Fishers-of-men: On spreading our faith and other things that don't sound Minnesota-nice

Text: Luke 5:1-16

            I like to fish. A lot. Ever since I was just a little kid with the Mickey Mouse rod, complete with bobber, hook and worm, fishing at my grandpa’s house on Maple Lake near Longville, Minnesota, fishing has been one of my things. This summer I already have days booked up at Lake of the Woods, and while the equipment is bigger and I’m no longer after “sunnies,” the enjoyment has not lessened one bit. A bad day fishing beats a good day doing most other things.

            I can imagine that changes, however, when you make a living from it.

            The thing I have to remember when I read about Simon Peter and his apparent ineptitude at catching fish is that this was no day off at the favorite fishing hole. Peter was dependent on the fish—absolutely dependent on the food and the income from it. If he did not catch fish, his family would starve—no insurance, no welfare, no safety net; this was a matter of life and death.

            So, imagine the frustration and the worthlessness you would feel if you were out fishing for your livelihood all night and you came home with nothing—I mean, absolutely nothing. The Sea of Galilee seemed to be without fish. From what I hear, those of you who have been ice fishing up at Lake of the Woods this winter know what that’s like. Some days the fish are just gone, and so you drink a few more beers to make up for it, but if it were a matter of feeding your family this would be a much more serious problem.

             I think most us know vaguely how this story goes. Jesus comes around and tells Simon Peter to cast his net on the other side of the boat, which is when I get my first inkling that maybe Peter is a better disciple than I would be. I would have given Jesus the “Are you being serious right now?” look: “Oh! The other side of the boat! We never considered that!” After a long night catching nothing, I’m amazed Peter wasn’t sarcastic. In fact, he has some stunningly strong faith in this Jesus whom he was meeting for the first time. And when Peter obeys, to everyone’s amazement, the nets are full of fish. As the story unfolds, Jesus declares in that most famous line that Peter will no longer be catching fish but people—he will be no longer a fisherman but (in that children’s song line) a fisher-of-men. And that’s where Jesus turns this story around on us fisher-folk. Fishing may be a refreshing get-away, but it is ultimately just that—a way to get away from the work we are called to do in our daily lives. The goal, at the end of this life, is not to be a good fisherman but a good fisher-of-men (men and women). That is to say that Jesus calls us to catch people who are in need of hearing the good news.

So, how do we do that? Well, we are going to start out like Peter, throwing out our nets in the same way that is familiar to us all night long. Every week we will keep throwing out those nets and the fish will seem to disappear. For all appearances our lake will be dead. If our lake is Kittson County, the demographics are not in our favor. Only 9% of our county is not affiliated with a church; the fish will seem to be few and far between. And so we’ll justify it by saying, “Well, the lake just isn’t very good.”

            This is how we fish for people without Jesus. We throw stuff out there and hope it sticks. We make worship about entertainment or we make cosmetic changes to the church building and call things by snazzy names and we hope shiny, new fish—shiny, new people—start walking through our doors. However, if, by some act of God, a person is attracted to all that and they ask you about Jesus you may very well not be ready for it—I know, that’s when people get directed to the pastor. Talking about Jesus… that’s his job. Part of the problem is that spreading the word of God to people who haven’t heard it just doesn’t sound very Minnesota nice. In fact, if we’re honest with ourselves, we’re a little suspicious of this whole fishing metaphor. It sounds a little too—how shall I say?—pushy. We’d rather just be nice people who meet on Sundays, who are happy when fish jump into our boat but not particularly eager to go out after them. We are Asian Carp fisherman—you know Asian Carp? They are those invasive fish that get startled by the sound of a boat motor and leap out of the water in a frantic attempt to get away, and sometimes they land in the boat. That’s the kind of fishing we like; fish that fall into our laps. Going out in search of people is scary, bringing them a promise from Christ is scarier still, but you are not alone in this fear. That is exactly what Peter was doing before Jesus comes upon the scene; he is casting his nets, finding limited success and repeating—over and over again. Repetition is familiar and comfortable, but it’s not always effective.

            What is important is finally not Peter’s hard work or how he adapts to the culture of the fish or anything like that. What is important is that Jesus gives him a command and he obeys. The fishing is done on Jesus’ authority and no longer Peter’s. So, when Jesus calls Peter to no longer fish for fish but to fish for people he is calling him to the same kind of work in the world above the waves. If Peter goes out and does things his own way for his own profit—even if it’s for the honorable reason of supporting his family—he is going to have only limited success, but if he listens to Jesus and does something as simple as throwing his nets on the other, deeper side of the boat then things are going to be altogether different: fish will come, the gospel will be shared, and ministry will be done. This is how to be a missionary in the world.

            Through those doors—that’s the mission field. You walk out into it every week, and all of you are missionaries. It doesn’t feel like it, because you don’t have a fancy title and you sometimes do things that you don’t want to tell the pastor about (let alone God) but godliness is not a prerequisite for mission work. You are missionaries. The only question is whether you are going to go out those doors and keep your nets in the boat, or listen to a word from God, take a half-step out of your comfort zone and fish in the deeper waters.

            Now, some of you don’t feel equipped enough to throw a net of any kind. That’s OK, fish with a bobber. Go out and just say “Hi” to somebody. That’s bobber fishing. It’s really easy; even introverts can do it—they just have to take a nap afterwards. That’s a start. You don’t need to stand up on a soapbox and tell everyone about your faith; you don’t need to mention the name of your church; in fact, sometimes then you make it about you and not about the promise you are bringing. But on the other hand, 1 Peter 3:15 tells us to “always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an account of the hope that is in you.”

You might be thinking that speaking your faith is something reserved for the evangelical traditions—that we don’t do that here—but I challenge you to think, “Why not?” Is it because we don’t want to be pushy? Is it because we believe God is the one working salvation in peoples’ lives, so we can faithfully step away? Those are legitimate considerations, but that is no excuse not to own up to who you are. Who are you? Really, ask yourself that, because we have a lake filled with fish out there, and you are not being selfish in bringing the Gospel to them. These are people dying to hear a message of redemption, because their lives don’t look or feel that way. These are people in need of a message of hope, because their lives look hopeless; people in need of hearing about the real Jesus, because Jesus has been telling countless fishers-of-men to throw their nets on that side of the boat and either nobody has or they’ve done it with their own agenda.

            The only question that matters is: will you?