Who and Whose

Luke 5:1-11

February 7, 2010

Preached by Rev. Trina Zelle

Have you ever gone camping and set up your tent on a lakeshore? Did you notice how water amplifies sound, especially as the day draws to a close?  Sounds drift to shore from the boats out there on the water.  If you’re quiet you can even catch what they’re saying –   whether or not they’re speaking in low voices.  You boaters out there --  did you that?   

Which is why Jesus does what he does in this passage – at least that’s what I think.  The crowds following him have gotten so large and aggressive that his voice can no longer carry to the outer edges.  Like trying to make a speech from the middle of a football huddle.  Beyond the immediate team, who can hear?

So, in order to be heard by everyone and to give himself a little distance, Jesus commandeers Simon’s boat.  He’s obviously not using it at the present moment and Jesus needs it so Simon obligingly rows Jesus out from shore so Jesus can finish his lesson. 

Maybe Simon’s cooperation is based on hope that he’ll get a tip – fishing’s been bad and he could really use the money.  And he gets one but not the monetary kind.  Instead, Jesus gives him some unsolicited advice as where he should be casting his nets.  If Simon is disappointed in the non-monetary aspect of Jesus’ tip, he doesn’t show it – in fact he goes along with the suggestion.  Why not?  After all, this man does seem to know an awful lot about scripture.  Maybe he knows something about fishing as well.

It turns out that he does. When Simon pulls them back in, his nets are so full that they begin to tear apart.  He has to call in reinforcements but even with the arrival of a second boat, the catch is too big to handle. The weight of the fish starts to swamp both boats.

But the imminent sinking of his fishing fleet isn’t what gets Simon’s attention.  He is too stunned by a sudden self-awareness of his own weaknesses.  Of his own flaws in the light of this man who has suddenly turned his life upside down. What is it about Jesus that reduces Simon to such a state?  His wisdom – his teachings combined with his knowledge of the lake?  The kindness in his eyes?  Simon’s realization that this man knows him in a way that his own family doesn’t?

 “Go away,” Simon tells Jesus.  These revelations of his shortcomings are too painful to bear.  “Go away, because I am a sinful man.”  In some way, Jesus has shown Simon the truth about his life and what he sees devastates him.

It seems to happen that way a lot.  When we least expect it, the truth about ourselves, or at least a part of ourselves we’d rather deny –  comes crashing in;  is exposed – by a chance remark from someone else,  or something that pops out of our mouths that we didn’t even know we were thinking.   When our minds are elsewhere, preoccupied with . . . something --  and then suddenly there we are, bags under our eyes and all, reflected back at us from a store window – or in the eyes of another.  Is that what I really look like?  Is that how I really sound?  Is that how I come across to others? Is this all I’ve done with my life?

It all seems to come together – or fall apart -- for Simon as he stares at the pile of fish in the hull of his boat.  He sees what he’s been avoiding  and what he has become as a result – timid and fearful.  He’s been staying away from the middle of the lake with its depth and abundance of fish, because of the sudden and deadly storms that form out there as well.  Instead, he’s been fishing in shallow waters – safe and near the shore.  His daily hauls are becoming skimpier and skimpier.  And his life has been getting increasingly narrow.

Simon has been doing what most of us do – at least part of the time.  Playing it safe.  Letting himself down, not to mention the guys who work for him. But Jesus doesn’t lecture him.  He doesn’t say, ‘you’re wrong. ’   He simply says, here, try this instead.  And instantly, Simon is the most successful fisherman in the village. 

But there’s more to it than that.  When Jesus tells him, “Throw your nets into deep water,” it’s not just fishing advice that he’s giving Simon, he’s telling him that he needs to change his life.   And then he proceeds to tell Simon who Simon really is – and what he is called to do -- and it doesn’t involve fishing anymore.      

You see, after giving Simon the success that’s been eluding him, Jesus calls him away from that profession to a new and untried one.  You think this feels good, he tells him.  Wait until you start bringing people into the Kingdom of God.  Amazing when you think about it.  When Simon had gotten up that morning, his life had stretched out in front of him pretty much as it had in the past. By the time the afternoon light was beginning to fade, he had become a disciple of Jesus Christ with an entirely different future.

All it took was his willingness to sail into deeper water. 

This mission study month – Reimagining the Spirit of University Presbyterian Church – represents the start of a journey of sorts for this congregation.  With choices to make that aren’t all that different than Simon was faced with.  As we embark on this voyage of self discovery and assessment, do we play it safe and stick close to the shore or sail into deeper waters.  As we look at our first question, “Who are we?” what will be the nature of our response?  Will we confine ourselves to answers that involve statistics like age, educational level, gender, marital status, number in household? Or will we view this time as an opportunity for to deepen connections and relationships.  To get to know each other better.  To sail into deeper waters.

