Third Epiphany
Matthew 4:12-23; I Corinthians 1:10-18; Isaiah 9:1-4
Fishing is not my calling. It's not that I dislike fishing,. I have just never been all that excited about it. If I have a few free moments a free afternoon or a vacation to plan I rarely if ever think of fishing Such is not the case with my father or several of my brothers I suppose that is why they are still all living in Minnesota, "Land of 10,000 Lakes" and I am not. Now, a decade or so into retirement my father is motivated by three passions—his woodworking shop, a tractor that needs to be driven, and fishing. Of the three I have no doubt that his greatest passion, the thing that he could do 24 hours a day if you let him, is fishing. Most of my brothers have at least some of that same DNA. At any family gathering there will come a time when the stories will begin to be told, adventures from the previous months, and the core of these stories will be fish stories. I have become convinced over the years that to be a fisherman is to be a storyteller, and not just to tell the stories of the ones that got away but the infinite variations on that theme of fishing. Things that happened before and after as well as during fishing times. To be called to fish is to be called to tell stories. What else are you going to do in between the silent moments when the fish aren't biting. Fishermen are storytellers.
Years later I am sure the disciples in our lesson for today, Andrew, Peter, James and John would be telling stories. Fishermen can't help but tell fish stories. And what stories they told. It begins of course with the familiar story of Jesus coming up to the future disciples and inviting them to leave their nets and follow him. "Follow me," he says "and I will make you fish for people." A metaphor of course, although as a child when I used to sing that song, you know the one, "I will make you fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men. I will make you fishers of men if you follow me, if you follow me." A few of the older boys in the Sunday school used to stand in the back row and when we were singing that song they would pretend to be casting their fishing lines over the heads of the younger Sunday school students, fishing for people. It seemed a crazy idea to me at the time. I took the words too literally and wondered what type of bait would someone use to catch a Christian. Communion wafers always came to mind. But I doubted there would be many who would respond. The truth I eventually came to realize was that the kind of fishing Jesus wanted his disciples to do did not depend on bait selection. The response had nothing to do with the skill of the fishermen. That is something that you would have a hard time convincing a real fisherman.
My father has several tackle boxes. He has one for fishing from the dock and one for fishing from the boat and one for ice fishing and one for fly-fishing. All with different items to attract the fish. There are some who think that religions are like that. Different religions attract different people. All a question of bait. But the truth is that no matter how skilled or creative the fisherman, sometimes there is no catch. That is because the ultimate success of the fisherman has nothing to do with his or her fishing skill. A fish is really a gift. A grace moment from God. There was that day when the disciple fishermen had been fishing all night. Considered a prime time for fishing with nets. And they had caught nothing. Jesus told them to put out into the deeper water. Where there was rarely much of anything to catch. And there in the deep the disciples were told to cast forth their nets. They did so only because Jesus told them to do it. They acted only in faith the point of the story is the miracle. The grace moment that Jesus brought to tired lives. A wondrous creative surprise. The unexpected joy. Exhilaration. There are few things quite like it. Of a fish on your line. Or maybe the unexpected smile from that certain someone. Or an affirming word in a moment of doubt. Fish stories tend to take the most common and ordinary moments and events and finds in them something worth retelling. Again and again.
Like having a picnic lunch. Only the disciples would remember it as the unplanned meal. The thousands who had gathered to hear Jesus preach. To witness his healings. Who became hungry. The disciples tried to be helpful by suggesting Jesus send them away into the local communities to find something to eat. They only wanted to help as best they could. But Jesus told them to feed the people with what they had. The disciples didn't have much. All they could find was 2 loaves of bread and, wouldn't you know it, a few fish. Not much of a catch. Sometimes our best intentions... I remember the time my father came down to visit and we took my sons fishing at the local forest preserve. The youngest had a Snoopy or Mickey Mouse fishing pole. A cute short little rod with a casting reel. He carefully baited the hook with his favorite fake black rubber cricket. But he couldn't cast it more than two feet from the shore, so finally his older brother Tim offered to help. Tim took the little rod. Pressed down the casting button. Reached back and then whipped the rod forward. There was no satisfying plunk as the bait landed in the water. In fact the line remained behind him. He decided to try again. Pressed the casting button one more time. Whipped the rod forward. And again there was no sound of the bait landing in the water. Instead there was the scream of an 8-year-old fisherman who had just hooked his leg with the very hook he had been casting for his brother.
