic themes and connection, which as a whole, point to the coming of Jesus as the time of fulfillment of God’s desire and hopes for his people. Jesus has been marked as the one who will carry the work announced by John the Baptist into the era of judgment and salvation promised from of old by God.  It is here in our gospel reading that the stage is now set for the public ministry of Jesus to begin in earnest. 

Following the arrest of John the Baptist, Jesus began his own ministry in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, in the region of Capernaum (v.12). While the verse offers the “when” the simple verse does not explain the “why there?” Unlike Mark (Mark 1:14–15), Matthew feels obligated to explain in some detail why the Messiah should begin his public ministry in Galilee rather than in Jerusalem and Judea. 

We know that, as Josephus tells us (Antiquities. 18:118), Herod Antipas saw the baptizing movement as a potential source of sedition. If Jesus had inherited that movement, then it is reasonable that Jesus would have been on Herod’s radar. But there is nothing to indicate that such succession was either real or planned. Would there be some risk in being associated with John the Baptist? Perhaps. What is clear is that Jesus “withdrew” from the south. “Withdrew” translates a word (anachōreō) used several times in Matthew and is associated with danger (see Mt 10:23; 12:15; 14:13; 15:21). There is something in Matthew’s use of “withdrew” that points to a “strategic” move. For example, seeing John’s ministry continuing in the South, Jesus focuses the kingdom message of repentance on the north of Israel closer to his home in Galilee.

Matthew uses geographical location to indicate not only change of scene, but also as an indicator of God’s will. As was the case when Matthew tells of the magi, Herod and the flight to Egypt, geography is explained in light of the Scriptures: Jesus’ Galilean ministry is in accord with the words of Isa 9:1–2, and thus in accord with God’s will. 

12 When he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. 13 He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, 14 that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet might be fulfilled: 15 “Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,  the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles, 16 the people who sit in darkness  have seen a great light, on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death  light has arisen.” (Mt 4:12-16) We will explore the idea of geography/fulfillment in a later post.


Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

To those reading the new World War 2 posts

Thanks to all who have been reading the series. I wanted to let you know that I have divided the series “Ending the Asia Pacific War” into different categories as I ran into a technical limit on the blog for showing previous posts on their own page with an associated menu item.

  • The original series which ran from August to November 2025 can be found under the menu item: WW II
  • The new series which began in 2026 can be found under the menu item WW 2

Enjoy


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives

Plans

Have you got some plans for the rest of the day? It’s playoff time for the NFL. Maybe you’re going to gather with friends and watch the game? Have plans for the week? A summer vacation? We all have plans of one sort or another. God has plans. He had them for you. Had them for John the Baptist and Isaiah, too. And the thing is that God’s plans turn out to be larger than anyone first imagined. That is true for Isaiah, for John the Baptist, for the Apostles, and if we are paying attention, even for us.

In the first reading, Isaiah, the servant, seems pretty clear about his sense of vocation. He knows he has been called by God, formed from the womb, named and claimed. And yet his initial understanding of what God is calling him to do, seems huge. “Isaiah, I need you to gather back all the people and restore Israel to be my Covenant People.” These are people that are scattered from Jerusalem to Baghdad and points East. This is no small task; noble and necessary, but huge. But that is not even the full scope of God’s plan. “It is too little… I will make you a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the ends of the earth.” Did you catch that: to the ends of the earth. What Isaiah thought was the whole mission turns out to be only the beginning. God’s plan is vastly larger.

We see the same pattern in the Gospel.  John the Baptist is at the Jordan River, likely at the same spot where the people first entered the Holy Land after the wilderness years of the Exodus. It was a sign that they were a Covenant People as they accepted what God had promised Abraham, Issac, Jacob and Moses – a land of their own; the Promised Land. And now John the Baptist has his mission: call the people to repent and recommit themselves to be that Covenant People. John has no idea that he is at the start of something much longer. He knows his role, but not the full scope of what God is about to reveal.

And then he sees Jesus coming toward him and says something no one could have predicted: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” Not the sin of a few. Not the sin of Israel alone. But the sin of the world. It is the parallel to Isaiah’s “ends of the earth.” It is becoming clear that Jesus’ mission will cross over national, religious, and cultural boundaries. The scope of God’s plan is way fuller than what we could imagine.  But maybe now we can look into the “rear view mirror” and see the pattern.

