We Know Who We Follow: Jesus

Rev. Jonathan Brown

05/11/2026

Sometimes the things that become central to who we are begin as a surprise. They do not always arrive with a clear plan, a perfect explanation, or a sense that we understand exactly what we are saying yes to. Sometimes a door opens, an invitation comes, a possibility appears, and only later do we realize that something important in us began to take shape there.

When Francis came to us at eleven, he spoke very little English. I spoke no Spanish. Katy knew a bit. And DC Child and Family Services seemed to consider a person bilingual if they had Google Translate on their phone. Every day, I thank God because his young mind has been able to adapt to our language, while I still find myself cursing Duolingo.

And since Francis became part of our family, he has also become an accomplished cyclist. He has won two Under 19 series championships, and he spends his free time training to get better. At our local bike shop, someone told us he was a unicorn because he fell in love with cycling even though his parents were not already obsessed with it. This was not a family culture he simply inherited. It became his.

One day after a race, I was kind of in awe of him and all he had accomplished, and I asked him, “Francis, how did this happen? How did cycling become your thing?” And he said, “Do you remember when I first moved in with you, and you asked if I wanted a bike?” I said, “Yes.” And he said, “I did not know what you were saying, and I did not want to be rude, so I just said yes. Then I fell in love with it.”

I love that. Because so much of life is like that. One day, seemingly out of the blue, something comes into our lives that we did not plan for and could not have predicted. At first, it may feel random. It may feel small. It may feel like a simple yes to a simple question. But over time, that unexpected beginning can become a practice, then a passion, then a major part of who we are. A bike becomes more than a bike. A first ride becomes a rhythm. A rhythm becomes a love. A love becomes part of someone’s identity.

And that helps me hear Mark’s story with fresh ears. Simon and Andrew do not wake up that morning knowing they are about to become disciples. James and John do not begin the day expecting their lives to turn in a new direction. They are working. They are casting nets. They are mending nets. They are living the life they know. Then, seemingly out of the blue, Jesus walks by and says, “Follow me.” What may have felt sudden in the moment becomes the beginning of their identity. They will come to be known as disciples, apostles, witnesses, people whose lives are forever shaped by Jesus. One ordinary day becomes the day they discover the call that will define them.

In this first movement of our series, we are asking one of the most basic and important questions Christians can ask: Who are we? In a culture that often tells us our worth depends on success, power, control, or fear, the gospel speaks a deeper truth. We are beloved. We are called. We are connected. We are sent. And today, we begin with this: we know who we are because we know who we follow. We follow Jesus.

Mark tells the story with striking simplicity. Jesus passes along the Sea of Galilee and sees Simon and Andrew casting a net into the sea, because they are fishers. Jesus says to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of people.” Immediately, they leave their nets and follow him. Then Jesus goes a little farther and sees James and John, the sons of Zebedee, mending nets in their boat. He calls them too, and they leave their father in the boat with the hired men and follow him.

That whole scene unfolds with surprising simplicity. Jesus walks along the water and sees ordinary people in the middle of their ordinary work. The call of Jesus meets them right there, in the texture of daily life, among boats, nets, family, labor, and responsibility. Before they have time to prepare themselves, before they know where the road will lead, Jesus invites them into a new life. He finds them in the routines they know and calls them toward a future they cannot yet imagine.

That is good news, because many of us assume that if God is going to call us, we need to be somewhere else first. We need to become more faithful, more prepared, more certain, more spiritually mature. But Mark tells us Jesus calls people in the middle of life. Jesus calls them as they are, but he does not leave them as they are.

“Follow me,” he says, “and I will make you fishers of people.” That phrase can sound strange to us, especially when it has been used in ways that feel manipulative or aggressive. But Jesus is calling them into a way of life that gathers people into the nearness of God. He is calling them to participate in healing, mercy, liberation, forgiveness, and beloved community.

Jesus calls these first disciples to walk with him until his way becomes their way. That is discipleship. Discipleship is the lifelong practice of being shaped by the one we follow.

