Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
February 4, 2007
Luke 5: 1-11
Although I have fished for a number of years, and gone on a number of fishing trips, until a little over a year ago, I had never fished with a professional fishing guide. Guess I have never been anywhere where I felt I needed a guide. Who knows how many fish I would have caught if I would have used one? But in December 2005, a group of us floated the Trinity River out of Lewiston, California, many of us fishing the Trinity River for the first time, and so each of our boats had a guide. One guide, two fishermen.
It is interesting fishing with a guide. He knows the river, knows what flies might work best, knows where the fish are, and ties everything on the line for you. I didn’t have to tie a single one of my bad knots all day. And many of them are very good fisherman. You can learn a lot fishing with a guide for a day or two. But I also discovered that you have to leave your ego back in your motel room. (You didn’t think we would be camping did you?) Guides are not shy about giving advice and are often not shy about criticizing you and your technique – or lack of technique – especially when you don’t follow their advice . One exasperated guide said to us, “Is there something about my voice that reminds you of your wife? Is that why you won’t listen to me?” You think you know a little about fishing, but after a couple of hours with an outspoken guide, you can begin to feel like a total novice. One guide even suggested to me that I should consider new equipment… and this was the second time I had used my new fly reel. But they are experienced, they do know how to catch fish, and if you listen, who knows, you just might learn something; maybe even catch a big one.
But my experience with a guide makes me wonder what Simon and James and John were thinking when Jesus offered them some unsolicited advice on how to catch fish. Now, yes, the day before, Simon had watched as Jesus healed his mother-in-law, but after all, any fisherman will tell you that it’s one thing to heal diseases, but it is quite another to catch fish.
We read that Simon and the boys had been out all night and had caught nothing. This almost guarantees that they were in a bad mood. I know good Christian men, many from this church, who take on new and frightening personalities if they have gone a couple of days without catching fish! (Not me, of course) They can make Mr. Hyde, of Jeckel and Hyde fame, look like a rather pleasant fellow. So after a night with no fish, I know that Simon was not a happy camper, but he agrees to let Jesus get in his boat so that he can preach to the many people who have followed him to the shore of the lake. But, when the sermon is over, Jesus decides to give the man who fishes for a living a little fishing advice. “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” If I told you what I honestly think Peter was thinking at that moment, this sermon would no longer be acceptable for all audiences. The last thing he needed to hear was fishing advice from this preacher who knew nothing about boats, nothing about water, and nothing about fishing. But he does what Jesus asks, and, for him and the others, nothing would ever be the same again. What is it about fishing with Jesus?
Reflecting on this text, United Methodist Bishop, William Willimon, writes, “It’s too soon in Luke or the new year for an Easter story. Still any time we’re working the night shift with Jesus, we must be prepared for an outbreak of Easter. We witness what it’s like to be astounded by a death-defying Jesus, moved from failure and scarcity to life and triumph.” Surely that must be one of the meanings of this text. Whenever you hang out with Jesus, you just never know when Easter will happen, when grace will happen, when life will happen. Simon expects nothing. A whole night fishing with nothing but empty nets to show for it. He expects nothing, he is prepared for failure, and he is in a terrible mood. What he gets is a catch that exceeds all his expectations. And he begins to understand that it isn’t luck, it is grace; and ordinary good fortune that is translated into a humble sense of wonder. Fishing with Jesus, you just never know when Easter might happen. God is not particular about the times and places of making God’s power and love known. You never know when grace will break in and the ordinary give way to the wondrous. This is what Peter experienced in that boat. And hopefully, if we are alert, if we are ready, we can experience it in our own lives.
I shouldn’t say this, but the sermon could stop right here – folks get out there and be ready for wonder and grace to break in at any time – yes, I could stop right here except that there is one lingering problem with this text. And that is Simon-Peter’s initial reaction to all this grace, all this abundance. He who had spent a fruitless night not catching anything was now literally up to his armpits in fish. But instead of jumping for joy, he falls to his knees and tell Jesus, “Go away from me,” – literally, “get out of my neighborhood,” – for I am a sinful man.” He has moved from scarcity and failure to abundance and success, he has been the witness to, indeed the recipient of wondrous grace, a wondrous gift. And all he can say is “Get away from me, Jesus.” What’s going on with Simon?
