Epiphany On The Shore (Matthew 4:12-22)

January 25, 2026, Year A, Third Sunday of Epiphany, Season of Epiphany

Matthew 4:12–22, Psalm 139:1–18, 1 Corinthians 1:10–17

Grace, mercy, and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you on this Third Sunday of Epiphany.

The Season of Epiphany is the season when the Church rejoices that Jesus Christ has been manifested, made known, revealed as the Savior and King. We saw that light in the star that led the Magi to Bethlehem. We heard the Father identify his beloved Son at the Jordan. Last Sunday, John the Baptist pointed to Jesus and declared, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29, ESV)

Today Matthew tells us that the light moves north to Galilee, into a land long associated with darkness, and there Jesus begins to preach, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” (Matthew 4:17, ESV) Then he walks along the shore and speaks two simple words that will change the lives of four fishermen: “Follow me.” (Matthew 4:19, ESV)

Those two movements belong together. The light dawns, and the King calls. Christ does not simply reveal himself so that we may admire him from a safe distance. He comes near, announces his kingdom, calls us to repentance, and draws us into his life and mission. That is why the Collect we prayed this morning is so important. We asked God, “Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation.” (BCP 2019, p. 602) The call comes from Christ, and even our answering depends upon grace.

Our primary reading is Matthew 4:12–22, so keep that passage before us. In verse 12 Matthew tells us, “Now when he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew into Galilee.” (Matthew 4:12, ESV) John the Baptist, the one who prepared the way, baptized Jesus, and pointed others toward him, has been arrested by Herod Antipas. The voice that cried in the wilderness is now confined to a prison cell.

In human terms, this could look like a setback. The movement surrounding John appears to have been checked by political power. Yet the arrest of John does not stop the purposes of God. Jesus moves into Galilee, and Matthew immediately tells us that even this relocation stands within the fulfillment of Scripture.

In verses 13 through 16 Jesus leaves Nazareth and settles in Capernaum, in the territory associated with Zebulun and Naphtali. Those names carry a long history. Centuries earlier, the northern regions of Israel had known invasion, defeat, exile, and foreign domination. Isaiah had spoken into that darkness and promised that it would not last forever: “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned.” (Matthew 4:16, ESV)

By Jesus’ day, Galilee was still a place of mixture and movement. Jews lived alongside Gentile influence. Trade routes passed through the region. It stood far from Jerusalem and from the center of religious life. Yet Matthew wants us to see that this is exactly where Isaiah’s promise begins to come visibly to fulfillment.

The light does not remain concentrated among the powerful or the prominent. It dawns in Galilee. It shines among fishermen, families, laborers, people going about ordinary lives under the same burdens that have marked human life in every age. The promised King comes into the place Isaiah had described as darkness, and the darkness does not prevent his coming.

There is pastoral comfort in that. We know what it is to live through seasons that feel shadowed by grief, disappointment, illness, doubt, family sorrow, or prayers that seem unanswered. Scripture does not promise that every shadow will disappear according to the timetable we would choose. It gives us something better. It tells us that darkness does not put us outside the reach of Christ. The light belongs to him, and when Christ comes, the darkness does not get the final word.

Then in verse 17 Matthew gives us the first summary of Jesus’ preaching: “From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’” (Matthew 4:17, ESV)

Notice the order. Jesus does not announce that the kingdom will come if people can first become worthy of it. He announces that the kingdom has drawn near, and because the King has come near, he calls people to repent. The initiative belongs to God. Christ comes. Christ speaks. Christ calls.

Repentance is therefore not our attempt to persuade God to come toward us. It is the turning that his coming demands and his grace enables. We turn from sin because the King has drawn near. We turn from self-rule because another Lord stands before us. We turn from the ways we have learned to justify ourselves because Christ calls us into his kingdom.

And that call is not limited by the old boundaries of human expectation. Jesus is proclaiming the kingdom in Galilee of the Gentiles. The light that Isaiah promised reaches toward the nations. The Gospel will eventually be proclaimed to every people, tribe, and tongue. But we should not confuse the wideness of the proclamation with the idea that everyone simply possesses the kingdom automatically, or that fallen human beings naturally choose God when given sufficient information. The same Christ who announces the kingdom commands repentance, and the Collect teaches us to pray for grace even to answer his call.

