Readings (click here for full text of the readings):
   Judges 6:11-24a; Psalm 85; 1 Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 5:1-11

This morning’s gospel reading is probably familiar to most of us – Jesus tells Simon (who’s better known as Peter) and his fishing buddies where to cast their nets, and even though they haven’t caught a single fish all night, they do what He tells them to do.  And lo and behold, all of a sudden there are so many fish that their nets about ready to break, and they have to get more people to help them haul their catch on board. Then Jesus tells them that if they follow Him, He’ll make them “fishers of men,” or some such term.

Most people take away some good, basic messages from this text.  Jesus can work miracles.  He can make something out of nothing.  We should listen to Him, even when what He says doesn’t make a ton of sense. Stuff like that.

But, actually, I think there’s a much deeper meaning than all of that. When we come to a familiar passage, often we can’t see what it says anymore. All we hear is the party line; we think we’ve been there and done that, and there’s not much left to learn.  So let’s look at this passage more closely.  And as Jesus Himself was fond of saying, “For those who have ears, let them hear.”

First, let’s look at the scene.  This isn’t a case of people seeking Jesus out in search of wisdom and salvation. This isn’t some learned speech that Jesus gives in the synagogue.  These are rough and tumble laborers, who were probably using fairly colorful language to describe their frustration over having been out on the water all night long with no fish to show for it.  They were probably thinking more about where their next meal was coming from and how good a warm bed would feel, than about eternal life.  They had a job to do – which wasn’t getting done very well – and they probably weren’t thinking about much else.

And how does Jesus handle it?  Does he tell them to stop fishing and shut up and listen to what He has to say? Does He tell them that what they’re doing isn’t important, and that they should drop everything and follow Him?  No, He sees that they’re caught up in the job at hand, and He goes to them.  “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” He says. 

To which Simon replies, “Look, we’ve been out here all night and haven’t caught one fish.  But if you say so, I’ll let down the nets.”  Note that Simon says that we’ve fished all night, and I’ll let down the nets. Simon’s not making any promises for anyone else. And who knows why He’s willing to thrown the just-washed nets over the side again. Perhaps he senses that Jesus is a prophet. Perhaps he’s just looking to make a profit, and he thinks Jesus might have the inside track on where the fish are. Perhaps they all just need a laugh, and he’s just humoring Jesus’s bizarre request.

As it turns out, though, Jesus was right.  There are so many fish in the nets that they’re about to break, and more fishermen have to be drafted to haul them all in.  And there’s another lesson: Jesus not only comes to us where we are, He gives us what we say we want.  Instead of telling the fishermen what really matters in the world, He effectively says, “So you think fish are all that matter?  OK, I’ll give you more than you could ever dream of.  Let’s see where that gets you.”

It reminds me a little bit of the famous children’s book by Shel Silverstein called The Giving Tree.  You all might remember that in that book, an apple tree loves a boy, and all she wants to do is make that boy happy, and have the two of them be together. But the boy has other things on his mind: he wants money, so she suggests that he sell her apples.  When he asks for a house, she offers her branches for lumber. When the boy is old, too old and sad to play in the tree, he asks the tree for a boat. She suggests that he cut her down to a stump so he can craft a boat out of her trunk. He unthinkingly does it. At that point in the story, there’s an image of a pathetic solitary stump, poignantly cut down to the heart the boy once carved into the tree as a child that said  “M.E. + T.”   “And then the tree was happy... but not really.”  When there’s nothing left of her, the boy returns again as an old man, needing a quiet place to sit and rest. The stump offers up her services, and he sits on it. “And the tree was happy.”

I think God’s a lot like that. Sure, God tries to tell us that the stuff which we spend so much time and energy on isn’t worth a hill of beans in the end, and some of us actually listen. But for the rest of us – the stubborn ones who are certin that we’re right and God’s wrong – God doesn’t give up on us. He doesn’t stay in church on Sunday mornings, basically saying, “If you want to be with me, you can come to me.” Instead, He goes to us.  If we want fame, He gives it to us.  Same for money. Same for popularity. All in the hope that, in the end, we’ll see that what we wanted so very much isn’t all that important after all, because even if we get it we’re just going to sink under its weight, just like those boats under the weight of all those fish. And even if we never realize that – even if we’re like the boy in most of the story and just keep taking from God – then at least God is with us.  And that’s OK with God, because God would rather be with us when we’re selfish and self-absorbed and deaf to His cries of love, than be apart from us and be right. 

