The Catch
The Catch
Luke 5:1-11
One day, years ago, a friend of mine called. He said that he had been to the most amazing place on a business trip. I imagined that he was going to regale me with tales of great hotels and wonderful food, or of super successful meetings and interesting business partners. His tale involved none of that. Instead, he told me about the company trip when they went fishing. They went way up into the Northwest Territories of Canada, north of the sixtieth parallel. I was on the edge of my seat as he told the story of catching one trophy fish after another. I was stunned—literally stunned—when he said, “I want to go back there…with you!”
This is how, months later, I found myself on a small plane flying out of Winnipeg. We flew for hours from there until, long after the last signs of civilization had disappeared, suddenly, there was a runway. We landed. We walked down the stairs of the plane onto the tarmac. And as I looked around, I saw two things: all of the land was tundra, covered in elk antlers; everything else was water.
Within minutes, after checking in and dropping off our luggage, we were rigging up our fishing rods. As we finished up, our guide introduced himself: William, the son of a Cree Indian and an Irish woman, a native of this area. William was completely friendly and tough as nails. William was also a man of few words: “What do you guys want to catch?” “Northern pike, “ I said, “As big and as many as you can find.” What followed were three of the most manic fishing days of my life!
In the midst of all of that, William became a friend. I think he was used to being treated like a servant by the guests he worked for. He was also used to feeling like no matter how many fish people caught, it was his fault that they had not caught the size or breed that they wanted. That wasn’t his experience with us. His way of expressing his appreciation for that was that he joined our conversation. Among other things, we learned that he was illiterate, having never spent too much time in school. He talked about how hard that made almost anything but guiding. Having talked with this really bright man, I was stunned when he trusted us enough to disclose that hard truth.
On our last day, William told us he wanted to do something special. He wanted us to rig up to catch lake trout. The lake we were on had been the place where the largest lake trout in North America had been caught. “Let’s give that a whirl…” said William. We did…and we caught nothing. William grew more and more frustrated and silent. I’m sure he was waiting for us to yell at him. We didn’t.
What I’ll always remember was the moment when we had finished lunch and got back into the boat, to spend more time not catching fish and comforting William. William was looking around when he clearly saw something. We skimmed across the surface of the lake to a spot that seemed like the middle of nowhere. It was also the middle of the day—hardly a good fishing time. So, we’re in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He told us to cast the biggest surface lures that we had—bad strategy: who catches fish on the surface in water that’s 75 feet deep? At which point fish began hitting our lures, the instant that they touched the water’s surface. At one point, my friend’s rod tip broke. He just snapped it of at the next eyelet and kept fishing. After a few hours, my arms were ready to fall off. I was whining, “I’m so sore from catching so many fish!” We just sat there and laughed.
The thing with William was that he could see things that we couldn’t see. He told us later that he had seen birds circling over the spot where he stopped the boat. This meant that there was a swarm of baitfish on the spot. A swarm of baitfish meant that there was going to be a feeding frenzy—on the surface as the swarm was driven upward. With William as our guide, all we had to do was take his advice and do what he told us to do. So many fish that day…
On another day, two thousand years ago, something happened on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. At the start of the day, nothing unusual was happening. Two fishing boats—likely, about 27 feet long and 7 to 9 feet wide—were nestled up to shore. The men who worked those boats were doing exactly what they did every morning. After a long night of fishing, they were cleaning their nets, carefully pulling sea weed and other debris off the lines so that the nets would not rot. This was painstaking work. This morning, though, it was painful, too, because though they had fished all night, they had caught nothing.
Now, if you are a Bible reader, bells and whistles should be sounding. You will remember the post-resurrection story in the Gospel of John when the risen Jesus shows up on shore and taunts the disciples about the fact that they have not caught any fish, even though they fished all night, even though they had professional fishermen in the boat. That’s one of the last stories John tells. Luke, reworks the story and makes it is one of his first.
In the spirit of last week’s sermon, this is just Luke being Luke. He takes the stories that had been circulating about Jesus and throws them or something like them into the start of his Gospel—the earlier the better. Why? He does this to say that whatever you heard about the end of Jesus’ life, the truth is that those very same things are playing out from the start. He was who he was, all along.
Jesus doesn’t show up to fish. He shows up and as soon as he does, a crowd shows up, too, a very large crowd that is only growing larger. Jesus needs a place and a way to speak to such a large group. That’s when he sees the boats. He steps into one of those boats—the one that happened to belong to Simon, the man we would come to know as Peter. To anyone who cared enough to listen to Luke’s Gospel, the significance of this moment would be clear: “Wow…this is how Peter and Jesus met!”
