The first part of today’s gospel narrates a scene after the conclusion of John the Baptist’s mission. Jesus moved from Nazareth to Capernaum. Capernaum was a village of fishermen and farmers that stretched for about three hundred meters along the western shore of Lake Gennesaret (Galilee). Galilee was inhabited by Israelites regarded by all as semi-pagans because they were born from the intermingling of different peoples. They were considered as people living in darkness and ignorance.
It became the center of his activities for nearly three years. The change of residence—a very trivial fact—has been read by Matthew in its theological significance as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy: “The people who lived in darkness have seen a great light: on those who live in the land of the shadow of death a light has shone” (v. 16). With this choice, Jesus indicates who are the first recipients of his light, not the pure Jews but the excluded, the distant.
In the second part of the passage, the calling of the first four disciples is narrated. It is more a piece of catechesis than a call narrative. The evangelist wants the disciple to understand what it means to say “yes” to Christ’s invitation to follow. It is an example, an illustration of what it means to be converted.
Matthew shows Jesus in constant movement. The one who is called must realize that he will not be granted any rest and there will not be any stop along the way. Jesus wants to be followed day and night and throughout life. There are no moments of exemption from commitments taken.
The answer, then, must be prompt and generous as that of Peter, Andrew, James and John who “immediately left their nets, their boat and their father, and followed him” (vv. 20, 22). The abandonment of one’s own father should not be misunderstood. It does not mean that anyone who becomes a Christian (or chooses the religious and consecrated life) must ignore one’s own parents. Among the Jewish people, the father was the symbol of the link with the ancestors and of attachment to tradition. And it is this dependence on the past that must be broken when it constitutes an impediment to welcome the novelty of the gospel. The history, the traditions, the culture of every people must be respected and valued. However, we know that not all the habits, customs, ways of life handed down are compatible with the message of Christ.
The demand of Jesus relates to the dramatic choice that the early Christians were called to do: choosing to become disciples they were rejected by the family, misunderstood by parents, expelled from the synagogues, and excluded from their people. For all, leaving the father implies the abandonment of everything that is incompatible with the gospel.
To the invitation to follow him, Jesus adds the charge: “I will make you fish for people” (v. 19). The image is taken from the work done by the first apostles. In biblical symbolism, the sea was the abode of the devil, of diseases and everything that opposed life. It was deep, dark, dangerous, mysterious, and terrible. In the sea, the monsters lived, and in it, even the most skilled sailors did not feel safe.
Fishing people means to get them out of the condition of death where they are. It means to pull them out from the forces of evil that, like the raging waters, dominate, engulf and overwhelm them.
The disciple of Christ does not fear the waves and courageously faces them, even when they are raging. He does not give up hope to save a sister or a brother, even when s/he is in a humanly desperate situation: a slave of drugs and alcohol, unbridled passion, irascible, aggressive and intractable character. In whatever situation he is he will be saved by the disciple of Christ.
Indebted to Fr. Armellini SCJ for textual analysis
There is a moment in today’s Gospel that always moves me—not first in the grand declaration, but in the quiet, almost hidden humanity of John the Baptist. He says: “I did not know him.” Think of that. Here is the voice crying in the wilderness, the prophet filled with fire and purpose, the one chosen to prepare the way—and yet, he confesses, I did not know him.
John had been preaching, calling people to repentance, pointing to one greater. He had a mission, a certainty of direction—but not yet a face to put to the promise. Isn’t that so often our own story? We sense a call. We feel a longing. We work, we pray, we prepare the way in our own hearts—yet the Lord remains, in a sense, unknown. We are pointing toward a mystery we have not yet fully seen.
And then comes the tender revelation: “The one who sent me to baptize with water told me…” God had whispered a secret to John: Look for the Spirit. Watch for the sign. And when Jesus came, that inner promise was fulfilled. The Spirit descended like a dove and remained. Not a flash, not a spectacle, but an abiding presence. And in that moment, John knew. Not by his own cleverness, not by external proofs, but because God unveiled the truth to a heart that was waiting, watching, and obedient.
John’s mission did not change, but now it had a name. He still baptized with water, still called people to repentance—but now his finger could point to a living Person: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” His entire life’s purpose found its focus in Jesus. From a general preparedness, he moved to a personal encounter. From a truth understood in words, to the Truth standing before him in flesh.
This is the pattern of every vocation. God first stirs our hearts. He gives us a sense of purpose, a holy restlessness. We may not understand fully; we may even feel we are preparing the way for someone or something we do not yet know. But if we remain faithful to the duty of the present moment—like John, baptizing, preaching, doing what he was given to do—God will, in His time, reveal the face of the One we serve.
The Lamb of God comes quietly, gently. The Spirit descends not with roar and wind, but like a dove, in peace, and remains. Our call is to be people who stay where we are planted, do what we are given, keep our inner eyes open—and trust that God will show us Him. He does not reveal concepts; He reveals a Person. And when we see Him, our testimony becomes not a doctrine, but a witness: “I have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.”
So today, if you feel you are in a season of “not knowing”—if your call feels unclear, your purpose still hidden—take courage from John. Stay faithful to the light you have. Keep preparing the way in your own heart and in your little corner of the desert. Watch for the dove. Listen for the whisper. God who calls you will, in His perfect moment, show you the Face you are longing for—and you, too, will be able to say, with awe and certainty: Behold, the Lamb.
全属于祢 
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