When we go through our elder nomination process for session each autumn, we pray that the Spirit would guide us to those he wants.  This should in no way be taken to mean that those not nominated are not wanted.  For a particular mission, a particular task, in a particular season, you assemble the team you need for that mission, that task, that season.  For another mission, another team would be called together, and yet another for still another season.

I know that, for me, it’s easy to forget that Jesus was often going about with a rather large group of people, way more than twelve men.  People heard the power of God was with Jesus.  Believing or doubtful, they went to see for themselves.  They saw the power of God at work through Jesus.  Some went back home, back to work, marveling and praising God.  Others couldn’t bring themselves to leave, just yet.  They were seeing the power of God but, more, they were also hearing a man speak with stunning authority, saying things as if God Himself had been pleased to speak.  What they heard Jesus saying captivated them, broke them as they recognized and acknowledged in his words their own brokenness.  What they heard Jesus saying, though, did more: his words encouraged them, gave them hope, assured them there was a way out of brokenness, a way of healing, of restoration, of salvation.

Salvation, salvation—saved from what?  The Romans?  The cold-hearted, rule-bound Pharisees?  Saved from the impossible demands of the beautiful, holy law?  Saved from the wrath and judgment of God?  In a sense, each of those, yes.  The longer those who kept hanging around Jesus listened, the more they prayed about and thought about what they were hearing him say, the clearer it became that Jesus was offering them salvation from themselves.  Some who figured that out were done with Jesus then and there.  Self—serving self—was so dear to them that they could never let that go.  You’ve got to look out for yourself first!  Others realized, like a blessed downpour in a dry place, like wholesome food in a hungry place, like a sudden flood of light in a dark place, that salvation from self was exactly what they needed, had been needing all along.  Not everyone figured all this out in the same way at the same time; others understood it more quickly; still others hadn’t entirely figured it out even at the foot of the blood-smeared cross.

Mark tells us that “Jesus went up on a mountainside and called to him those he wanted, and they came to him” (3:13).  Calling from the mountain.  Remember Exodus?  “Moses, Moses.”  Out of a very large number, Jesus called those whom he wanted for a special, particular purpose.  This does not mean that Jesus did not value or have any use for the scores of men and women whom he did not call up the mountainside to him that day.  Remember, for a moment, how the vacancy left by Judas’ betrayal and suicide was filled.  Peter addresses the whole group, saying: “it is necessary to choose one of the men who have been with us the whole time the Lord Jesus was living among us, beginning from John’s baptism to the time when Jesus was taken up from us” (Acts 1:21-22).  They then chose Matthias, there among them all along.

I like to think that, on the day when Jesus called the twelve to him, Matthias, who was also there, was not in the least envious, not at all jealous.  Rather, he rejoiced in the plans Jesus had for those twelve, even as he rejoiced in the plans Jesus had for him.  Matthias never for a moment doubted that Jesus had plans for him, too: good, blessed plans.  Matthias had faith that those plans would become clear in time, over time.  He was content to learn and practice patience, doing what his Lord and Savior asked of him each day even in the humblest way.  That may be why the apostles were later guided to him: Matthias was such a sterling instance of a selfless, faithful, patient servant, entirely after the heart of Jesus.

If you have ever felt (and I pray that you never have felt and never will feel)—but if you ever have felt overlooked in church, here—neglected or not valued—I pray that you would not allow that to become a source of bitterness, resentment, or envy.  I pray that God would give you the peace of heart, steadfastness of mind, and the faith to rejoice in the plans He has for you, plans for blessing.  God gives each of us gifts.  They are not the same gifts.  Our equality is not an equality of gifts but equality in Christ.  When we focus our hearts upon Christ, rather than our perceived gifts or the perceived gifts of others, we shall live to the praise of God’s glory, together.

Jesus that day called twelve to him.  Not one was a Pharisee.  Not one was a scribe.  We are not told that any of them came to Jesus remarkably devout or religious.  Not one was particularly important in the eyes and by the measures and standards of this world.  All are remarkably important to God.  We know this because we know He sends Jesus Christ for us.  Jesus has particular plans for the twelve.  Because of the twelve, we have the faith handed to us faithfully in the pages of the New Testament; because of the Spirit-directed ministry of the twelve, we have a Church.  If you would be like one of the Twelve, hand on the faith, faithfully.

Jesus wanted the twelve, “that they might be with him and that he might send them out to preach and to have authority to drive out demons” (3:14-15).  They won’t do any good as preachers, God knows they could well do immense harm as preachers, if they are not in the first place much with Jesus.  Preachers must first be taught.  Preachers must first listen, attentively, thoughtfully, prayerfully, obediently, to the teaching of Jesus.  No preacher does that superbly, even with renewed will and earnest desire.  Like every believer, preachers also are entirely and constantly dependent upon the grace of God, pouring out for us all in Christ Jesus, through the ministry of the Holy Spirit.  O, precious fountain!

Jesus gives the twelve “authority to drive out demons.”  In the Gospels and then in Acts, we read about this authority in action.  This is not the first thing Jesus does with the Twelve.  He first calls them to teach them in an especially intense, hands-on way—what you educators may know as a practicum.  He does this to send them out as equipped, capable, faithful preachers.  Like any of them, Jesus could be in only one place at a time.  God wants the Word in many places.  Jesus needs many preachers, many proclaimers of the Word, many doers of the Word.  He begins with twelve.  He has millions, now.  Baptist preacher Adrian Rogers said it well: “We can’t all be preachers, but we can all be reachers.”