And so one day Charlie Brown makes the mistake of saying to Lucy, “You’re wearing your crabby face again.” To which Lucy responds, “There’s nothing wrong with being crabby! I’m proud of being crabby! The crabby little girls of today are the crabby old women of tomorrow!”
But later, when Lucy actually does make an honest effort “to be nicer to people,” her girlfriend Patty tells her, “You’ll never be able to change. You’ll always be a crabby little girl. You were born crabby and you’re going to stay crabby. Don’t think you are going to change, because you’re not!” Lucy, who was finding it difficult to be so nice to everyone, replies, “Suddenly, I feel a great sense of relief!”
It would seem that down deep, Lucy isn’t so sure she wants change. She’s pretty comfortable with things just the way they are, with crabby Lucy. And perhaps this is Simon’s problem when he sees all those fish. He knows something big is happening, that things are changing, that something new has arrived. But he’s not sure he wants to be a part of it. In that moment in the boat, he senses the great gap between his world and the new creation of Jesus. He isn’t sure that he wants to participate in something that fresh, that new. In the words of Willimon, it can be so hard to let go of “the security of a fixed, failed reality. “ Hey, Simon is used to not catching fish, he’s used to reduced expectations, and used to a dead and dying world. At least it’s manageable and predictable. He knows what to expect. But this new world, this new, open, uncontained reality offered by Jesus… it’s just too much for him to handle. “Jesus, get out of my neighborhood.” And I wonder, as much as we like to talk about Jesus and newness of life, are we ready to embrace something that fresh, that new, that different in our own lives… in our own hears?
Jim Wallis of Sojourners magazine, a man we might call an “evangelical activist,” was speaking to a pastor’s conference – United Church of Christ, Methodist, Presbyterian – that kind of crowd. His lecture was on “Renewal of the Inner City Church.” Wallis stood there and told story after story of once declining churches that had, by God’s grace, rediscovered their mission and had begun to thrive. But in the conversation following his address, pastor after pastor stood up and criticized the speech. They accused Wallis of looking at today’s church through naïve, Pollyannaish, rose colored idealism. “You have no idea how tough things are out there,” they said again and again. One pastor even implied that the stories shared by Wallis couldn’t possible be true.
At dinner that evening, one minister told Wallis that he was appalled by the negative reaction of most of the preachers. In response, Wallis said, “I wasn’t surprised. That’s the reaction I always get from mainline, liberal pastors. They are amazed when God actually wins. Just scared to death that Easter might be true.” Frightened by Easter; frightened by the possibility of new life; frightened by the suggestion that the way things are isn’t the way they always have to be. Maybe life is easier when we don’t have to worry about catching lots of fish. No demands, no expectations, no changes required.
I’ll tell you, the minute that fishing guide gets into the boat, everything changes. He has new ideas, new techniques new ways of looking at the river, new suggestions for casting and using your equipment, and I resist. I’m quite comfortable with my old way of fishing, thank you very much. Sure, maybe I don’t always catch a lot of fish, but at least I know what to expect. But the guide doesn’t give up on me, and during the day, almost in spite of myself, I find myself starting to listen, beginning to think that perhaps I should try his new way – at least a little. Maybe there is a different way of looking at and doing things. It isn’t easy, old ways don’t give up without a fight. But late that afternoon, just before our day of fishing is over, I actually hook, land and then release, the largest Steelhead trout I have ever caught.
No it isn’t easy fishing with Jesus. Just ask Simon-Peter. Because just at the moment when you have had enough of him, when you have decided that your old world with its old ways will suit you just fine, that it is much easier to del with Good Friday than with Easter, when you are ready to toss him out the boat, you pull in the net and find yourself up to your armpits in unmanageable, mysterious, powerful, overflowing grace. And before you know it, and you’re not even sure how it happened, you find yourself leaving fear and death behind, that you might embrace the wonder.