There is something both compelling and unsettling about the Gospel scene we hear today. Jesus walks beside the Sea of Galilee, calls out to ordinary working men, and their lives change direction in a moment. Simon and Andrew, James and John do not ask for clarification or delay their response. They leave their boats, their work, even their father, and they follow. It is swift, decisive, and total.

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For many of us, that kind of response feels distant from our own experience. We live in a culture that values caution and choice. We are encouraged to keep our options open, to avoid commitments that cannot be reversed, and to protect ourselves from risk. Faith, in that setting, can slowly become something gentle and manageable – a source of comfort, a part of our background, or an aspect of personal identity, rather than a call to conversion.

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Over time, religion has often been understood mainly in terms of what it provides. Faith consoles those who are anxious, supports those who grieve, and offers meaning in times of distress. These are genuine and precious gifts, and the Church must never abandon them. Pope Francis spoke powerfully of the Church as a field hospital, tending wounds and offering mercy before anything else. That emphasis has been both necessary and healing.

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Yet the Gospel never allows mercy to drift into mere reassurance. Jesus does not begin his preaching by telling people they are already fine as they are. He begins with a summons: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” (Matthew 4:17, ESV). Repentance is not about fear or humiliation. It means turning around, changing direction, allowing God to reshape our lives. Divine love is not passive. It is creative and transforming.

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This is why the call of the first disciples matters so deeply. Jesus does not invite them to admire him from a distance, nor to add a spiritual interest to otherwise unchanged lives. He invites them to follow – to place him at the centre and allow everything else to be reordered around that choice. The nets they leave behind are not evil. Work, family, and responsibility remain good and necessary. What changes is what comes first.

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Saint John Paul II insisted again and again that Christianity is not an ideology or a moral programme, but an encounter with a living person. To encounter Christ is to be drawn into relationship, and relationship always carries consequences. The fishermen by the lake are not persuaded by an argument. They respond to a voice that addresses them personally and calls them forward.

In recent years, we have rightly grown more sensitive to the dangers of pressure or manipulation in matters of faith. No one should be coerced. People must be protected, especially when they are vulnerable. Respect between different faiths, and with those who profess no faith, is essential. These developments reflect a real moral maturity.

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But something vital is lost if we begin to believe that truth no longer matters, or that inviting others to follow Christ is somehow improper. If faith is reduced to a private comfort, it ceases to be good news. The early Church did not grow because Christians were discreet about their beliefs, but because they lived differently and spoke honestly about what had changed their lives.

Jesus never promises ease. He promises purpose. “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” (Matthew 4:19, ESV). Mission flows from conversion. Only those who have allowed their own lives to be reshaped can help to draw others towards hope. God’s mercy does not cancel responsibility; it gives it meaning.

The Gospel today leaves us with a question that is quiet but demanding. What are the nets we are still holding? What habits, fears, or securities keep us tied to the shore, cautious and safe, but unwilling to move? Christ does not call us away from life, but into its fullness. As he did beside the Sea of Galilee, he still walks past ordinary people and speaks a simple word – a word that changes everything: follow.