We do not save ourselves by hearing well enough or deciding well enough. If we hear Christ, if we turn, if we follow, grace has already been at work. The King who commands repentance is also the Savior who gives what he commands.

Then we come to the shore.

In verse 18 Matthew says, “While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen.” (Matthew 4:18, ESV) This is ordinary life. There is no synagogue, no temple court, no theological classroom. There are boats, nets, water, work, and men earning their living.

Jesus speaks to them: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” (Matthew 4:19, ESV) Notice again who acts first. Jesus sees them. Jesus calls them. Jesus promises to make them into something they are not yet. He does not say, “Make yourselves useful to me, and then perhaps you may follow.” He says, “Follow me, and I will make you.”

That promise matters. The Christian life is not simply our attempt to imitate Jesus by force of determination. Christ calls us, and Christ works upon those he calls. Peter is not yet the Peter who will confess Christ at Caesarea Philippi, preach at Pentecost, shepherd the Church, suffer for the Gospel, and finally give his life in witness. Andrew is not yet the apostolic missionary he will become. James and John are not yet ready for everything Christ will teach them.

But Jesus knows what he is doing when he calls them.

Matthew tells us that Peter and Andrew respond immediately: “Immediately they left their nets and followed him.” (Matthew 4:20, ESV) A few verses later James and John do the same: “Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.” (Matthew 4:22, ESV)

That word immediately catches our attention because the cost is real. Nets are livelihood. The boat represents security. Zebedee is their father. Following Jesus is not an interesting addition to an otherwise unchanged life. His call rearranges everything.

Yet the broader Gospel witness helps us understand that these men were not encountering Jesus as complete strangers. In last Sunday’s Gospel, Andrew and John had followed Jesus after hearing John the Baptist call him the Lamb of God. Andrew then brought Simon to Jesus, and Jesus said, “You are Simon the son of John. You shall be called Cephas” (which means Peter). (John 1:42, ESV)

They had already encountered him. They had already begun to see who he was. Now Matthew brings us to the shore, where recognition becomes costly obedience. The one whom they have begun to know now says, “Follow me.”

There is something deeply pastoral here because this is often how Christ deals with us. We may hear his Word for years before a particular command suddenly presses upon us with new force. We may have followed him faithfully in one area while discovering another part of our life that we have kept carefully outside his reach. We may find ourselves called again to repentance, again to trust, again to forgive, again to serve, again to speak of Christ when silence would be easier.

That does not mean Christ must begin over with us every morning as though nothing has happened before. It means discipleship is living under the continuing lordship of the one who first called us. The Christian life includes moments when the familiar voice of our Savior presses the same fundamental word upon us in some new place: “Follow me.”

And this is where Psalm 139 gives us such deep comfort. The Christ who calls us is not guessing about us.

The psalm begins, “O Lord, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways.” (Psalm 139:1–3, ESV) God’s knowledge is complete. He knows what is visible and what is hidden. He knows what we have said and what we have not yet found words to say.

The psalm continues, “Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?” (Psalm 139:7, ESV) The answer is nowhere. Heaven does not exceed his reach. Sheol does not hide us from him. Even darkness cannot conceal us, because “even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day.” (Psalm 139:12, ESV)

Then David brings that knowledge all the way back to the womb: “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.” (Psalm 139:13, ESV) He says, “Your eyes saw my unformed substance.” (Psalm 139:16, ESV)

The same God who knows us this completely is the God who calls. So when Christ says, “Follow me,” he is not calling people about whom he has incomplete information. He knows our strengths and our weaknesses. He knows the sins we confess and the ones we are still reluctant to name. He knows where we have been faithful and where we are frightened. He knows our age, our limitations, our responsibilities, our wounds, and the years remaining to us.

And still he calls.