Sometimes our best intentions hook us. Our desire to help. Our commitment and willing actions only bring us pain and discomfort. Ultimately for the disciples the answer to the need would be loaves and fishes. Blessed by Jesus. Hooked by their own best intentions the only solution would be an act of deliverance from beyond their power. Trusting in God to provide. Offering what we have. Even if painfully less then we would like it to be. And trusting in God. That is a hard lesson to learn. We like to believe in our abilities. Our experience. Even our common sense. Fishermen know their boats and the water. But among their stories retold there was also that story of the storm. The one that caught them unprepared. And an exhausted Jesus slept on board. As the waves grew and the wind blew and the certainty of disaster loomed, Jesus slept. Until finally the disciples cried out and Jesus awoke to still the storm. That was the time he reminded them to have faith. Believe in something beyond yourself. Peter would remember. And when Jesus came walking on the water. Peter decided that it was time to step out in faith He stepped on to the water. But he knew too much about the fishing waters. The dark depths. The cold currents. There are moments in every life that test our faith. And maybe reveal that God has a place in your life.
I remember it as a January winter not unlike this one. Only in Minnesota. And my Boy Scout troop was on a winter weekend expedition we were staying in cabins while working on other winter skills. A number of us younger scouts decided to try some ice fishing. Only we didn't have an ice auger to drill the hole in the ice. All we had were axes. And a lake frozen some 3-4 feet thick. I remember we chopped all morning. Cutting a hole deeper and deeper. Eventually lying on the ice to chop. Then positioning us over the hole to reach the bottom. Finally we took turns stepping down into the hole now some 3 plus feet deep and chopped away. Until I took one mighty blow and broke through. In fact the whole bottom of the hole suddenly dropped away and I dropped straight down I remember the bright whiteness of the snow-covered lake suddenly disappearing and the icy cold darkness of the lake swallowing me. I went through the ice with the axe still raised above my head preparing for the next stroke. As I dropped into the water the axe head caught on the edge of the hole. And I held on to the axe. I don't know why. I should have let go to attempt to swim. But I was below the ice. Something told me to keep holding on. Above the ice two older scouts had seen me disappear from sight. They reached into the hole and grabbed the axe head and pulled. Pulled me back to the surface still holding onto the axe handle. Sometimes all you can do is hold on.
That's what Peter learned when Jesus extended his hand to lift him from the swirling waters. Sometimes all we can do is trust that if we hold on there will be that which lifts us up. That's why the story is retold. To remember that God's hand was present. And life was sustained. Fish stories. Ultimately the disciples would have more stories to tell then they could find audience to hear. Stories of miracles and wonders. Surprises and joys. There would also be the stories of mistakes, misfortunes and failures. But that never keeps the fisherman from venturing out yet one more time. Year after year. On this day of our congregational annual meeting there are many stories to be told of the past year. Some of them come close to being classic fish stories. Certainly they invite us to consider the fisherman calling in relationship not just to the early church but also to our shared ministry. We are the disciples of this day. Called much like the first disciples while in the midst of our daily lives. Tending to the business of our daily routines. The human experience spans the millennia from the first century to today. Yearnings for meaning and purpose in life. Hopes and expectations for self and family. Desire for possessions and a comfortable life. These are the things that we want to hold on to. That we believe somehow will bear us up. The fish stories help us to believe. So it would be that after his death and resurrection, Jesus appeared one last time to his fisherman disciples on the shore of the lake. They had had a long night of fishing again with little success when the man on the shore said to cast their nets one more time on the other side of the boat. You know the rest. The great catch that followed. Of Peter rushing ashore. And Jesus offering them a breakfast of cooked fish and bread. Take and eat. The gift of faith. The miracle of God's creation where just often enough there is a fish to catch. We are called. Jesus comes again this day. With an invitation to faith. An invitation to serve. And invitation to be a disciple. One who is willing to fish for people and tell a story or two?
Amen