I’m not knocking statistics – I think that they’re helpful and fascinating.  They provide important measures as a church begins the process of describing itself to itself and then to others.  The same way the U.S. Census questionnaire is critical to our self-understanding as a nation.  But statistics only tell part of the story.  Every person here is so much more than all of those boxes that stare up at us from the page.    

There’s no box for, “going through third round of cancer treatment and the bills are piling up.” Or “hasn’t heard from estranged sister in five years.” Or “struggling with mentally ill child,” or “unemployment about to run out.”

There’s no box for, “put four kids through college,” or “has foster parented thirty.”  No box for “has taught Sunday School for nine years,” or “can always be counted on to bring chocolate cake to potluck suppers.” Or “takes communion to shut-ins.”  The depth and texture of history represented by the members of any congregation is stunning.  And humbling. I have looked out from too many pulpits over the years, into the faces of too many people to say otherwise.   People who could have checked off boxes like the ones I just listed and many more besides. 

And yet, the separate events that have brought each one of us to this moment would probably come as a surprise to each of us about the other. Her?  She looks like she’s never faced a serious problem in her life.  Them –  they seem to be the perfect couple.  That laughing young person – what could they know about struggle and hardship?  We’ll never know these things about each other unless we’re willing to head out for deep water.  We’ll never become the true community of belonging that so many need.  Young families – do you remember how lonely it was to be a young family with young children far from home?  Single folks tired of being treated like a fifth wheel.  Widows given six weeks to recover from the ending of a 60 year marriage.  People who need us. People who we need.

I’m not suggesting that we disclose personal information that we don’t feel comfortable sharing with others.  Or that we turn every fellowship hour into an occasion to spill our guts to a total stranger.  Usually when someone asks, “How are you?” “Just fine,” is the best answer.  None of us wants to be guilty of TMI (too much information)!  What I am suggesting is that we maintain an active awareness that no one is quite who they seem to be.  That there are universes of history, and longing, and memory in each person we encounter.  I am convinced that when we have that awareness, it communicates itself as acceptance and empathy to the other person. It becomes an invitation to sharing and openness.

But when we ignore or suppress that awareness; when we communicate the message that masks are required here; that any problems we have, should be kept to ourselves, there’s no deepening of those subterranean community bonds.  The roots that ground us remain shallow.      

I made a presentation at a church retreat for another faith community yesterday.  During the course of our discussion, one of the “snowbird” couples shared that no one had ever really spoken to them in any depth, throughout the ten years that they had been attending that church.  The rest of the group was stunned.  Fortunately, no one reacted defensively but asked them to say more.  As their story poured out, the group learned how Dave and Paula had even visited other churches but “they weren’t any better” so they decided to return to a place where they, at least, enjoyed the worship.  As the conversation continued, you could feel things getting more real in the room.  When people share and are listened to and heard, something changes. Communities move from being communities in theory to actual communities.   

 I especially like the second verse of the hymn “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” That doesn’t get sung much anymore.  “We bear each others woes, each others burdens bear, and often for each other flows, the sympathizing tear.”

 As a kid, I thought that it was hokey and I snickered when we sang it.  Now I know that it describes what makes a community of faith a community of belonging and caring as well.  We bear each other’s burdens.  We don’t assume that just because someone seems to have it all put together that they don’t have sorrows of their own.  We don’t assume that hard times are punishment or something to be ashamed of.  When bad things happen, when excruciating things happen, we’re there for each other.  We’re not afraid to go out into the deep water of another person’s grief or loss because we not only know who we are, we know whose we are – the one who calmed the storm and abides with us still. And it’s in that deep water that we find our true selves, as persons and as a community.

Simon stayed near the shore because he thought that being safe was the most important thing but God had other plans.  And once he cast his net in deep water, out past where it was safe, he started moving towards his true identity and purpose – as Peter, the Rock of Christ’s church. 

So, as we enter into this mission study month; as we look to what new things God’s Spirit is calling us to; let’s do it with our own spirits open to that call.  Come to one or all of the cottage meetings we’ll be having on the next three Saturday evenings.  Share your story and your hopes and even your disappointments with the rest of us.  We need each other.  We all have something to bring to the table. 

Let’s head out for deep water together, where we encounter the living Christ in each other and come home to who and whose we really are.  Amen.