This power to drive out demons is not separate from the power of preaching.  The Reformers were always of the opinion that demons are driven out by the power of the Word.  The Word heals, cleanses, restores, purifies, upbuilds, encourages, strengthens.  Even if you’re not so sure about all this demon talk in the New Testament, I believe you would agree that there is much brokenness out there, including ugly, habitual brokenness—things that seem to have a seemingly irrational, subconscious grip on people: behaviors, choices, ways of thinking, ways of treating others, mistreating them!  As though something has hijacked the brain, the heart, or the soul.  God means for the Word—read, heard, proclaimed, preached—to do something about that.  The Word has the power to change lives.  Jesus calls us to join with the Spirit in changing our own lives and to be, through the Spirit, life changers.

It begins with the Twelve, all twelve: “Simon (to whom he gave the name Peter), James son of Zebedee and his brother John (to them he gave the name Boanerges, which means ‘sons of thunder’), Andrew, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, Simon the Zealot and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him” (3:16-19).  Yes, even Judas.  Was he the weak link, a hypocrite start to finish, through and through?  Oh, we want to say yes, of course, but what if it wasn’t like that?  Many Jesus movies wonder about this; in several cases, the fictional retelling makes Judas out to be very close to Jesus, which makes the final betrayal all the more horrible and painful.

I wonder about the order in which Mark lists the Twelve.  Is it in order of importance?  I mean, there at the top of the list are Peter, James, and John.  Jesus seems to keep those three particularly close.  Now, if you recall John’s own telling of how these things happened, it was Peter’s brother Andrew who brought Peter to Jesus.  Before that, Andrew had been a follower of John the Baptist.  Rather than concluding that the differences among the accounts mean all of it was made up, I prefer to believe that we get closer to what happened and how by harmonizing.  Andrew brought Peter to meet Jesus, and Peter left that day interested, though not yet convinced or committed.  At some later point, Jesus is walking along the shore of the lake.  Peter and Andrew are there, casting their net.  Jesus calls them, and we know the rest.

It may be that Mark lists the Twelve in order of prominence.  It may be that he lists them in approximately the order in which they joined Jesus.  Turning to John again, we read how Jesus next called Philip (Jn 1:43).  Philip might have been the other follower of John the Baptist who turned to Jesus.  In any case, it’s Philip who, like Andrew, starts telling people right away about Jesus, starts right away to invite them to come and see.  Later in John’s account, Philip, together with Andrew, bring people to meet Jesus: an admirable model for us all!

Not far from where Devon and I lived in Corpus Christi, there is an Episcopal Church: St. Bartholomew’s.  I confess that, the first time I saw that, I had to go look up Bartholomew: I didn’t know a thing about him!  We know Philip tells a man named Nathanael about Jesus.  Nathanael is less than impressed.  Well, Bar-tholomew is an Aramaic family name, not a first name, so some take Nathanael to be Nathanael Bar-tholomew: Nathanael son of Ptolemy.  Church tradition relates that Bartholomew went to proclaim the Good News in Persia, what today is Iran.  It’s only taken two thousand years, but by the reports I’m reading, Christianity is growing in Iran—please pray along with me that it would continue to do so!

We know about Matthew, the tax collector, the sinner, and Thomas, the Doubter; Thomas was also a twin, I presume identical.  All sorts of strong questions occur to me about Thomas and his twin; what church tradition tells us is that Thomas went to proclaim the Good News in India—practically the ends of the earth, at the time.  I wonder how far I’d be willing to go—to what lengths I’d be willing to go and how far out of my comfort zone, to help people get acquainted with Jesus.  Remember, we have an evangelistic mission field always right outside these doors, and right outside your door, too.  Jesus asks that we share him with others.

About James son of Alphaeus, Thaddaeus, and Simon the Zealot we just don’t know that much, except that they didn’t seek the spotlight.  Oh, with the other nine, they had their worldly, envious, and immature arguments about precedence and pecking order, but, more and more, they also took to heart what Jesus said about denying themselves and taking up their cross, and I want to believe, I have to believe that, if they could do it, I can, too—we all can.  I also know we can because the Spirit assures us that, through his work in our lives, this is possible, and God’s desire for us.

Finally, Judas.  Mark lists him last.  Because he was last to join, least important?  Oh, we can think that, act as if Judas never really belonged at all, as if everyone deep down knew it all along, even if Jesus didn’t seem to.  But why entrust with your finances the one whom nobody deep down trusted to begin with?  Shouldn’t your treasurer be the one who just oozes trustworthiness, integrity, truthfulness?  Nobody else wanted the job!  If Judas was a wicked mess from the get-go, how shall we not also point that accusatory finger at ourselves?  No, Judas preached, too.  Judas also drove out demons.  Jesus washed the feet of Judas, knowing all that was about to happen.

And the Tempter knew his man.  Much as Judas wanted to live by faith, there was also fear, much fear, and doubts, many doubts, maybe also disappointments . . . and desires.  I somehow think the Parable of the Sower always stuck with Judas.  The opposite of faith isn’t fear.  It isn’t even doubt.  God can overcome all of that.  The opposite of faith is disobedience, and for that, as God shows us, there is only one hope, one way, one cure: the one cure Judas, finally, just couldn’t, just wouldn’t take.