In Deep Water

Luke 5:1-11

Before I can preach this with you, I have to tell you something first.  I wrote this sermon on Friday while waiting for my office phone to ring.  I wrote it sitting in my office, watching the freezing rain coming down, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting to hear his voice telling me that his mother, one of our church members, had been received back to God.  I wrote this sermon with one eye on the passage and one eye on the phone.  Waiting and wondering.  Wondering how long it would be now that she was enrolled in hospice care until she would relax into her death.  Wondering what it was like to sit there at her bedside, as her child, knowing that she had lived a long and beautiful life, but also knowing that she was his mom.  Knowing that once she died, he would join that group of adult children who have that strange feeling of being orphaned, even though he, himself, was of retirement age.  I sat with one eye on the phone and one eye on the text, wondering if he and his family were feeling God’s presence in their waiting, or God’s absence, or a strange combination of both.  I sat in my office, one eye on this text, one eye on the phone, wondering if they felt out in the deep water.

 In my last congregation, my office was the first office you encountered as you came in the building.  So when my door was open, I saw everyone who came in and out of the office area.  I saw her walk in one day.  “Hey!” I yelled out.  She stopped at my door.  “Are you doing okay?” I asked her, half-expecting the normal “oh sure, everything is fine” answer I usually received from people.  She looked like that rote response was about to come out of her mouth when she changed gears.  “Not really,” she responded. 

 Her honesty caught me off-guard.  I knew she had been out in the deep water-- having horrible problems with work, with her marriage, with her high stress levels affecting her health.  But I did not think she would admit it.  Few people actually admitted it.  “You are smack dab in the middle of hell, aren’t you,” I asked.  “Do you see an end to it?”  “Not right now,” she stated.  “I cannot see much of anything right now.”  And I could just see in her tired eyes that she felt like she had been thrown out into the deep water and was treading in it for dear life. 

 Simon and the other fishermen had been fishing all night long on the Sea of Galilee.  They fished at night because they were using nets.  So all night long, they were throwing the nets out, letting them sink down, and hauling them back in.  Again, and again and again.  Their arms ached, their backs ached, their spirits ached.  People counted on them for survival.  People counted on their daily catch as their daily food.  Their own families counted on the little money they would make from the fish, after paying the high taxes they would owe[i].  The fishermen’s life was a real hand-to-mouth kind of existence—day by day, moment by moment. 

 That pressure is probably why they had stayed out all night throwing out the nets, letting them fall down, hauling them back in.  Again and again and again.  But as the sun began to come up, they had nothing to show for their efforts.  They had caught nothing.  Not one single fish, just seaweed and trash.  Everyone was completely exhausted – both physically and mentally. 

 As some of you know, eking out a day to day living wears you out over time.  You can only go to the food pantry at SVCM so many times until your spirits sag.  You can only receive so many overdue notices in the mail before you feel like you might crack.  You can only put your kids to bed hungry so many times before your heart breaks wide open.  Barely making ends meet feels like drowning sometimes.  And it seemed to be really getting to Simon that day.

 Jesus got into Simon’s boat to get away from the crowds.  So many people were clamoring for his attention, to hear his words, to experience his presence.  The crowds were pressing in on Jesus and he needed to get a little space.  He stepped into Simon’s boat and asked Simon to move away from the shore just a little bit so he could preach from there.  Simon, bone-tired, soul-tired, had met Jesus the day before when he had come to stay at his house, so he did as the Rabbi asked, not wanting to appear rude even though he was barely able to keep his eyes open.  After all, Jesus had healed his mother-in-law.  He owed him one. 

 After he was finished preaching, Jesus turned to look at Simon.  Don’t you wonder what he saw in Simon’s face?  Did he see Simon’s total exhaustion?  Did he see the way Simon winced as he moved his aching arms?  Did he see the way Simon’s spirit was crushed by knowing he was returning home once again empty-handed? Did Jesus see how weary Simon was of treading for his life in the deep water? 

 Jesus sat down.  “Go out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”  Simon must have just stared at Jesus when he heard those words come out of Jesus’ mouth.  “Are you kidding me?,” Simon must have thought.  “I don’t want to go out into that deep water again.  I have been there.  I am weary of the deep water.”  Simon must have just stared at Jesus as those responses swirled in his head.  But he still wanted to be respectful so he simply responded “Master, we worked all night long and caught nothing.”  You wonder if Simon paused a moment, purposefully giving Jesus enough time to say, “Oh well, in that case, never mind.  Let’s go to shore and figure out what we will do next.”  But Jesus did not take the bait.  He just kept looking at him, seeing God only knows what in his face.  So Simon, now getting irritated but still trying to keep it in check, responded, “Fine.  At your word I will let down the nets.”

