It's Not About the Fish

Luke 5:1-11

Once while Jesus was standing beside the lake of Gennesaret, and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets.

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. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.’

Simon answered, ‘Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.’ When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to break.

So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink.

But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’ For he and all who were with him were amazed at the catch of fish that they had taken; 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.’ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

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My dad was a car salesman when I was growing up. He worked an odd schedule: 8 a.m. to 2 p.m. one day and 2 p.m. to 8 p.m. the next. One summer when I was about seven, he bought a little jon boat with an old motor.

On the days he didn’t have to go in until the afternoon, my dad, my brother, and I would strap the boat in the bed of the truck and head to Shadyside Lake for the morning. It was always a competition to see who would catch the most fish.

My dad usually came in last, though he’d tell you it was because I didn’t like taking my fish off the hook. It didn’t matter anyway because Chad always seemed to outcatch us. But our time fishing was never really about how many fish we caught.

We fished for sport, of course—just time for a father and his sons to be together, like every father wants. But for Simon Peter and the others, fishing was their job, their livelihood, a central part of their identity.

Their boat would have been one of, if not the most, important things they owned. So I wonder if Simon hesitated when Jesus asked him to put it out a little way from the shore so he could preach to the crowd pressing in on him. Whatever the case, Jesus went out on the lake, sat down, and preached.

When it was over, I’m sure Simon was ready to shake Jesus’ hand and say, “Great sermon today, Rabbi. Thank you very much. Let’s get you back to shore.” But that’s not what Jesus wanted. No, Jesus said, “Let’s go back out. I want to fish. I know where you should go.”

Do you think that’s what Simon really wanted to do? He had been out all night away from his family. He still had to wash the nets, and to make matters worse, he had caught nothing. No fish meant no money. No money meant all sorts of questions—how would he feed his family or buy the necessary supplies to keep his business afloat? So Simon responded, “Master, we were at this all night and caught nothing.” In other words: Jesus, take it from me—there's nothing out there.

I wonder how many times Simon rowed his boat ashore with empty nets. This likely wasn’t the first time. And think for a moment how hard that must have been—how it would leave Simon feeling. This was the thing he was supposed to be an expert in, the thing he’d done all his life. Like me, he spent many days fishing with his dad. So I imagine each time he spent all night on that boat and caught nothing, his inner critic was loud:

“You’re not a good fisherman, which means you’re not a good provider or husband. You don’t really know what you’re doing. You’re incompetent. You fail at this just like you do everything else.”

I have no doubt that voice left him feeling like he wasn’t good enough, smart enough, or rich enough. What he felt was despair. And when you feel that way, the last thing you want to do is go back out and try again.

Surely you know what that’s like—not for your nets to be empty, but to fail at the very thing you’re supposed to be good at. Or for your expertise to let you down. I have to believe you are no stranger to that inner critic telling you that you are not good enough, smart enough, or rich enough. If you are anything like me, you hear it nearly every night, saying you didn’t do enough today. You should have done more or done it better—because if you had, maybe people would see your worth. Maybe God would too.

Maybe your inner critic replays each encounter you had throughout the day, making you question what you said or did. Or perhaps it reminds you of all the mistakes you’ve made and why you aren’t worthy of love or joy.

How do we not fall into despair and self-doubt when we hear this?

But then Simon changes his mind and says to Jesus, “Yet if you say so.” Those five words are what being a follower of Jesus is all about. I’m not sure about this, God, but I’ll give it a go. I’ve got my doubts—about this and about myself—yet I trust you. I really don’t want to do this, Jesus, yet if you say so.

Simon says those five words and does as Jesus says. You know the story from there: the disciples catch a whole school of fish, and their nets begin to tear. So they call over their partners to bring another boat. Once help arrives, both boats are swimming in so many fish that they begin to sink. Now, it would be easy to get caught up in the fish, to think they are the most important, most miraculous part of this story. We could even twist this story to mean that if I am obedient to Jesus—if I just do what God says—then I too will get a miracle.

You likely don’t want a literal boatload of fish, yet you might hope for some miracle of abundance.

But don’t focus on the fish; that’s not the point of the story. If we do, we miss the most miraculous part—namely, that the Savior of the world is on board with them. The fish simply point to what’s most important: sitting beside them on their little boat is God in the flesh!

Everyone who saw the catch was amazed, but it is Simon who realizes what it means. So he turns to Jesus and says, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” In other words: I am not worthy for you to be on my boat. I’m not worthy because I doubted you. I’m not worthy because I’m just a fisherman, and not a good one at that. If you only knew me and my sin, if you heard my inner critic, then you too, Jesus, would know I’m not worthy.