Here’s the thing, though… Jesus intends to make the boat a floating pulpit and use the lake as a natural amplification system. (After messing with technology for a year to communicate with the church family, I especially identify with this moment this year! You use what’s available, right?) The thing is, though, Jesus doesn’t ever ask permission. Now, in Luke’s Gospel, we know that Jesus and Simon Peter already knew each other. Jesus had healed his mother-in-law. So, Jesus is no stranger. Still, we also know how bullheaded Peter could be right? He’s tired from fishing all night. He’s frustrated from catching no fish. Yet, shockingly, he yields. He complies. Maybe he felt like he owed Jesus that much.
Jesus sits down (as was the custom in a synagogue) and teaches the people. Everyone can see him. Thanks to the lake, everyone can hear him, too. If you just freeze that image for a moment, you’ll understand something you may not have thought about before. A lot of pulpits look like the bow of a ship. A lot of sanctuaries, if you turned them upside down in your imagination seem shaped like the hull of a ship. That nautical architecture is grounded in Jesus preaching from this boat. The architecture is an invitation to feel like we’re in the boat with him.
Jesus finishes teaching. The crowds disperse. Then, having thoroughly disrupted the morning’s routines, Jesus says the craziest thing: “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” So, Peter’s tired and frustrated and all he wants is to go home and get some sleep. He’s almost done cleaning the nets—an awful, slimy, mucky job. He’s a professional fisherman, even if on this morning, he’s a professional who has failed. Now, Jesus, the preacher is ordering him around. And…and…the orders make no sense. No one fishes during the day. That’s the wrong time! In daylight, the fish can see your nets. No one fishes in the deep water. That’s the wrong place! At night, the fish come into shore to feed. Nearly every fish he’d ever caught had been at night in the shallows.
Peter says something we’ve all said. “We tried this before and it didn’t work.” “You know we fished all night and caught nothing, right?” Who hasn’t been in that church meeting, right? Someone comes up with an idea. Someone else remembers what happened years ago when we tried something like that. Why would we try that again? Of course, this is not confined to church meetings. “Why would we try that again?” is alive and well whenever human beings gather. “In fact, why bother trying at all?”
Really, though, Simon Peter’s whole place in the story hinges on what he says next: “Yet, if you say so…” He’s frustrated and exhausted. His ego is bruised by what feels like a very personal defeat. Doing what he is being asked to do means taking on something that seems to make no sense and seems to have no chance at success. The only guarantee is that he will definitely have to start the process of cleaning his nets all over again, which means there will be almost no sleep before the next night’s fishing. “Yet, if you say so, I will let down the nets.”
Simon is stubborn and strong—attributes which will later serve him well in his new life. However, in this moment, what distinguishes him is obedience. He does what he’s asked to do. All of us, who have ever been frustrated and exhausted and bruised, who have known in our hearts what were being called to do and knew also that it made no sense, should take a lesson here. If we are going to follow Jesus—the guy who tells us to forgive over and over again, to love our enemies, to turn the other cheek, to love our neighbor—yes, that neighbor, then we don’t get to make our guiding principle be, “Does this make sense to me?” Jesus leads. We follow.
Peter follows and, of course, because we know the story, he catches an unbelievable amount of fish, enough to nearly sink both the boats. Here’s the thing, though. Before, nothing mattered more than fish to Simon Peter. Now, though, the fish are just props. In fact, Peter kneels down in those fish and declares that he is not worthy to be in Jesus’ presence. In a moment, a whole new world is revealed to Simon Peter, in which his place as the leader on a fishing boat looks very small next to the man whom he was to follow.
Jesus tells Simon Peter not to be afraid. Old Simon Peter would have screamed, “I’m afraid of nothing!” New Simon Peter is shaking in his boots. Jesus says, in essence, “Get ready. I’m going to teach you how to catch people, kind of like how I just caught you. They’ll be some storms and waves along the way. There might even be a few sleepless nights along the way. Still, you won’t believe the catch that we’ll haul in together. Come…follow me!” And Simon Peter and the others dropped everything—the boats, the fish, those nets—and followed him.
So, the next time you’re hungry and tired and frustrated and exhausted, watch out! You may be just where God wants you to be. Then, when you suddenly feel called to do something which seemingly makes no sense, be very careful! You might be just a moment away from getting caught up in God’s work, yourself.