5 Once while Jesus[a] was standing beside the Lake of Gennesaret and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, 2 he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gotten out of them and were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. 4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” 5 Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” 6 When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to burst. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. 8 But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’s knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” 9 For he and all who were with him were astounded at the catch of fish that they had taken, 10 and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” 11 When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him. (Luke 5:1 – 11)
Like all ELCA Lutheran
clergy, part of my seminary training involved three months of institutional
chaplain experience called Clinical Pastoral Education or CPE.[i] I was fortunate to be
accepted to do my CPE in the Ivy League at the Hospital of the University of
Pennsylvania. At the time the Chief of Chaplains at Penn was a modest but extremely
insightful United Methodist pastor named Ralph Ciampa. As a CPE trainer, Pastor
Ciampa would frequently accompany student chaplains as they visited with the
patients and would help these students process the experience of ministry to
those suffering from serious illness. If a student asked Pastor Ciampa “How did
I do?” the Chief of Chaplains would turn the question back on the student by
asking “What were you trying to do?”
I think—don’t you?—that it’s
important for us in any ministry endeavor to know what our goals are. As I’m
sure I’ve mentioned before in this blog, a big fat chunk of my ministry (sort
of my “side hustle” if you will) is officiating funeral services or the
unchurched in my community. Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at it, and I
suspect one of the reasons is because I know what I’m trying to do with this
ministry. I’m not trying to give closure, because I don’t believe one should
ever want to close the books on someone they loved. I do, however, want mourners
to know their loved ones’ life mattered, that they have permission—healthy permission—to
grieve, that the one they love is in God’s loving hands, and that they are not
alone in their grief as others have come to support them and honor the deceased
with them. I also want to use the opportunity of a memorial service to teach
the assembled a little bit about the Christian faith. After all, as a disciple
of Jesus, I’ve been called to “fish for people.”
Don’t get me wrong. My
memorial services aren’t a Billy Graham Crusade. There isn’t an altar call, and
I don’t try to pray everyone into Heaven. I’m even pretty uncomfortable with a
doctrine which says, “Believe in Jesus or burn in Hell.” I mean, who are we
to decide whom God will receive into God’s loving arms?
No. If we’re going to
fish for people, we’d best be sure of the sort of bait we use. I’m pretty sure
that fear of Hell and damnation aren’t the best ways to express the love of
Christ, and I think sharing that love is what we’re really trying to do.
I’ll grant many of us
look at this fishing expedition with some reluctance. Well, get in line. Isaiah
in our First Lesson for Epiphany 5 in the Revised Common Lectionary (Isaiah
6:1-13) is not a little uncomfortable being a man of unclean lips in the
presence of Almighty God. Not only did he feel unworthy of God’s commission, but
I’ll also bet he was afraid of being squashed like an ant on the sidewalk by a
just and powerful deity. God, however, had other ideas. God knows a good potential
prophet when God sees one.
Ditto our old friend,
Simon Peter in the Gospel Lesson (above). Peter must’ve though he was the last
person who could be of any use to Jesus or the Kingdom of God. Granted, he had
to live with Jesus for about three years and make a bunch of mistakes. He
almost drowned[ii],
he got called “Satan” [iii], and he denied he even
knew Jesus when his rabbi got arrested.[iv]. It finally took Jesus’
resurrection and the anointing of the Holy Spirit[v] to get this guy into the preaching
mode. Fortunately, Peter, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit stuck it out, and this fragile
and very human former fisherman became the fisher of people Jesus always knew
he would be.
I suspect a lot of us may
not be feeling the call to be ambassadors for Christ. Many in our pews are older
adults. We’ve had all the kids and grandkids we’re going to have, and we’ve
made all the friends we’re going to make. Our mission field—the lake in which
we might fish—seems pretty small these days. But remember, we’re not being
called to build churches or fill pews. We’re being called to proclaim the
goodness and love of the Lord. You may have an influence of which you are not
aware. Often, after I’ve preached a memorial homily, people will approach me
and ask where my parish is and if they can have a card or some information
about worshiping there. I always oblige them, but truth be told, rarely do they
ever show up on a Sunday morning. But that’s okay. If they’ve heard the love of
God, if their consciences have been moved, if they’ve become inclined to pray a
little more, or even if they only feel for an instant that they are part of God’s
loving embrace, I may have done my job.
You don’t have to be Billy
Graham or a TikTok influencer to fish for people. The bait you throw out to
hungry human fish is the love of God you carry in your heart. It’s your
willingness to forgive, listen, and understand. It’s your generosity to those
in need and the simple help, the quotidian favors and kindnesses you give to
your neighbors. It’s your joy in the abundance of God and the gratitude people
see in your life regardless of your circumstances or the world’s selfish
expectations. It’s the way you endure your hardships, and the way you say—without
proselytizing, shaming, or expecting anything—“I am a Christian.”
I am reminded of a famous
quote from the poet Mya Angelou:
“I've learned that people
will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will
never forget how you made them feel.”
Keep fishing, my friend.
You might be better at it than you know.
[i]
This was sometimes called Cruel Perverted Experience by some seminarians.
[ii]
See Matthew 14:28-33.
[iii]
See Matthew 16:21-23 and Mark 8:31-33.
[iv]
See Matthew 26:69-75, Mark 14:66-72, Luke 22:56-62, and John 18:25-27. This was
a pretty big embarrassment for old Simon P. You think?)
[v]
See Acts chapter 2.
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