 And with every fiber of his soul resisting going back into the deep water, he and his crew rowed back out.  And with every fiber of their bodies straining with pain, they threw out their nets one more time, just because Jesus asked them to do so.  And I am sure that all the fishermen felt it was a ridiculous exercise of frustration.  In addition to their exhaustion, was the fact that you do not do net-fishing in the day[ii].  The fish can see it.  It is pointless.  And yet, this time, as they started to pull the nets back into the boats, they found their backs and arms pulsating with more pain because of all the fish flopping and straining against the nets.  The nets were full of so many fish that the boats started to sink down under the new weight. 

 And in that moment of surprise and answered prayers, don’t you wonder if Jesus looked into Simon’s face again?  And in that moment, don’t you wonder if Simon looked into Jesus’ face again?  Don’t you wonder if, in that moment, that moment of surprise and answered prayers, their eyes locked in an instant of truth and recognition?

 Simon had not wanted to go back out into the deep water.  He had resisted going back out into the deep water with every fiber of his soul, with every cell of his body.  The deep water was exhausting.  The deep water was full of complications and complexity—both moments of Divine presence and Divine absence—both times of feeling like you were in the pit of hell and times of feeling like you were on the mountain of the Lord. 

 He had not wanted to go back out.  For to be in the deep water meant you would open yourself up to moments of both painful failure and great success.  And Simon had been on the failure end of things lately.  He had been out in that deep water all night long and had returned exhausted with nothing to show for it.  All he had wanted to do was stay in the shallows for a while—catch a nap, figure out how to tell his family he had caught nothing, just sit and be.  But, Jesus had not let him off the hook.  He had looked at Simon’s face and told him to go out one more time.  And maddeningly enough, Simon could not figure out how to say no to this Jesus.

 But now—his boat was full of fish—so full it was about to sink.  And all of his friends were yelling out with amazement and shock.  And Simon’s eyes locked with Jesus’ eyes and he fell down at Jesus’ knees.  “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man,” he cried out. 

 In the eyes of Jesus, Simon saw how often he did not trust that God would be with him.  In the eyes of Jesus, Simon saw how often he forgot that nothing was impossible with God.  In the eyes of Jesus, Simon saw how often he was fear-shaped rather than faith-shaped, and he was deeply grieved.  “Just go away Lord,” Simon begged.  “I am not worthy and your claim on me scares me.”

 But Jesus loved Simon (now called Simon Peter) far too much to let him go.  He was not about to walk away from Simon Peter as he struggled out in the deep water.  He was not about to answer Simon Peter’s spoken prayer desiring absence.  Rather, he would answer the unspoken prayer for holy presence.  So with his eyes still on Simon Peter’s face, Jesus said simply “Do not be afraid.  I am not going to leave you.  Do not be afraid.  I have a calling for you, a purpose for you.  I am not letting you go.”  “Do not be afraid.  From now on,” Jesus proclaimed to Simon Peter and the others, “you are going to be catchers of people.”  And the word Jesus used for “catch” is a word that has to do with rescuing from danger, with ensuring life, with releasing safely. 

 “Do not be afraid,” Jesus told all of them, all of those tired, dirty, worn out fishermen, “for from now on, you are the ones I will use to tell people that I am with them in the deep waters, that I have not abandoned them to themselves, and that I will never let them go.” 

And with their boats overflowing with fish, they all went back to the shore, dropped everything—fish, nets, oars—everything—exhaustion, anxiety, cynicism—everything.  The text tells us they got back to shore, dropped everything and followed Jesus on the way.

 I came to the end of my sermon writing on Friday and the phone rang.  It was him, letting me know that his mother had perked up for a while.  He did not know if it would just be for a moment, or if they might have more time with her than they assumed.  So I asked him if I could talk about their situation in the sermon.  For I wanted all of us to pray for and alongside them.  To pray that as their family waited in the deep waters of a hospice room, that they might feel Jesus’ eyes on their faces.  To pray that as their backs and souls ached with the ups and downs of their waiting, they might hear Jesus’ call for courage in their ears.  I wanted all of us to pray that their family, indeed all people who are in the deep water this day, might sense Jesus’ presence with them in their boats and know they are not alone and God will make good on all God’s promises in God’s time.

 “Don’t be afraid,” Jesus promised, “For I have a calling for you.  And I will not leave you.”  And those first disciples dropped everything—oars, nets, fish—everything—fear, anxiety, cynicism—they dropped everything and followed him.  Amen.