But that’s exactly why Jesus got into the boat. He didn’t get on that boat because Simon had earned it. Clearly, it wasn’t Simon’s fantastic fishing skills that lured Jesus. If anything, it was the opposite. If anything, it was because the nets were empty. It was because Simon hadn’t caught any fish. It was because of the self-doubt and despair this so-called fisherman must have been feeling. If Simon had hauled in a huge catch the night before, what need would he have had for Jesus? It’s all grace that Jesus was on Simon’s boat. It wasn’t merit—because that’s not how the kingdom of God works. Jesus was there because Simon was in need.

The best news for all of us who hear that inner critic, who are familiar with despair and self-doubt, is that the same is true for us. God is in your boat—not because you are worthy, not because of your merit, not because what you think you are good at. It is because our nets are empty. It is because we have failed. It is because we are in need that Jesus gets on board. If we never doubted, if we never failed, what need would we have for such grace? It is grace that silences the inner critic, telling us that we are enough, we are worthy, because we are loved.

“Do not be afraid, from now you will catch people”. That’s our job, too. All around us people are falling into despair and self-doubt from the words of their inner critic, all of it amplified by the world we live in.

We are tasked with catching them by offering the same grace we have received in Jesus Christ. It’s getting on board with them when their nets are empty. It’s helping them—not because they’ve earned it, but because they need it.

Just as with my dad and brother, it’s not about the fish. It’s about recognizing that, as unworthy as we are, Jesus is on board with us, guiding us where we should go and what we should do. And even when we are unsure or unwilling to follow, may we have the strength and courage to respond: “But if you say so.”

Amen.

Widows, Lepers, and Foreigners, Oh My

Luke 4:21-30

Then he began to say to them, "Today, this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing." All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, "Is not this Joseph's son?" He said to them, "Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, 'Doctor, cure yourself!" And you will say, "Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum."

And he said, "Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet's hometown. But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; yet, Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow in Zarephath of Sidon. There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian."

When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.

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If you heard last Sunday’s sermon, it was full of good news, but I warned you that things were going to change. Back in Nazareth, Jesus’ hometown – his friends, family, and neighbors had heard what he’d been up to – preaching and teaching his way around Galilee, and when he showed up in the synagogue, where we find him, still, today – he had that good news for them, which he has been anointed by God to share: “good news for the poor, release for the captives, recovery of sight for the blind, freedom for the oppressed, and the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And they were all over it. Their home-town boy made good. A local hero. An anointed prophet, filled with spirit and good news and so many gracious words falling from his lips.

And Jesus knows they’d like more than just to hear about these things. They’d like to see some of his best work, too, which is why he kind of teases them with that old proverb, “Doctor, cure yourself.” “Show us a trick.” “Give us a show.” “Let’s see just how ‘anointed’ you really are.”

He knows what else they’re thinking, too: “Jesus, do something for us – your family, friends, and neighbors – like we’ve heard you’ve been doing out there in the world. Release some captives, here. Heal some of us who are sick. Give some of the Lord’s favor to those of us who know you best, now that you’re home. If you’re doing it for them, surely you can do it for us, too.”

But Jesus reminds them – not so subtly – that this “Lord’s favor” the prophets spoke of wasn’t about playing favorites, or taking sides, or “us and them.”

He reminds them about how – during a famine once, way back in the day – when all of Israel – the nation of God’s chosen ones – could have used a little release and recovery and a dose of the Lord’s favor, the prophet Elijah was sent outside the fold, to help some widow at Zarephath in Sidon. And he reminds them about how, during the good ol’ days of the prophet Elisha, there were plenty of Hebrew lepers who could have used a cleansing, but that God sent the prophet to an outsider – some foreigner named Naaman, from Syria.

And when they hear it, Jesus’ newly minted fans lose their minds. They turn on a dime. They turn on Jesus. And they run him out of the synagogue, and straight out of town.

“You mean this grace and favor and this recovery and release stuff isn’t just for us?!” “You mean we aren’t supposed to look out for number one?!?!” “You mean we don’t take care of our own, first, and then pick and choose who we think might be worthy?!?!?” “You mean this ‘recovery’ and ‘release’ and ‘freedom’ and ‘favor’ is for them, just as much as it is for us?”

