Fishing for Partners in Mission

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 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, son 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 brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

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I usually read this story – or the other versions of it we find in the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, the ones about “fishing for people” – as being about evangelism, outreach, and growing the church. I like that image of Jesus sitting in a boat on the Sea of Galilee and teaching the crowds. I’m inspired by the “nets full of fish” and the promise from Jesus that “from now on, you’ll be catching people.” The whole image of fishing as one for bringing others into the Church is well-known to most of us.

And the state of the Church these days – in these pandemic days, I mean – make this Gospel story as timely as ever, it would seem. Consider some statistics about the last couple of years for a minute:

• Only 52% of church-goers want primarily in-person services again (Barna)

• 71% of Boomers want primarily in-person services (Barna)

• But less than 50% of Gen X (47%), Millennials (42%) and Gen Z (41%) want in-person services

• In 2021, only 29% of Americans reported attending church in the last seven days, when asked – which was down from 48% in 2009. (Barna)

• I’ve seen reports that churches are back to anywhere from 36% - 80% of what they were on average, before the pandemic started. Any way you slice it, that’s a pretty sharp decline.

So what in the world are we doing here? And how can we do it better? How can we make it more meaningful than it’s been in the past? Because the truth is, the decline in Church attendance and participation was happening long before any of us ever heard of COVID-19. The pandemic just accelerated what was already happening in a lot of churches, in a lot of ways.

But rather than wring our hands or cry in our fair-trade coffee… Rather than point our fingers or continue to fish in the same old waters, in the same old ways, I think we’re being invited to ask some different, bigger, more faithful questions about it all. And I think we can start finding answers and inspiration when we see what Jesus is up to – or not – in this morning’s Gospel.

See, when Jesus hijacks that boat and pushes off into the water that day, he just teaches. And then he tells Simon, who had been fishing all night long with no success, to cast his nets into deeper water. In spite of his reasonable doubts and serious insecurities, then, Simon Peter catches so many fish that his nets can barely hold them all and they start to tear. He catches so many fish that he has to call for backup and as they bring all of those fish into their boats, the weight of the catch is so great the boats actually begin to sink.

And what’s great about this story, and where I find the lesson for me and for all of us in the Church today – at Cross of Grace and otherwise – is that

Jesus didn’t actually do very much of anything. He did some teaching: maybe it was a sermon, maybe a study of Scripture, maybe he told another parable, we don’t know for sure. He offered some advice and direction: “get out into the deep water.” He gave the command: “let your nets down there.” And he made a promise: “from now on you will be catching people.” But what stands out to me in this first encounter with the first of his disciples, Jesus let them do all the work.

But unfortunately, while Jesus got things off to a great start, it’s not the way the Church has continued, in too many places.

Think about churches where you’ve been a member before. Were they congregations where the Pastor preached all of the sermons? Were they places where the Pastor visited all of the sick? Where the Pastor was expected to meet the needs of the people; to make the members happy; to do ministry but to not make waves? Were they places where 20% of the people did 80% of the work? Were they places where you – and most others – were expected to just show up on Sunday morning for worship and for special occasions like weddings, funerals and the annual Church picnic? (Unfortunately, I think this is the way things have forced so many churches to operate in the face of this pandemic.)

And all of this is the stuff of congregations who have members that want to be taken care of, who want to be served rather than to serve, who come to church looking for what it has to offer them, rather than helping to discern what they might have to offer the world. And this is the stuff of over-worked lay leaders, burned-out clergy, and dying congregations. And all of that is the stuff that leads to conflict, struggle, stagnation and demise. This is not who we have ever been or who I hope we will ever become at Cross of Grace.

It’s why we’ve always been deliberate about calling ourselves “Partners in Mission” here, instead of just “members.” As I said in a recent letter about our Building Fund, “The Church is not a country club. Cross of Grace is not a homeowners’ association. Discipleship is not like membership at the gym.” And I believe that mentality is what has sustained us until now – and what will keep us alive and well and thriving in the days to come.

So, I’m not interested in – nor do I think Churches should give two rips about – making, collecting, or catching “members.” I think our call at Cross of Grace these days is to consider – more meaningfully, again – what it means to be “Partners in Mission,” instead, and to wonder what the implications of that have had and could continue to have for us in the days to come.

I’m not saying we’ve got it all figure out or that Cross of Grace has perfected the art of discipleship by any stretch. But our history and experience tell a different story from a lot of churches like ours, too.

I’d bet today’s offering that our team of musicians – and Stephen Jordan – are as faithful and as talented as any you’ll find in a congregation anywhere. And as volunteers, they are Partners in Mission in every sense of those words.

We’re Partners in Mission, too, who still mow our own lawn, clean our own toilets, and shovel our own snow around here.

We are Partners in Mission who prioritize financial stewardship, too – who encourage each other to give joyfully and generously to the ministry we share – because practicing generosity is as good for us as it is for the Church. I hope our nearly-eliminated mortgage is a sign and invitation to more of that.

