A Fourth Church Sermon by Dana Ferguson

February 4, 2007 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

God Doesn’t Fly-Fish

Dana Ferguson
Executive Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 121
Luke 5:1–11

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

Luke 5:10b (NRSV)

We can be certain that the Christ who walked the shores of Galilee
now comes to us as the risen, living Christ. If we cannot see him enter
our workplace, it is because our spiritual imaginations are dulled.
He comes to us, commandeering the equipment or furniture
in order to address us from desk or bench or line, and invites us
to do our work with his. He shows us the deep waters, the deep needs,
the deep hungers around us. We see our sin and self-imposed limitations,
we kneel in fear, we rise in hope, we follow him, not by our steps
but in our actions and in our hearts, to catch the people in his transforming love.

Ron Cole-Turner
Lectionary Homiletics

Fishing was a popular sport in the area where I grew up. My hometown was nestled between two popular fishing destinations. Supposedly these lakes were created for water control. My suspicion is that was only an excuse. It wasn’t uncommon, either, to see a car pulled off the road near a bridge on an interstate or country road and to see the fishermen below casting their lines. It wasn’t a sport I gave much thought until my husband introduced my children to it. They were instantly addicted. At first, I went along, imagining it to be a great family outing. It took little time for me to determine it was a horribly boring way to waste time. Luckily the opportunity to fish only really comes up on vacations. I usually can manage to find a nice road for a long walk or run while the fishermen do their thing and eventually run out of worms.

It’s a good thing, I suppose for a number of reasons, that I live in this era and not that of the disciples—not the least of which is I don’t like to fish. A number of the poignant moments of the ministry of Jesus and the disciples center around fishing and their time on the water. I would clearly have missed out—would have missed the calling.

Theologian and regular attender of a former church I served, Ron Cole-Turner argues that there is reason that some of us do miss the call from Christ, but it isn’t because we don’t like to fish. He says, “We can be certain that the Christ who walked the shores of Galilee now comes to us as the risen, living Christ. If we cannot see him enter our workplace, it is because our spiritual imaginations are dulled.” For, Ron notes, Jesus “comes to us, commandeering the equipment or the furniture in order to address us from desk or bench or line, and invites us to do our work with his.” And, he continues, “In our deepest yearnings and in the soul-drying monotony of lengthening working days, we hunger to hear the quiet voice call us by name and say to us: ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.’”

We want to be intruded upon. We want the monotony of our working days to be interrupted; we want to hear that voice calling to us. And so, we see, the story is so much more than simply about fishing. It’s about our lives, the meaning of our lives.

This is an epiphany story. Its point is to reveal Jesus. And so is the call. The call is to so reveal the love and compassion and grace of Christ Jesus that others can’t help but be caught in that transforming web of love. And so, we see, “it takes us into a new reality. It means we must reframe, redefine our work. . . . Not to just be ours but to be in the context of God’s work. For Peter it meant leaving the boat. In our case, it may mean staying where we are physically but seeing that everything has changed spiritually” (Lectionary Homiletics, vol. 18, no. 1, p. 11).

Let down your nets, Jesus says to the disciples. It is their call, their invitation to reframe their work. For Simon surely it must have been irritating at first. But that’s how Jesus’ power works, writes Barbara Lundblad for the Protestant Hour:

A professional fisherman told where to fish by a preacher. Told to cast his net again—though he knew there was no point in trying. Jesus’ power moved people to consider acting in new ways. Even though they knew better, people came to believe that they were no longer bound by the past, by tradition, by comfortable routines or the usual way of doing things, for Jesus offered provocative alternatives, Jesus sat in a fishing boat and compelled Simon to believe things could be different. Waters which seemed empty could indeed bring forth fish though Simon would never have known that if he hadn’t dared against his better judgment to cast his net into the sea.

Let down your nets. He doesn’t say, “Cast your lines.” He says, “Let down your nets.” It’s an important distinction, points out Elizabeth Carl in a sermon titled “Going Fishing.” Net fishing is messy business. You never know what you’ll come up with. It’s the polar opposite of fly-fishing, where you choose just the right fly from hundreds to catch just the sort of fish you are after. When you cast a net, it leads to a world of diversity, sometimes even undesirable results. The disciples not only caught what could be eaten, they caught catfish and eels, considered unclean in that time. If you believe Jesus fishes with a rod and reel and carefully chosen bait, just look in the pews around you, states Carl. There are eels that dart through a few times a year, afraid to stay too long. Others are gentle dolphins, playful companions. There are turtles that are shy and slow but determined. A few of us are sharks, darting around and scaring others. (The Book of Women’s Sermons, edited by E. Lee Hancock).

The landscape has changed. Things are different, and so it is in God’s kingdom. Jesus comes among us. Calls out to us from our parched days and says, “Put down your nets.” Change the way you’re doing things. Imagine it might be different. Imagine there are different folks who might be caught up. And the net is pulled up overflowing.

