So Many Fish

Transcript of my sermon that I preached June 14, 2020

Here’s what I want you to do: I want you to look at your hands. Hands can be amazing things. There are 27 bones in the human hand. Your hands pushed you out of bed, got yourself breakfast, maybe got a family member breakfast. Your hands turned on your screen to watch worship. Your hands cleaned you and your hands maybe gently stroked the cheek of someone you love. Hands have certainly been used for terrible and violent things, but look at your hands. Give thanks for your hands, for the hands that write letters, type emails, draw pictures, wash dishes, clean up after your dog, planted a garden, and worked hard this week to do all the things that you needed to get done. Notice your hands. Notice the freckles and the wrinkles, the scratches or scars, the lines that maybe you notice for the first time. Notice the dry spots and think of a time when your hands hurt and maybe how it felt when someone asked you to do one more things with your sore hands.

            Now imagine the fishers in our story this morning. Hear this story from Luke 5, verses 1 through 11 from The Message.

5 ^1-3 Once when he was standing on the shore of Lake Gennesaret, the crowd was pushing in on him to better hear the Word of God. He noticed two boats tied up. The fishermen had just left them and were out scrubbing their nets. He climbed into the boat that was Simon’s and asked him to put out a little from the shore. Sitting there, using the boat for a pulpit, he taught the crowd.

⁴ When he finished teaching, he said to Simon, “Push out into deep water and let your nets out for a catch.”

^5-7 Simon said, “Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow. But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.” It was no sooner said than done—a huge haul of fish, straining the nets past capacity. They waved to their partners in the other boat to come help them. They filled both boats, nearly swamping them with the catch.

^8-10 Simon Peter, when he saw it, fell to his knees before Jesus. “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.” When they pulled in that catch of fish, awe overwhelmed Simon and everyone with him. It was the same with James and John, Zebedee’s sons, coworkers with Simon.

^10-11 Jesus said to Simon, “There is nothing to fear. From now on you’ll be fishing for men and women.” They pulled their boats up on the beach, left them, nets and all, and followed him.

Can you imagine how the fisher’s hands felt? These people who make their living by fishing were out all night in their boat, fishing by casting a net over the side of the boat and waiting for something – anything – to swim into it. They dragged these nets in the sea water. The ropes were soaked, which made them heavy, but each time, they came up with…an old shoe. A tire. Maybe a drinking cup that someone forgot they dropped in the sea last spring. Everything except the one thing they wanted to find in their nets: fish. So they drop the nets back in the water, over and over all night and finally, it’s the end of their shift. They hands must have been sore. Raw with fresh calluses covering old calluses. These are rough working hands. They climb out of their boats and use their hands to scrub their nets, cleaning off all the slime that built up over the course of the night. No doubt they are exhausted. And disappointed and frustrated by these heavy, empty nets.

            So imagine their expressions as they look up and see Jesus stepping into one of their boats. When they pulled up to shore, this dude was standing on the beach teaching a crowd that was so big it felt like they were about to swallow him like the big fish swallowed Jonah. It’s all he can do to keep his sandals from slipping into the water, so instead he steps into their boat and asks them to pull out a little from shore. Simon, the owner of said boat, obliges him. Maybe he sat in the back of the boat, scrubbing that net. Maybe he peeked up every once in a while to hear what Jesus was saying. Maybe for a moment, he forgot that his hands hurt.

            Finally, Jesus finishes. He inhales and exhales and then says to Simon, “All right, man. Let’s go fishing. Push out into deep water and drop those nets.”

            Can you just imagine? Simon Peter looks down at his hands, these hands that fished all night, these hands that maybe just finished scrubbing the nets clean after packing it in after remember, a night of absolutely no luck fishing. The nets are heavy, empty and Peter’s hands are raw and done. Now Jesus is asking him – nay, Jesus tells him – to push out into deep water and let his nets down for a catch. And I wonder if there was a tiny moment where Peter thought, “Imma push this dude in the water.”