That is why this sermon title matters: “We Know Who We Follow: Jesus.” The church is always tempted to forget. We are tempted to follow success, fear, nostalgia, outrage, or whatever gives us belonging without transformation. But Christians belong to Jesus Christ.

And Jesus shows us who God is. As we follow Jesus through Mark, we see what God’s life looks like in the world. We see Jesus announcing good news, healing bodies, restoring people to community, touching those others refuse to touch, feeding hungry people, welcoming children, challenging religious hypocrisy, confronting oppressive powers, and refusing to abandon the vulnerable. We see him going to the cross rather than returning violence for violence. We see him raised by God, with the promise that death and empire and abandonment do not get the final word.

So when we say, “We follow Jesus,” we are saying our lives are being reoriented around the crucified and risen Christ. We are saying that the clearest picture we have of God’s character is Jesus eating with sinners, touching the untouchable, forgiving enemies, blessing the poor, challenging the powerful, and giving himself in love. That is not ideology. That is a way of life.

This is where our United Methodist tradition helps us. Methodism began as a renewal movement of people who wanted to follow Jesus with their whole lives. Early Methodists gathered in societies, classes, and bands. They prayed together. They confessed sin together. They studied scripture together. They gave money to the poor. They visited the sick and imprisoned. They held one another accountable in love.

As the movement grew, John Wesley gave the people called Methodists what became known as the General Rules: first, do no harm; second, do good; third, attend upon all the ordinances of God. In more recent years, Bishop Rueben P. Job helped many United Methodists recover the power of these rules in his book Three Simple Rules: A Wesleyan Way of Living . Job summarized Wesley’s General Rules in language that has become familiar across our tradition: do no harm, do good, and stay in love with God.

These rules are a way of asking, every day, “What does it mean to follow Jesus here?” What does it mean to follow Jesus in this conversation, this conflict, this family, this workplace, this church, this neighborhood, this moment?

There is a sitcom called The Good Place that, beneath all the jokes, bright colors, frozen yogurt shops, and absurd afterlife architecture, is really about moral formation. The show begins with Eleanor Shellstrop waking up after death and being told that she has made it into “the Good Place.” But Eleanor quickly realizes she does not belong there. In life, she had been selfish, rude, careless, and often cruel. So at first, her moral project is not really about becoming good. It is about passing as good.

That is part of what makes the show so funny and so honest. Eleanor wants to learn enough ethics to blend in. She wants goodness as a disguise. And if we are honest, that is not always far from how people can treat religion too. We can learn the language, the gestures, and the right answers. We can learn how to pass as good. But Jesus does not call us to pass as faithful. Jesus calls us to follow.

And this is where Chidi becomes so important. Chidi Anagonye is a moral philosophy professor. He knows the ethical theories. He can explain Kant, Aristotle, utilitarianism, virtue ethics, and moral duty. If anyone should know how to be good, it should be Chidi. But Chidi’s problem is that knowing about goodness does not automatically make him free to live it. He is so afraid of making the wrong choice that he struggles to make any choice at all. His knowledge is real, but it has not yet become courage. His ethics are serious, but they have not yet become love in motion.

That makes Eleanor and Chidi surprisingly helpful for the church. Eleanor reminds us that faith is not about passing as good. Chidi reminds us that faith is not only about knowing what is good. Knowledge matters, but knowledge alone is not discipleship. Discipleship is when what we know becomes a life. Discipleship is when truth becomes practice. Discipleship is when grace becomes courage, mercy, forgiveness, service, and love.

Over time, Eleanor and Chidi both change because they are drawn into a deeper kind of formation. Eleanor has to practice honesty, compassion, and care for someone beyond herself. Chidi has to practice trust, courage, and choosing love even when he cannot calculate every possible consequence. In other words, both of them have to be discipled beyond appearance and beyond certainty into faithfulness.