With Adam and Eve, God began with a family. With Moses, God formed for Himself a clan. In Abraham and Sara, this grows to become a tribe. It becomes a confederation of tribes with Moses and then a nation under David and the kings of Israel and Judah. But now with Jesus Christ, it is all the people of the world.  This is the full scope of God’s plan.

This is how God works. God’s call begins in something familiar: a people, a place, a responsibility and then widens. And this pattern does not end with Jesus. If we are paying attention, we who follow Christ are always being drawn beyond what feels comfortable or sufficient. The Church herself is born from a mission that is always bigger than expected. Bigger than one culture, one language, one generation.

Even in our personal lives, God’s work often begins with a simple yes, only to reveal later that he was asking for much more than we first realized and offering much more than we might imagine. 41 years ago I said, “Sure, I can help with the Youth Ministry.”

Realizing we are being asked for more can be unsettling. Such moments require deeper trust. They demand that we loosen our grip on control and allow God to expand our vision.

We are Isaiah in our own time and place. We are the countless known and unknown ancestors in the faith. We are baptized, we are chosen – not because we are perfect, but because God desires us and wants to reveal ourselves to ourself and to others. Slowly, sometimes awkwardly through prayer, experience, ministry, and the movement of the Spirit. We are sent. Go, the Mass has ended. We are sent on missions,  not necessarily far away, but into the places where our lives already touch others.

The challenge is that each stage requires trust. Trust with a capital “T.” To trust the movement of the Spirit – even if it is only an inkling, a rumination, a passing thought. To trust that we are chosen even as we feel totally ordinary. To begin even when clarity is incomplete.  To accept being sent when the mission feels larger than our ability. 

And to trust that God always supplies grace for the mission. That was Isaiah’s experience. That was the experience of the Apostles. It has been the experience of the faith in the millenia since. When John the Baptist pointed to Jesus, he did not explain everything. He simply bore witness to what he had seen. And sometimes that is all faith asks of us: to stand where we are, to recognize what God is doing, and to allow ourselves to be drawn into a mission that is always bigger than we can imagine

This is the Way. It has always been the Way.

Here at the beginning of the year, at the start of Ordinary Time after the Christmas Season, in what way are you being called? Maybe it’s involved in ministry? Maybe being the one who animates family prayer? Perhaps you’ll start listening to the Bible-in-a-Year podcast during your commute to work. Volunteer to prepare meals for the homeless. It’s all there: pay attention to that inkling, rumination, or passing thought. Trust it is the movement of the Spirit. Don’t worry about the full scope. Take the next step.

It is the grace Nike moment of your walk in Christ. Just do it.


A Hinge in History

There is what scholars sometimes describe as a “lovely strangeness” in how the evangelists talk about John the Baptist. Each writer is announcing the same figure, but each tunes John’s ministry to a distinct theological key. Modern scholars tend to emphasize those distinct emphases; the Church Fathers, with their characteristic theological imagination, tend to harmonize them.

Mark leads with moral urgency. John appears in the wilderness: “proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” (Mk 1:4). Repentance is the doorway into the story. John’s baptism cleans, prepares, and awakens Israel to the coming kingdom. Mark is writing for a community who needs to know that the gospel demands an immediate response.  The Gospel of John gives a different angle. John the Baptist says: “I did not know him, but the reason why I came baptizing with water was that he might be made known to Israel.” (Jn 1:31) And the Baptist’s testimony climaxes in the Spirit descending and remaining: “I saw the Spirit come down like a dove from the sky and remain upon him.” (Jn 1:32). The Fourth Gospel is not denying repentance; it simply pivots to revelation. John is the hinge by which Israel sees the One upon whom the Spirit rests. The heart of John’s theology is revelation: Jesus is shown as the Lamb of God, the Spirit-bearer, the Son.

Modern scholars today tend to approach each gospel as its own literary and theological world. So they notice that Mark focuses on the ethical preparation of the people. John’s ministry cleans the heart so that one can welcome the stronger One who is coming, focusing on Christological revelation. The Baptist’s job is not primarily to purify Israel but to point out and identify Jesus as the one on whom the Spirit “remains” which will be a major Johannine theme. Modern critics don’t see these as contradictions but as distinct windows into the same historical event. 