That should keep us from two opposite errors. We should not imagine that Christ calls us because we have made ourselves impressive enough to be useful to him. Peter, Andrew, James, and John do not submit résumés from the fishing boat. But neither should we imagine that we are too ordinary, too limited, too old, too unknown, or too flawed for Christ to use. He knows whom he calls.

Our Collect teaches us the right response: “Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ.” Even the readiness is grace. We do not boast that we heard better than someone else. We ask the Lord who calls to give us ears to hear and hearts willing to follow.

Then 1 Corinthians shows us what happens when people called by one Lord forget who called them.

Paul writes to a Church divided into factions. Some say, “I follow Paul,” others, “I follow Apollos,” others, “I follow Cephas,” and others, “I follow Christ.” (1 Corinthians 1:12, ESV) Paul responds, “Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” (1 Corinthians 1:13, ESV)

The answer is obvious. Paul was not crucified for them. Apollos was not crucified for them. Peter was not crucified for them. They were baptized into Christ.

Pastorally speaking, the call to discipleship is always a call to unity because Christ does not call us into private kingdoms organized around our preferred human leaders. He calls us to himself and therefore gathers us to one another. We may value different teachers. We may have different gifts, different histories, different temperaments, different ways of seeing secondary matters. But none of those differences may become a rival lordship.

The Church belongs to Christ.

Paul says in verse 17, “For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the Gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.” (1 Corinthians 1:17, ESV) The cross strips away human boasting. No preacher can take Christ’s place. No personality can become the center. No faction can claim ownership of the Church for which Christ died.

So the movement of our readings becomes clear. The light dawns because Christ has come. The kingdom draws near because the King is present. The King calls ordinary people to follow him. The God who calls knows them completely. By grace they answer. Christ makes them into witnesses. And those who follow one Lord are gathered into one people who belong to him rather than to rival human names.

Now bring that home.

Some of us are walking through shadows right now. Some carry grief that does not resolve quickly. Some carry anxiety for children or grandchildren. Some are tired. Some are facing changes we did not ask for. Some know the pain of strained relationships. Some are asking what faithfulness looks like in later years when the shape of life is not what it once was.

The promise of Epiphany is not that Christians never walk through dark places. The promise is that the light has dawned in Jesus Christ. The King has come near. The darkness cannot prevent his presence, and our weakness does not make his call impossible.

Perhaps there are nets we have been holding too tightly. Perhaps there is a grievance that has become familiar. Perhaps there is a ministry we have assumed belongs to someone younger, stronger, or more confident. Perhaps there is someone to whom we need to speak a word of Christ. Perhaps there is a sin we have spent years explaining instead of confessing. Perhaps the Lord is simply calling us to trust him again in a place where disappointment has made trust difficult.

We should not hear any of that as though the sermon were saying, “Try harder.” That would miss the Gospel and the Collect entirely. We pray, “Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily.” The One who calls us is the One from whom the grace to answer comes.

And the call is not a one-time event in the sense that once we first followed Christ there is nothing more to surrender. We remain disciples. We remain people under his Word. We remain people who need repentance, forgiveness, correction, courage, and grace. Again and again the same Lord brings his Word to bear upon the places in us that still resist him.

There may be times when we hear that call for the second time, the tenth time, or the hundredth time in some particular corner of life. But it is always the same Christ who calls, the same Christ who knows us completely, the same Christ who gives grace, and the same Christ who promises, “I will make you.”

Peter and Andrew left their nets. James and John left the boat. The Church in Corinth was called to leave behind its factions. And we are called to leave behind whatever competes with the lordship of Christ.

The light has dawned. The kingdom has drawn near. The Savior still says, “Follow me.”

So we pray what the Church has already taught us to pray this morning: Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily. Give us grace to repent where we have resisted you. Give us grace to follow where you lead. Give us grace to proclaim the Good News to those whom you place before us. Give us grace to live as one people under one Lord.

And when Christ has done his work in us, we will have no reason to boast that we found the light by our own wisdom or followed by our own strength. We will say instead that the Light came to us, the King called us, grace enabled us, and Christ made us his own.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.