It’s funny, isn’t it?  The only person in the universe who has a right to act all holier-than-thou – because He is – doesn’t act that way at all.

But fortunately in the gospel story the men realize that there’s more to life than catching fish.  Even as their nets are breaking and the boats are sinking, Simon falls down before Jesus and cries out, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” This is a common response in the Bible to God’s calling: everyone from Moses to Isaiah to Simon said, when God told them to fall in line, “thanks, but no thanks.” The young and impetuous St. Augustine might be the most famous example of that initial reluctance, when he wrote in response to God’s call, “Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.”

There are any number of reasons why Simon may have said what he did. Maybe he was scared at this show of supernatural knowledge and power. Maybe he was pretty content with his fishing life and didn’t want any more responsibility.  Maybe he sensed on some level that the way of the Cross lay before Jesus, and he didn’t want to experience all that sadness and loss. Or, just maybe, he had an inkling that there was something special about this guy named Jesus. That there was truth to what He said.  That if Simon followed Him, nothing would ever be the same again.

And then Jesus says the most interesting thing to Simon – and only to Simon. The rest of the fishermen were also amazed at what Jesus had done, and some of them would also end up being His disciples, like James and John.  But Jesus speaks only to Simon and says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”

That’s a surprising thing to say, because, speaking just for myself, I’d be much more afraid of catching people than catching fish.  But Jesus was basically saying, “Hey, I’m God, here.  Anything done with me is going to be less scary than something done without me.”

And what a strange way to put, too: “catching people,” or as many of us probably remember it, “becoming fishers of men.” It’s important to look at exactly what Jesus was saying there. First of all, the reason the old translations talked of men and the newer ones talk of “people” is that the Greek word is universal: we’re not talking just about men, but about women, and children, too. And the reason we don’t hear about “becoming fishers of [anybody]” this morning is that the word Luke uses doesn’t really have anything to do with fishing.  When Matthew and Mark tell the story, they’re very clear: follow Jesus, and you’ll become fishermen for people.  But Luke compounds two Greek words that mean “catch” and “alive” and don’t say anything about fish.  Literally, he says that if you follow Jesus, you’ll catch people alive. That word later came to mean “to restore life and strength,” or “to revive.”  So what Jesus is really saying is that if we follow Him, we’ll be able to restore people to life and strength.  Which beats fishing any day of the week.

And that’s exactly what Simon and his buddies realized that morning. Because after miraculously hauling in the biggest catch of their lives, they just walked away from it. Luke says that “they left everything and followed [Jesus].”  Their main goal in life – the point of their existence – didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was following Jesus, and working with Him to restore others to life and strength, just as they themselves had been restored that morning.

So this story is about a lot more than just whether or not Jesus can do miracles.  This is God’s blueprint for how to reach out to people.  How Jesus did it is how we should do it.  Go to people where they are, rather than asking them to come to you. Engage them as individuals, rather than just as part of a group, just like Jesus did with Simon. Don’t tell them to change right off the bat; walk a mile in their shoes, and help them get what they say they want.  In the end, even if they get it, something will still be missing. After all, if you don’t have God, what have you got?

I invite you this morning to live into your calling as a disciple of Jesus.  When He says, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be restoring people to life and strength,” He’s talking to you.  Follow His direction, trust in Him even when things are scary or uncertain, leave everything behind, and follow Him.  And invite others to do the same.

I’ve been saying for a while that the upcoming Lenten season is an ideal time to reach out to people beyond our walls, with great opportunities for people to learn about St. Paul’s.  The Instructed Eucharist on February 29^th.  The “Episcopal Church 101” series between services in Lent.  All leading up to Easter, which is the reason we’re here to begin with.

And so I challenge each and every one of you to invite someone to join you for a Sunday morning in church, sometime during Lent. You don’t have to give them “the hard sell,” because when God is the product, it sells itself.  They don’t have to agree to come. The point is that you join them where they are, walk with them on their journey, and let them know that they don’t need to be afraid anymore. That God loves them. That they’ll only find welcome in God’s house. And that only through God’s love will they be restored to life and strength.

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