"Deep Water"

First Presbyterian Church
February 4, 2007
Peter S. Buehler
Luke 5:1-11

Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.

If you read yesterday's sports page, you learned that Brian Urlacher, the 6-foot 4-inch, 258-pound linebacker for the Chicago Bears, known for his devastating hits on the football field, likes to begin his day watching television shows about fishing. One at 8:00 a.m. when he gets up, followed by another at 9:00. It's not that they're exciting to watch, Urlacher says; he doesn't turn them on to get psyched up to play football. Instead they have a calming effect. Before going to Soldier Field to create mayhem for opposing offenses, Urlacher enjoys the peacefulness of sitting in a chair and watching other men fish.

This afternoon at 3:25, a lot of us will be sitting in a chair and watching other men create mayhem. And we'll consume lots of calories, because watching the Super Bowl takes a lot of energy.

In some respects our passage from Luke's Gospel actually has more in common with the Super Bowl than it does with TV shows about fishing. For one thing, the scene that day beside the Sea of Galilee -- known also as the lake of Gennesaret, the Greek name for both the lake and the heavily populated district just west of the lake -- doesn't fit with the image of fishing that comes to mind for many of us.
It is not a picture of solitude -- one or two men standing hip-deep in a fly-fishing stream, such as a scene from the movie "A River Runs Through It." Rather, what Luke depicts is a Super Bowl-size crowd jostling for a better view of Jesus, a crowd of people pressing against each other to hear him more clearly.

And they're not there for sport; they're not out in droves to take their minds off the frustrations and demands and uncertainties of their daily lives. They're there because the opposite is occurring: the word of God is being proclaimed by someone whose truth is so graceful, and accessible, and irresistible that people feel they are finding their lives, not fleeing them.

The size of the crowd forces Jesus to improvise, so he borrows two fishing boats and continues his teaching from one of them, asking Simon Peter to put out a short ways from the shore. Simon had met Jesus once previously, as recently as a few days before, when Jesus had come into his house and healed his mother-in-law of a high fever, but it seems that here in this scene Peter and friends were more interested in washing their fishing nets than in joining the crowd and paying attention to Jesus. Which is more than odd. It would be like a Super Bowl party with a minute left in the best game ever played, score tied, everyone glued to the TV, and the host goes out to the kitchen to wash the dishes. What? Have you lost your mind?

Jesus, of course, is unruffled. Nor does he change his mind about Simon Peter, that maybe he wouldn't make such a great disciple after all -- poor listener, short attention span, etc. etc., not to mention mediocre fisherman, judging by his previous night's catch.

Jesus, unhurried, finishes with the crowd; we can only wonder about the words and lessons and stories Simon chose to ignore. We wish we had been there. Then he turns his focus to this weary and discouraged fisherman. Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch, he said to Simon. To his credit, Simon didn't laugh and didn't refuse. He found himself, as we so often do, in this strange middle place between trust and disbelief. So Simon Peter said to Jesus, It won't work but I'll do it anyway.

How many times have you said that? We wonder how many times Cindy Reynolds, in her ministry with orphans on the border between North Korea and China, and Nita Hanson, in her work with poor children in the Ukraine, and Philip and Elizabeth Prasad, in their ministry with Untouchables in India -- and others we heard from at our Missions Conference two weeks ago -- have said It won't work but I'll do it anyway. God loves it when people say that. Because it is rare that we ever do something in faith because we're completely convinced ahead of time that it will work! The fact is, we're almost sure it won't. Lord, come on, I've tried that before and it failed, we say. Lord, what you're asking is unreasonable and impractical, and what's more I'm tired of trying, we say. Lord, you obviously don't know a thing about fishing, because we were just out there and came back empty-handed, we say. But if you say so, we'll try again. It won't work but we'll do it anyway.

We mustn't think for a moment that that is an unfaithful response to the Jesus! Quite the opposite. Theologian Paul Tillich writes, "(There is an) element of uncertainty in faith (that) cannot be removed, it must be accepted. And the element in faith which accepts this is courage" (Dynamics of Faith, p.16). Going ahead with what we believe we must do, what we believe God is asking of us -- as difficult as it may be, as unlikely as success seems, as doubting and uncertain as we find ourselves to be, takes courage. Now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but faith takes courage! It abides in us and in the church as God's gentle and persistent Spirit helps us accept the element of uncertainty believing requires.

Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.

I am so grateful Jesus chose this man to be his first disciple. Not some fresh-faced, anxious-to-please, never-the-slightest-doubt-his-mind, straight-A, role model, obvious-leadership-potential apostle, but rather a tired, grouchy, failure of a fisherman who would rather wash his nets and go home than listen to the Messiah. What courage it takes for one such as this to show faith, to say Yes to Jesus, to go back out to the deep water and try yet again! What love it takes for Jesus to turn to the likes of this man, the likes of us, people so nearly persuaded by the persistent uncertainties of this shallow world of ours, people who are weary and skeptical, yet Jesus believes that somehow we will say Yes, that we will go out and try again!

And this is where our Gospel story of the amazing catch of fish is the New Testament in miniature. If there is one passage of Scripture to commit to memory, one story to remind ourselves of over and over, this is the one. It is in John as well; there it follows Easter, Jesus' resurrection, but here in Luke's Gospel the amazing catch of fish is at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, where we see what happens when ordinary people trust in Jesus' extraordinary promises: not a small but respectable catch of fish, but an eye-popping, jaw-dropping, boat-sinking, faith-inducing catch of fish! It's no wonder Peter says, Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" When our measly expectations are met with the evidence of Almighty God, with grace that is so amazing, blessing that so boundless, goodness that is so undeserved, we respond in the same way -- I'm not good enough for you, Lord; I'm not good enough!

It is something of a paradox, but if we don't know we aren't good enough, we won't know what it means to be called as disciples.
Yet if we know that trusting his promises is what we're asked to do, even if we hear ourselves saying, It won't work but I'll do it anyway, our inadequacy and doubt are not hindrances -- they are not reason for Jesus to choose someone else -- rather they are reminders that our willingness to trust and our courage to follow through are all he asks of us.

Which brings us to one Jesus' hard sayings. The Lord turns to an awestruck Simon, and to James and John with him, and says: Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people. Ouch! We object.
We see hooks, we see nets; Lord, the church is a community of faith and love, not some foreign fishing trawler dragging its nets and scooping up everyone in its path! How we struggle with this image of disciples fishing for people!

What Jesus wants us to see, of course, is saving and protecting, not harming. Believers in earlier centuries knew that he was speaking about grace, that catching people, like catching fish alive in nets, was protecting them from the chaos of the world, the dark depths of the seas, as Noah protected people and animals from the waters of the flood.

I don't know if this helps us today. "Catching people" is still an image that makes me squirm. But I wonder if we should squirm even more at the thought of our neighbors trying to live in this world without the knowledge of God's goodness and protection; without an assurance of Christ's grace in the midst of trouble; without the blessing of faith and the support of the community of faith; without the joy of believing in something greater than ourselves, even One who calls us to live with courage, to keep trying, to trust the One whose love exceeds every expectation.

I'd like to leave you with a thought: that Jesus is speaking not only to Peter, he ius speaking to his church, to us. He is asking us to go out to the deep water, to invite people to a place of faith, for without it life is shallow.

I came across a statistic recently. The Barna Group, a faith-based polling organization, has shown in a national poll that for Americans staying in bed outranks sitting in pews, that more people -- 71% to 40% -- prefer the thought of getting enough sleep to attending church services. Church attendance actually comes in fourth, behind spending time with friends (55%) and listening to music (54%). As a spokesman for the Barna Group put it, "The pace of life.. for Americans is just incredible. Sleep becomes one of those few areas that provides... a mini-sanctuary for people."

We know that well; we understand completely. We know what it's like to rush from one thing to another; to always have more to do. We know that not getting enough sleep causes other problems; that sometimes we don't listen very well to what our bodies are telling us.
So we like sleeping in. After all, Sunday is a day of rest! But we also know that worshipping God in a faith community and going out to live with joy and purpose, following a life-giving Lord, is a peace that passes human understanding. There is, after all, more than one kind of rest; the kind we experience on the Lord's Day is deep.

Shall we do as Simon Peter did? Shall we invite our neighbors to this deeper place? As someone said long ago, I will fish not with gear but with grace.