The Word Is Near

On the Christian calendar, today is the feast of St. Andrew. Andrew was one of Jesus's twelve apostles, and an active missionary during the early years of the Christian church. As it happens, he is the patron saint of my parish church--and one of the patrons of fishermen, which I didn't know when we began attending. Is it mere coincidence that I ended up in my present parish?

I probably shouldn’t be too quick to assume an affinity with Andrew just because I fish. My rector used to serve at a parish on the Maine coast, where many in his congregation were working commercial fishermen (like Andrew). In the first St. Andrew's day sermon I heard him preach, he talked up the ruggedness and stamina of these commercial fishers at the expense of recreational anglers, who, he said, "just sit in a boat drinking beer all day." Honestly, I was a bit offended. I hardly ever fish from a boat.

But seriously, Andrew is one of my favorite religious figures, and not because of his piscatorial associations. This is in spite of the fact that we know relatively little about him. In the gospels, he doesn't speak very often, and is seldom even mentioned, in contrast to his showboat brother, Peter. He's a low-key, workaday guy, which is precisely what's important about him.

Andrew and Peter (or in some accounts, just Andrew) met Jesus while tossing a net in the Sea of Galilee , going about their work like they did most other days. But that meeting gave their lives (along with many others') a meaning and a direction they couldn't have forseen. His example suggests that it is within the ordinary that we find the extraordinary; that in common experience we may find what is truly meaningful and wonderful in life. Many of history's sages are in agreement with that, and I think the idea holds up whether you want to associate it with God or not.

It is a message I could pay more attention to, especially when I'm at work, or slogging through some of the less pleasant aspects of domestic life. I'll admit I attend to these things grudgingly much of the time, but I believe, at some level, that they too might bring some meaning or fulfillment if I gave them more care and concern, if I would take them up willingly instead of resenting their intrusion on something more immediately gratifying. What might Andrew have missed if he'd blown off fishing that day to take a walk? What if he'd shut that insistent street preacher out of his mind with daydreams?

I'm the last person who will suggest we ought to banish all hedonism from our lives, or devote ourselves to a miserable routine in hopes of some inchoate enlightenment down the road. I think we all need a plunge into the exotic now and then. But since we're going to spend the bulk of our lives in the quotidian, it makes sense to keep our eyes and our minds open while we're there. To be open to what possibilities it may offer, instead of allowing fatigue or boredom to shut them out entirely. To remember that behind the drone of routine, "the word is very near" (as a passage from Deuteronomy read today proclaims). And especially, when the extraordinary flashes out from the ordinary, to respond to it as wholeheartedly as Andrew.

Tag: Religion