And, to begin to grasp what was so upsetting and unsettling to Jesus’ hometown crowd, we need to be reminded about the insignificance of these widows and these lepers and these foreigners about whom he was telling them. They were at the bottom of the barrel as far as social standing was concerned. They were outcasts. They were outsiders. They were unclean, unworthy, unloveable, and unwanted by the rest of the world. (They were probably undocumented, too, if you know what I mean.)

Because, not only was Jesus talking about the outcast, the sinner, the shamed, and the shameful, he was talking about people outside of the Jewish circle. Jesus was saying that, just like the prophets Elijah and Elisha had shown … foreigners to Israel were welcome to the grace of God, too. Not only was God’s grace for losers – like lepers and widows – but it was even for Gentile widows and Gentile lepers, too. Which seems to imply that there wasn’t anyone beyond the reach of God’s love, or beyond the reach of Jesus’ own ministry, as a result.

Could this be a more hard, holy, timely lesson for us, these days? If Jesus walked into the midst of his people this morning – Christian churches on Sunday morning, filled with those of us who call ourselves, friends and family and brothers and sisters and siblings in Christ – what would HE find, and what would WE do, if he reminded us about the likes of Naaman, the Syrian, or about that widow from Zarephath in Sidon – outsiders and outcasts and foreigners, too?

It reminds me of how Bishop Mariann Budde, from the National Cathedral simply, humbly, faithfully, graciously, kindly asked our President to show mercy to immigrants who are afraid of what border policies and deportation practices could mean for them and their families – and about how at least one US Congressman proposed she be deported for it; the 21st Century, American version of being hurled off a cliff, you might say.

It makes me think of the rabbit hole of reels and Tik Toks I found myself in, just this week, where Christian-flavored people spend a lot of time explaining why women can’t be and shouldn’t be allowed to be priests and pastors in the Church. These were men and women, young and old, red and yellow, black and white followers of Jesus – in the year of our Lord, 2025 – who are blind to the fact that, other than Jesus, the very first person EVER to proclaim the Good News of the Gospel, was Mary Magdalene on that first Easter morning.

It makes me think, too, of a conversation at the Wellness Center, right around the corner – and quite recently – where someone made note of how, as more people of color find their way there that “the quality of the clientele seems to be going downhill.” I couldn’t help but wonder where she might be worshiping Jesus this morning.

And did you know that just this past Monday, the Idaho House of Representatives passed a memorial suggesting the US Supreme Court reconsider – and undo – the legalization and protection of same-sex marriage in our country? Heather Scott, the Idaho state representative behind it all, blamed it on Jesus, suggesting that Christians across the nation are being targeted by having to welcome the idea of marriage equality.

The sad truth is, too many Christians are still too busy looking for cliffs whenever the message of God’s grace and love and mercy and favor gets too wide and too mighty and too scary and too uncomfortable and asks too much of us. And Naaman, the Syrian, and that widow at Zarephath, in Sidon – and those knuckleheads in Nazareth – are all just First Century examples of our 21st Century reality.

So today, “this Scripture that is fulfilled in our hearing,” convicts us to ask, who are the 21st Century “widows” and “lepers” among us – because none of this is about widow and lepers anymore. Who are the unloved, the unloveable, the unworthy, or the unwanted as we sit here this morning? Even more, who do we pretend is outside the circle of God’s grace as far as Christians in the Church and our community are concerned?

We can try to limit God’s grace or draw lines in the sand and keep it for ourselves. We can even vote for politicians and policies that do our bidding one way or another. And we can pretend that Jesus’ preaching and teaching has nothing to do with those politicians or those policies.

We could even try to silence the truth by running the messenger out of town or by hurling him off a cliff or by nailing him to a cross – but we have been there and we’ve done that and we know how that story ends.

Or, rather, we know how that story begins, thanks be to God.

Because it is the resurrection that reminds us that God’s grace will be shared – no matter what. It will bring good news to the poor. It will release the captive. It will restore sight to the blind. It will let the oppressed go free. The Lord’s favor will be proclaimed – whether you and I – Jesus’ friends, family, and neighbors are on board or not.

And what always gets me when I hear about Jesus’ near-death experience that day in Nazareth, is the invitation to get with the program. What I hear is a call to the Church – our congregation at Cross of Grace and the larger Church as God’s people in the world – to not be left standing on the cliff like the people of Nazareth, only to find that Jesus has passed through the midst of us – untouched.

What I don’t want any of us to find is that he’s continued on his way sharing grace, doing justice, and offering God’s blessings to a world so desperate for it, but that we were too busy or too angry, too self-absorbed or too blind, too partisan or too proud, too selfish or too scared, to join him in that work.

Amen