Our up-and-coming Stephen Ministry is an exercise in Mission Partnership, as well. It’s a team of faithful disciples who will share real, meaningful, lasting care with others in a way that too many people believe only the Pastor can or should be allowed to do.

And none of this – the worship, the music, the Bible studies and the building – none of this is supposed to end with us, anyway. It’s all meant to inspire and to send us out to love and care for and serve the world. Because this Mission Partnership thing isn’t about fish at all. It’s about people – catching, serving, loving, and getting to work for and with people.

And the statistics that matter more than all of that church membership stuff, for me, right now, are these:

• That nearly 2,000 people are homeless in Indianapolis in weather like this.

• That almost 30 million people in our country had no health insurance in 2020, the year the pandemic hit.

• Teen suicide attempts are up during these pandemic days: 51% for girls, 4% for boys

• That Black people make up 38% of our country’s prison population, but only 12% of the population as a whole.

• Oh, and that one more Black man was killed while sleeping in an apartment in Minneapolis on Wednesday.

These statistics matter more to me, because I believe this is the kind of thing Jesus called us to do something about when he invited us to catch people – to gather up and tend to those who need food, shelter, love and justice.

Which is hard, heavy, overwhelming, uncomfortable work for which I feel ill-equipped and out of my league to carry out most days, to be honest. But it’s why I wondered a new thing about this whole fishing for people analogy this time around.

What if the fish in those nets today aren’t the analogy or the metaphor we’re supposed to focus on at all – at least when it comes to growing the church or gathering followers for Jesus? What if by “catching people,” we’re supposed to focus more on Simon’s fishing buddies – the partners in the other boats, like James, John, and whoever else showed up to help that day? What if we’re meant to realize there are plenty of hearts and hands on deck, waiting to join us in work that matters and that it’s our job to put them to work? It was the people who got caught up in and changed by following Jesus, after all. All of those fish in all of those nets, just became dinner, in the end.

See, I believe all of this is about showing the world and reminding each other that we’re in this together; that we’ve got good news to share, every one of us; that we have plenty of love to give, you and I; that we all have something to offer for the sake of God’s kingdom, because we have been offered, already, the joy of grace, good news, and new life in Jesus Christ.

And this Mission Partnership thing can only be done when we start to see ourselves and our neighbors like Peter finally did that day on the shores of Galilee – as curious souls, however sinful and broken, but called and capable, nonetheless. And I’m convinced that others will join us when we step out into deep waters, ourselves, when we cast wide nets, ourselves – and maybe even leave a thing or two behind, ourselves – and when we invite anyone who’s willing to help us … to get their hands dirty … and to follow Jesus’ lead in a new way, for a change.

Amen

Water, Wine and Waiting on a Miracle

John 2:1-11

On the third day, there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples were also invited. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” She said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

Now, standing there were six stone water jars for the rites of Jewish purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to the servants, “fill them up with water.” So they filled them up to the brim. Then he told them to draw some out and take it to the chief steward, so they took it. When the chief steward tasted the water that had become wine and did not know where it had come from (though the servants who drew the water knew), he called the bridegroom and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first and the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have saved the good wine until now.”

Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

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You know it’s a popular moment or miracle in the life of Jesus when it becomes a meme on the internet. Jesus may or may not have known it way back when, but this is how you know you’ve made it big in the 21st Century.

Anyway, he wasn’t at the grocery store, of course. He was with his mother and his disciples, enjoying himself at a wedding reception, in a place called Cana, where apparently, they knew how to party – so much so, that they ran out of wine. And, even though he tells his mom the time isn’t right when she expects him to do something about it, the time apparently comes, because Jesus goes ahead and does what it seems Mary thought he would or could or should do something about, right from the start.

(We really don’t know if Mary even had a miracle in mind. If she was anything like my mother, she was the one who drained the last bottle or jar or wineskin, her glass was empty, and she needed a refill. So, maybe Mary just thought Jesus could make a run down to the nearest vineyard and pick up a few more bottles, or jars, or wineskins of Merlot.)

Whatever the case, Jesus responds, however reluctantly, by taking some pretty hefty jars of water and turning them into some pretty hefty jars of fine wine – to the surprise and delight of his disciples, his mother, the caterer, and the groom, himself, I imagine – even if none of them know exactly what in the world had happened. And John sums it all up, by saying, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory. And his disciples believed in him.”

You get the impression that, when Jesus tells his mom that his time had not yet come, that Jesus wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to do what he did. And it makes me wonder why. And even though he did end up performing that miracle, I can’t help but wonder, not only why, but why the wait, and what took him so long to pull it off, anyway.

Because, Jesus had gone his whole life, up until this point – as far as our Gospels tell it – without doing much of anything that would identify him as the Son of God. As far as we can tell, other than impressing some folks in the Temple as a middle-schooler, Jesus went all the way from the manger as a baby, to the Jordan River as a grown man, to this wedding in Cana of Galilee, without giving anyone any good reason to see him as any more or better or different than that carpenter’s kid next door. So what was the hold up? What took him so long? Why the wait, I wonder?