I traveled home a few weeks ago to visit my parents. It turned out it was a sad day in Batesville, Mississippi. The town came together to mourn the loss of their representative to the Mississippi State Legislature, Leonard Morris. Morris’s childhood friend and later fellow civic leader had this to say about him: “Leonard was community minded. Watching him meet people and listen to them and help them, I saw that he really believed that he represented all people.” (“Community Mourns Loss of Friend to All,” Panolian, 16 January 2007).

Morris’ political career began in 1978 when he was elected the first African American school trustee for the South Panola District, scarcely a decade after the first African Americans since Reconstruction had registered to vote in Panola County. His first run for office was the previous year. Elections for the school board were held in the local school gym and were fairly low profile events, but Morris’ supporters turned out early and in good number. It so alarmed white voters that they got on the phone and mobilized enough voters to turn the election. Morris didn’t give up. The next year, he ran again, but this time wisely advised his supporters to wait until later in the day to vote. He was elected and, stated the local newspaper, proved his leadership abilities and fairness. He was unopposed each subsequent year he ran for the office.

At the time of his all-too-early and unexpected death at the age of fifty-nine from side effects of surgery, he had been serving his fourteenth year as representative. After first winning election for the post in 1993, he was never again opposed for that office either. He worked for economic development, a huge issue in the rural south, and chaired the House Medicaid Committee dealing with the critical issues of Medicaid reform in recent years (“Morris Leaves Too Many Hats” Panolian, 16 January 2007).

“One thing Leonard needs to be remembered for is that he knew how to cross the aisle,” commented the current school board president. “He knew how to get along with blacks and whites, Republicans and Democrats. Some people shunned him for that, thinking he was playing the lines, but he believed in order for business to be done, you’ve got to cross the aisle.”

And cross the aisle he did. He served faithfully the many he represented, many of whom would have been those who had first mobilized voters in a panic to oppose him for the position of school board trustee. And yet he served. Mostly quietly and gently and steadily, reaching out to touch the many like him and unlike him, once unsupportive or supportive, representing a different or the same political party. He stood with integrity but never imagined he stood alone or without need to cross the aisle.

Because the sanctuary of Morris’s church wouldn’t hold the large crowd of those who would gather to grieve his loss, the service was held in the local school gymnasium. It seemed fitting to me: the venue of his first divisive run for public office was the venue for a great celebration of life that brought together people from all walks of life to hold hands across the aisle and support one another as they grieved for the goodness that had been and celebrate the rich heritage that is now theirs to carry on. My mom said it was a different day in Batesville. There weren’t many days like that, days when so many folks from so many different walks of life came together for one reason. It was a day, I thought, that Simon and other fishermen would have cheered. A day when the catch was evident. It was an epiphany day, when the love of Christ was showing through in a full catch for the day; a net filled with many caught in the transforming love of Christ shone forth in faithful human living.

Epiphany. Christ shining through the story. Our epiphany. Believing Christ calls to us. That we can be different than we are. Our work can be different than it is if even we are simply able to imagine it isn’t our own but God’s. And that as we go about this work God has set before us, there is a world yearning for its own epiphany story, a world different from who we are, worth reaching out to, worth believing that we and they can be different if only we stop to recognize the Christ who enters our lives “commandeering the equipment or the furniture in order to address us from desk or bench” or kitchen table or volunteer line.

These are indeed important truths: Believing things can be different and reaching out across the aisle. It’s important for us to remember in these days, in these days when politicians are touting crossing the aisle but lining up to take their corners. It’s important to remember in these days when we are all-too-quick to discard a relationship when a difference happens. It’s all too important for us to remember in this denomination when disagreement is causing division of great significance, when local congregations are taking their cases to court to separate from the Presbyterian Church (USA) because they don’t agree. It’s important for us to remember in these days of national concern and ongoing conflict, when it seems easier to build a wall than deal with a complicated issue or settle differences, when it seems easier for a country that once applauded its leader for standing up and saying “Take down this wall” to take up the business of building walls.

Jesus doesn’t fly-fish. It means that all kinds of us are called to all kinds of ministry—catfish and eels, dolphins and turtles—and in the midst of it we are called to reflect him, to reflect the goodness and justice, the mercy and compassion of the one who calls. It means that in this big net of discipleship we are called to speak and live and act in ways that bring peace to this broken world, in ways that reach out across the aisle even when there might be a turtle or an eel sitting across from us.

Jesus doesn’t fly-fish. Jesus cast a net far and wide and calls us to live lives that catch others in that same transforming web of God’s love. So put away your rods and reels, my friends, and cast your nets, that in your actions and in your hearts the many of this world yearning to hear a word from Christ and reach out and touch the love of God might be caught in the amazing web of transforming love.

All to God’s glory and honor and praise. Amen.