A
postle? What is an apostle? A messenger? An office? A gift? Is there a better understanding of this word?
Whatever it means, it does not mean me. Jesus did not choose me to be an ‘Apostle.’ Nor did the other apostles when the time came for replacing Judas, even though I was one nominated. I was not chosen. The first time, I was not so much troubled. Jesus had a right, I considered, to choose whom he wanted. They were, after all, his apostles. I was not hurt in the least that he did not choose me. There were many of us who followed him who also were not chosen. It never occurred to me that he would choose me. The second time however, was different. There were only two of us from which to choose. The method by which the choice was made was pure chance. Dice. They may as well have flipped a denarii. How could something as significant as this be decided so irresponsibly? It was an insult to the Spirit of God; it was an insult to Matthias who was chosen; it was an insult to me, who was not.
Now as I look back on this singular event, instead of imagining what my life would have been like had I been chosen, I wonder instead what it would have been like had I not known Jesus, or spent those special years with him. It is he who really shaped and formed my life. In retrospect, I can state with absolute sincerity, that is all that matters.