The Early Church writers in the 2nd through 4th centuries did not focus on the topics as modern scholars. The Father treated Scripture as a unified symphony, not a set of competing soloists. So they typically harmonize the accounts. They see the accounts as windows with complimentary views of the same historical event. Augustine, Chrysostom, and Hilary of Poitiers all say something like this: John’s baptism is first a baptism of repentance, preparing the people; it is also God’s chosen stage on which Jesus’ identity is revealed. John Chrysostom says that John called Israel to repentance so that they would be ready to see Christ when he appeared. Repentance clears the eyes; revelation fills them. Hilary notes that the Baptist is “the boundary between the covenants”—the last prophet of the old and the first herald of the new. His washing works as a sign, not as a sacrament; its value lies in its direction.

Either way, the outcome is the same: the Baptist’s ministry is a hinge between the old age and the new. The ministry calls Israel to turn back to God and pointing, unmistakably, to the One in whom the fullness of the Spirit dwells.


Image credit: Saint John the Baptist Preaching to the Masses in the Wilderness | Pieter Brueghel the Younger | Galerie de Jonckheere, Paris | Wikimedia Commons, PD-US

Control vs. Trust

One of the enduring tensions in the life of faith is the tension between control and trust.

In the first reading, the elders of Israel come to Samuel with what sounds like a reasonable request: “Appoint a king for us to govern us, like all the nations to judge us.” They want stability, predictability, and protection. Their request is not irrational. Samuel himself is aging, and his sons have failed. The future is not looking so good. But God’s response reveals what lies beneath the request: “They have rejected me as their king.”

Israel is not simply asking for leadership; they are asking for control. I think that is something we can all relate to. We want something visible, centralized, and predictable. They want a system they can manage, even if it comes at a cost. Samuel patiently warns them of that cost: a king will take their sons, their daughters, their land, their labor. Control always demands payment. And still, the people insist.

Be careful what you wish for.

In the Gospel, we encounter a very different posture. The paralytic’s friends bring him to Jesus, but they cannot control the situation. The house is crowded. The path is blocked. There is no obvious solution. Yet instead of forcing outcomes, they trust. But notice it is not passively waiting in trust. They take some creative action as they continue to trust. They open the roof (Luke’s description is a little more vivid: they dig up the roof). With the passage cleared, they lower their friend into Jesus’ presence. At that point, they relinquish control, but not hope.

Jesus responds first not with a command to walk, but with words of forgiveness. This unsettles the scribes, who are deeply invested in controlling how forgiveness is mediated and who is authorized to offer it. Their objection sounds theological, but it is rooted in fear of losing control of their religious authority and status. Jesus exposes the contrast by asking: “Which is easier?” The real issue is do they trust that God is acting freely among them, or must everything remain contained within familiar structures?

The irony is striking. Israel asks for a king who will take from them, and God reluctantly allows it. A paralyzed man is brought to Jesus who gives everything: forgiveness, healing, restoration. Jesus asks nothing in return.

And what about us? These readings invite us to look honestly at our own lives. We, too, are tempted to trade trust for control. We want certainty before commitment, guarantees before obedience, clarity before faith. We prefer plans we can manage over dependence that leaves us vulnerable. It is a very human and natural inclination.

But the trust we are speaking about is very divine and supernatural. We know from our own experience that control offers only the illusion of safety and leaves us closed.  The harder thing is trust but the upside is that trust opens us up to God’s grace.

The friends of the paralytic do not control the outcome.  Heck they don’t even speak. But their trust speaks volumes and creates an opening where healing can happen. Israel, on the other hand, insists on control and receives exactly what they asked for, along with its burden.

The question these readings pose to us is simple and searching: where are we clinging to control when God is inviting us to trust?

God’s reign is never imposed through force or fear. It is proposed and received through faith. The kind of faith willing to open roofs, let go of certainty, and place what we cannot fix into God’s hands.

And when we do, we often discover that what God gives is far more freeing than anything we tried to control.


Jesus heals a paralytic | mosaic from Sant’Apollinare Nuovo – Ravenna | photo by José Luiz Bernardes Ribeiro | CC BY-SA 4.0