Yes, Chef
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
January 21, 2024—Epiphany 3B
Jonah 3:1-5, 10; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1:14-20
I have to admit, I kind of miss the old translation in which Jesus says, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Not because I want to imply a gender-inclusivity that no longer exists for the word “men,” but because “fishers of men” retains the poetic word play that I believe Jesus intended, rather than anything that was to be taken literally. Above all, his call here is an invitation to specific people in a specific situation; it was pithy, it is deep, it is playful.
But far too often, we have not been taught to read the Bible that way. So it’s easy to get narrow and confused when hearing this passage. Honestly, it can be hard to see past all of the factions who’ve taught us to hear this as a command to bring more souls to Jesus. As though the work to which Jesus is calling Andrew and Simon is the work of “bringing people to Christ.”
And for those who have experienced the very negative side of this theological camp, what that sounds like is that the point of discipleship is to drag people (unwilling as they may be, gasping for breath as they may feel) into the church, because they need to be saved, and this is what that camp believes salvation to be.
Which, okay … but that is not in the text.
Yes, the point of the gospel of Mark is to invite people into discipleship. The whole gospel is structured to bring people to a point of decision, and to urge them to make that commitment. To take that leap. To follow.
But discipleship, in the gospel, is NOT a belief in Jesus that will save you from hell and get you a ticket to heaven. And the goal and purpose of a disciple of Jesus is NOT to bring others into discipleship in some sort of pyramid scheme.
The point of discipleship, the definition of discipleship, is to live with Jesus, to learn from Jesus, and to follow Jesus.
“Follow me,” Jesus says, “and I will make you fishers of men.”
Follow me, he says, and if you read the rest of the gospel, you understand the rest of the sentence: Follow me, and I will form you into a person who heals the sick. Follow me, and I will give you the courage and power to cast out the evil spirits that torment and warp humanity; I will give the courage and power to feed people in a way that seems completely impossible; and I will give you the courage and power to stand against political leaders who imprison, punish, and put to death anyone who dares to threaten their authority.
Follow me, in other words, and I will take your gifts and your passions, and use them to build the kingdom of God. Because the time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God has drawn near, is drawing near, will draw even nearer, if you answer the call. Because Herod the tyrant has arrested John the Baptist. And there are people who are poor and starving. And there are people who are wounded, and sick, and in need of all kinds of healing.
The time is now. Frankly, it is always now. And we desperately NEED the healing, liberating, sustaining power of the kingdom of God!
It was never about the fishing. We’ve grabbed hold of the wrong part of that sentence, I believe (no matter how beautiful this stole I’m wearing is). It’s not about fishing; it’s about the call. It’s about what Jesus can make of us and the work he calls us into. He talks about fishing here, because the people he is calling are fishermen. But the call is to all of us, with whatever gifts and passions and talents we have. We too can help to bring about the kingdom of God. We too can be made into what the Kingdom needs for its work of healing, forgiveness, justice, and liberation.
Follow me, Jesus promises, and I will take the gifts and skills that you have, and I will fill you with purpose, and with power.
One of my favorite tv shows from the past couple of years is a comedy-drama on Hulu called “The Bear” (it swept the table at the Emmy’s last week, and is well worth your time). It tells the tale of an award-winning young chef named Carmy, who comes home to run his family's Italian beef sandwich shop after the suicide of his older brother. He is left to deal with his brother's unresolved debts, a rundown kitchen, and an unruly staff, all while dealing with his own pain and significant family trauma.[i]
You can probably imagine some of the misunderstanding and resentments that flow through the story, as a fine-dining chef tries to learn the ropes, make a go of, and perhaps transform a local Chicago sandwich shop. But one of the beautiful through-lines of it all, for me, is his insistence not only that they all address him as “Chef,” but that they all address each other as “Chef” as well. So, as they move through the space, bumping into each other, helping each other, screaming at each other, there is this constant interplay of “Yes, Chef,” “No, Chef,” “Sorry, Chef.”
All of them, giving and receiving that respect. Sydney, the talented young woman who joins the staff because she wants to learn from Carmy. Tina, a long-term employee with a sharp tongue, bristling at these upstarts trying to tell her what to do in her kitchen. Marcus, the shop’s good-natured and eager to learn bread baker, now turned pastry chef. And Cousin, oh, Cousin Richie, the de facto manager of the restaurant whose scorn for this returning little brother knows no bounds, even as he struggles with the fear that he cannot keep up with Carmy’s talent and expectations.
They fight, they resist, they push back, they push through. And no matter what: “Yes Chef.” It’s like a kind of magic. A naming that both recognizes and also calls something forth. Yes Chef, No Chef, Are you ready for service, Chef? How does that taste, Chef? What might improve it, Chef?
It really does pull something out of them. Making them want to be better, to do more, to live up to the title. All of them, one way or another, growing past the fear and resentment, choosing to learn and become instead. So that they can serve people better. To give them hospitality, and to feed them. So that they can, in fact, be chefs.
That’s what a real call does. It not only names the thing that you are invited into, it also begins to bring it about in you. When Jesus looks into your eyes and names the You that he will use to build the Kingdom, he is both recognizing that and strengthening it. You, the fisherman. You, the doctor. You, the artist. You, the gardener. You, the compassionate friend. You, the organizer. You, the singer. You, the manager. You, the writer. You, the listener. You. Come with me, and we will heal the sick, and feed the hungry, and confront the powers that limit and destroy. God will put those gifts to work in the kingdom. Because the time is now, and you are exactly who the world needs. Isn’t that right, Chef? May it be so, Amen.