            It’s painful, right? When we’ve been working and working and we’re exhausted from all the doing and all we want is a glass of red wine and a bubble bath, the last thing we want is for someone to tell us to do one more thing. Maybe you’ve been feeling a little like that lately. All the things going on, all the things you have to care about – pandemic, racism, jobs, family, kids, school, aging parents, broken appliances, your car battery died, the dog needs a walk. How can we possibly care about one more thing? Who has that kind of energy? Maybe like Peter’s hands, your heart and spirit are feeling raw, empty, heavy. We call that compassion fatigue, and it’s real. It’s a real thing. Compassion fatigue is when we care so much about so many things that the idea of caring for one more thing is downright laughable.

            Peter says what most of us are thinking: “Master, we’ve been fishing hard all night and haven’t caught even a minnow.” Cue the nodding. The murmurs of agreement. Yeah. All night. Fishing hard. Not even a minnow. Then Peter says this: “But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.”

            Say what now, Peter?

            To me, part of the miracle is that Peter finds the energy to do this one more thing. He lets down his net one more time, these nets that he just finished cleaning. Scrubbing. It’s like when I just finish cleaning all the pollen off my car and a bird drops a load on the windshield. Are you kidding me right now?

            “But if you say so, I’ll let out the nets.” I will do this one more thing. I will care about this. I will do what you say, Jesus. To me, that trust? That willingness to let go and just listen to Jesus? That’s part of the miracle.

            The second part of the miracle, and I truly believe this part is secondary, is that the nets no sooner hit the water then they fill up with fish. I mean fill up. I mean fill up so much that they have to call in reinforcements to keep the boat from capsizing. This is a ton of fish, and even with two boats, they both almost sink. So many fish! Peter can’t even handle this right now. He falls down on his knees, “Master, leave. I’m a sinner and I can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself.”

            I can’t handle this holiness. Leave me to myself. Can you imagine if Jesus had answered that prayer with an affirmative? Left to himself, Peter had an empty net. Left to himself, the only thing Peter had to show for a night of hard fishing was raw hands and a clean net. Left to ourselves, we don’t have the energy to care about one more thing. Our hearts are empty and raw and heavy and completely spent. But with Jesus?

            With Jesus, it’s like our tanks get a refill. It’s like someone dipped the wand back into the bottle so we could blow more bubbles. Left to ourselves, we can’t handle it. Left to ourselves, we can’t even. But with Jesus? Jesus gives us what we need to do what Jesus calls us to do. Jesus fills our nets so full of fish that the only response our hearts can handle next is to follow Jesus and stay with Jesus so that energy, that hope, that feeling of being refilled and refreshed doesn’t go away.

            Says Hebrews 12, “Strip down, start running – and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we’re in.” And here’s the part of the verse I love: “When you find yourself flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility that Jesus plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls!” Imagine Jesus being the shot of adrenaline in your soul – that little bit extra you need to keep going, to keep caring. And when we do feel weary, fall into Jesus’ arms. Jesus says, “Come to me when you’re weary and I’ll give you rest.” That’s the holy rest we need, the Sabbath moments to let Jesus refill us. Admitting you need rest is not a sin. Admitting that one more thing is painful is not a sin. Peter admitted that one more thing was painful. “Master, we fished hard all night.” But he had energy enough to know that listening to Jesus was the next right thing. Dropping our nets is as much about letting Jesus refill us as it is about doing the next right thing.

            So do this again. Look at your hands. These wondrous, beautiful hands with all of their marks, scars, freckles, wrinkles, lines, and dry spots. Think of all the wonderful things your hands are capable of doing. Now imagine the hands of Jesus, taking your hands and holding you up. Imagine Jesus’ hands, filled with a grand total of 54 bones, reaching down and holding you close to let you know that you are not alone and that when you are tired, when you are frustrated, when you are anxious, when you are grieving, when you are angry, you are not alone. And when you’re joyful, excited, over the moon about new possibilities, Jesus is running the race with you, hand in hand, side by side. Take a good look at your hands. They may look empty but in Jesus, they will always be full.