Which is just what I’ve struggled to stop wondering about a lot, lately. So soon after Christmas and into another new year that feels a lot like – too much like – the last couple of years, I just keep thinking and wondering about signs – and miracles, really – that could change the state of things for some people and places – for a world, really – that could use a miracle, right about now.

I watch the news and I think about the unsettling fear that continues to have its way with anyone who’s paying attention to North Korea’s missile tests or to the escalating tension between Russia and Ukraine these days. I want God to “judge between the nations” and “arbitrate for the peoples.” I want God to “to beat swords into ploughshares” and “turn spears into pruning hooks”; for people to put down their swords and their guns and to stop learning and teaching war any longer – all miracles the prophet Isaiah promised an awfully long time ago. And it would be nice to see some of that “vindication” Isaiah was talking about this morning, too.

(It doesn’t seem like too much to ask after all this time, but it feels like we’ve run out of wine, and that Jesus is still waiting for his hour to come.)

And forget about turning water into wine, really. That’s nothing compared to what I’d really like to see. That’s nothing compared to what so many need right now. Let’s see the poor get rich. Let’s see the hungry eat their fill. Let’s see the blind regain their sight, the deaf hear, the lame walk. Let’s see some binding up of the broken-hearted. Let’s see some justice roll down like water on this Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, finally. Or make it wine, if that’s your thing, Jesus. I’ll take what I can get if these promises and prophecies would just pan out somehow.

(But again, it feels like the wine’s run out – that so many are thirsty – and that Jesus is just waiting.)

And the truth is, it’s a lot more personal and closer to home than that, isn’t it? Let’s see the chemo work, for Christa and Beverly and Beth Ann. Let’s see Dick get back on his feet again. Let’s put a stop to the substance abuse and the depression, the job loss and the suicide that’s hurting so many of those we know and care about. Let’s see a cure for COVID-19. Let’s put a stop to the physical, emotional, financial, cultural, global tragedy of this pandemic, for God’s sake. Let’s see all of this mourning and suffering and struggling and death, even, become joy and comfort and new life, for crying out loud.

(Life these days doesn’t feel like a party and we’re out of more than wine, Jesus – we’re out of patience and answers and strength and faith a lot of the time, too, if you want to know the truth.)

And all of this makes me frustrated and angry and sad. It makes me skeptical, and cynical, and scared, too. But it reminds me, again, about why Jesus might have been reluctant to reveal his glory that day at the wedding, in the first place.

Because, as much as we’d like to see those kinds of miracles whenever we’d like to see those kinds of miracles, I think we’re called to remind ourselves that if we could demand them, or see them at will, or have them doled out at our command – than they wouldn’t really be miracles, would they?

So I think we’re called to remember that Jesus was about so much more than magic tricks and that these kinds of miracles – the water-into-wine kind of miracles, I mean – are nothing compared to what Jesus really showed up to reveal.

See, I’m convinced Jesus didn’t want people following him just for the show, or for the quick fix, or for the chance to get some face-time with a super hero, either. He didn’t want people following him or having faith only when the good wine was flowing freely. Jesus knew that life in the world wasn’t always going to be a party and he wanted us to trust that there was, and that there would be, and that there is good wine yet to come; that God’s grace is always enough and that it would never – ever – run dry, no matter how empty our glasses may seem, or how much more we long for on this side of eternity.

There’s no way it was a coincidence that the miracle in Cana happened “on the third day,” as the story goes. Because that points to the real miracle of God, in Jesus, which is the heavy lifting of his death and resurrection – that Easter miracle of miracles that shines light into darkness; that changes trial into triumph; that comforts the lost; that gives hope to the despairing, and that brings new life from all manner of the struggle and sadness and death that surround us.

Our place in this Gospel story may not be with the bridegroom and the wedding guests that day in Cana – the ones who benefit from the miracle. We may not be able to connect with Mary, either – the mother of Jesus, who requests more wine and gets just exactly what she asks for. And our place certainly isn’t to stand in the shoes of Jesus and work God’s kind of magic in the world, according to our will.

So I think our common ground with this story must be to do the work of the servants who were working and the disciples who were invited to wedding that day – the ones who drew out the new wine, the ones who refilled the empty glasses for those who were thirsty, the ones who surely had a taste of it themselves, just to see if what they were hearing was true.

Like those servants, you and I are called to look for and dole out the goodness of God’s abundance wherever and whenever we can find it; to pour out the grace that God brings whenever we receive it. And like those disciples, we’re to look for that glory, whenever it’s revealed in the world as we know it, and to believe it when we see it … because we do see it … in the love and kindness and generosity of others; in this water; in the bread and wine at this table; in the forgiveness of sins and in the promise of life, everlasting.

So, like everyone at the party – when our glasses or our hearts or our hopes or our lives, even, seem empty – no matter what – we’re invited to remember and to believe and to live like the good wine of God’s love is always on the way.

Amen