“Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful
man.” (Luke 5:18b)
It may not exactly be something to boast of, but my late dad was one of the great cussers of all time. This man, when moved to do so, could spew a geyser of profanity for a solid minute without repeating himself. I attribute this skill to his time in the army, but I’d be willing to bet even the most creative of drill instructors would be hard pressed to out curse my Old Man. If there ever was a man of unclean lips, it was surely my dad. And I am just like him.
Granted, a flair for profanity is not a particularly admirable trait in a clergyman. In fact, I once considered that my potty mouth—among a host of other rather unattractive attributes—should surely disqualify me from pursuing a career in the church. When my pastor, Mary Todd-Pendergast, first suggested I explore a call to ordained ministry, I felt rather like Isaiah in the First Lesson assigned for Epiphany 5, Year C (Isaiah 6:1-8). “Woe is me,” I thought. “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” I was pretty sure I was one of the least holy or pious people around. I told my pastor that, as a stunningly unsuccessful actor, I might be able to pull off an adequate Sunday morning, but I really had no deep knowledge of the scriptures, I’d never been a counselor, and I had zero administrative skills. Pastor Mary shot down these objections with one sentence: “You know, Owen, when you go to seminary they teach you those things.”
So, okay, I thought. And here I am.
Reluctance in the face of God’s call seems to be a theme in the lessons appointed for this Sunday. Isaiah has a mind-blowing vison of standing before the throne of God with all these six-winged angels flying around.[i] He’s completely freaked-out by the grandeur and majesty of God, and he’s feeling really unworthy and not a little bit terrified in this awesome presence. God, however, has a plan for this guy, and he wipes away any reluctance Isaiah might have by telling an angel to burn away the uncleanliness from the future prophet’s mouth with a hot coal (I don’t personally recommend this method, but God can get away with it.).
We see another future prophet, Simon Peter, backing off from a call to serve the Lord in our gospel lesson (Luke 5:1-11). I think it’s pretty clear that Peter knows or at least has heard about Jesus before this story starts. Otherwise, it would be pretty rude of the Lord to just invite himself onto some stranger’s boat.[ii] After hearing Jesus preach, Peter is agreeable to the fishing expedition but probably only out of courtesy to the rabbi. He’s fished all night and caught bupkis. He may even be dog tired, but he’s not going to refuse a request from this popular and charismatic preacher—especially not with everyone watching. So off he goes and is totally blown away when he and his buddies suddenly—in spite of all their expectations—hit the fish jackpot.
And how does he react? Just like Isaiah. When God is revealed, it scares the crap out of him. He tells Jesus to go away and leave him because he’s too sinful to stand in the presence of the holy or be any earthly use to God.
But God doesn’t think the way we think. Worthiness in God’s eyes isn’t about what you can put in a resume or find on a background check. If it were, we’d all be in deep trouble. God gives us gifts and challenges us to use them out of love for God and our neighbor. And God doesn’t hang us out on a limb in the hope we figure out how to survive. God equips the saints.
The miracle in our gospel story convinces Peter of two things. First, it’s an epiphany. Peter sees that there is something unusual and spectacular and deeply holy about this Jesus guy. If he wasn’t impressed by Jesus’ teaching, he’s certainly impressed by his ability to find fish. But this miracle has a promise to it. Jesus has supplied abundance. If not abundance, at least sufficiency—which is just as good. Peter is laboring at a hard, sweaty, and uncertain job as a fisherman, but I’ll bet he’d think twice about leaving it to travel around the country with this weird new rabbi unless he was convinced that God would be there to provide for him.
In my own call story, I can only say I left a pretty crazy gig as a junior high school teacher to take up an even crazier gig as a pastor because the Holy Spirit—through the testimony of a lot of really special Christian people—gave me the courage to say “yes.”
What would happen if we all recognized we’re called as ambassadors for Christ? That God has an answer for all of our excuses to avoid the things the Spirit prompts us to do? What if we all saw ourselves as worthy, gifted, and safe to be bearers of God’s love to those who need it most?
Think about it. May God’s peace be with you while you do!
[i]
Fun fact: “Feet” in verse 2 is actually a euphemism for genitals. You certainly
wouldn’t want your angels flying around flashing their junk in the presence of
Almighty God. That would be pretty disrespectful, don’t you think?
[ii] Another
fun fact: The hillside around the Sea of Galilee forms a sort of natural amphitheater
which would help amplify Jesus’ voice while he taught the crowd. You have to
figure that this was a “festival seating” event and Jesus had no security
detail. By sitting in the boat and pushing off a bit from the shore he could
keep the fans from crowding him (nobody wants to stand in the water) and he
could still be heard by everyone present.
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