That is what makes The Good Place surprisingly Wesleyan. The characters become different not because they master one idea or earn enough points, but because they keep practicing a better way of being human. Christian faith is not self improvement with hymns. The gospel is grace. It is God meeting us before we are ready, loving us before we are worthy, and calling us before we fully understand where the road will lead. But grace does not leave us unchanged. Grace begins to form us.

That is why the Methodist tradition has always cared about practices. We practice faith because practice keeps us open to the love that is already working on us. We practice doing no harm. We practice doing good. We practice staying in love with God. And over time, through the mercy of God, those practices begin to shape us into people who look a little more like the one we follow.

The first rule is: do no harm. Harm is not only physical violence. Harm can come through words, neglect, silence, systems, assumptions, jokes, posts, grudges, and the people we refuse to see. To follow Jesus is to ask: Is my life causing harm? Are my words causing harm? Are my habits causing harm? Are my comforts causing harm? Most of us are not being asked to leave literal nets on the shore, but we may need to ask what nets we are holding. What old ways of being keep catching us? What habits make us feel safe but keep us from love?

The second rule is: do good. Christian faith is about participating in God’s healing of the world. “Follow me,” Jesus says, “and I will make you fishers of people.” In other words, your life is going to become part of God’s work of gathering, healing, feeding, forgiving, restoring, and liberating. Sometimes doing good is serving someone who cannot repay you. Sometimes it is telling the truth when silence would be easier. Sometimes it is forgiving someone, apologizing, showing up, or acting with courage at work or at home.

The third rule is: stay in love with God. Wesley’s original language was “attend upon all the ordinances of God,” meaning the practices that keep us open to grace: public worship, prayer, searching the scriptures, receiving communion, fasting, Christian conversation, and works of mercy. In other words, stay close to the practices that remind you who you are and whose you are.

Because we cannot follow Jesus for long on outrage, willpower, or guilt alone. We need grace. We need prayer. We need worship. We need scripture. We need communion. We need community. We need people who help us remember when we forget.

And we do forget. The disciples forgot. Peter left his nets immediately, but later denied Jesus three times. James and John followed Jesus, but later argued about greatness. They followed, but they stumbled. They were called, but they were not instantly complete. And that should comfort us. Following Jesus does not mean we never fail. It means that when we fail, grace calls us again.

This matters because the world is full of rival formations. Every day, something is trying to disciple us. Fear disciples us. Consumerism disciples us. Nationalism disciples us. Algorithms disciple us. Anger disciples us. Anxiety disciples us. The endless need to prove ourselves disciples us. The endless need to belong by having an enemy disciples us. So the question is not whether we are being formed. The question is: Who is forming us?

So when we talk about discipleship, we are talking about formation. We are talking about what shapes our loves, habits, reflexes, speech, courage, compassion, and imagination. The world is constantly discipling us into anxiety, resentment, consumption, suspicion, and fear. But Jesus calls us into another formation. Jesus says, “Follow me,” and then teaches us the way of mercy, justice, courage, humility, forgiveness, and love.

And when Jesus says, “Follow me,” he is giving us both a command and a promise. “Follow me, and I will make you…” The making belongs to Jesus. The transformation belongs to grace. Jesus calls us as we are, and then grace begins its work. Grace teaches us to do no harm. Grace strengthens us to do good. Grace draws us deeper into love with God. Grace makes us into people who can bear witness to another way of life.

So this week, choose one small way to follow Jesus intentionally. Serve someone. Forgive someone. Act with courage in your work or home. Do no harm. Do good. Stay in love with God. Not because these practices save us by our own effort, but because they open our lives to the grace that is already calling us.

Because somewhere, even now, Jesus is walking along the shoreline of our ordinary lives. He sees us. He knows us. He calls us. And his invitation is still the same: “Follow me.”

May we have the grace to leave behind what binds us. May we have the courage to walk in his way. May we have the humility to be made new. And may our lives become a clear witness to the truth we proclaim: we know who we follow. We follow Jesus. Amen.