I love the drama of this morning’s gospel story, where Jesus “calls” Simon and his partners to follow him by producing a miracle that almost literally drowns Simon in fish, and then announces it’s time to stop catching fish and start catching people.
“And they left everything and followed him.”
Big dramatic moment; big dramatic change of faith and life.
And very much not at all the way Jesus’ call has ever worked in my life.
I suspect not the way God’s call and invitation works in many of your lives.
And the more I read this story, the more I think it didn’t exactly work that way in Simon’s life, either.
You see, this morning’s dramatic moment isn’t where the relationship between Jesus and Simon starts.
Luke tells us that Jesus has already been hanging around Simon’s neighborhood. First, the neighborhood heard about this Big Ideas Preacher from Nazareth, who even threw a demon out of someone in the sabbath service. Then Jesus himself comes, starts teaching and preaching in the local synagogue, healing sick people in the neighborhood. He’s even been over to Simon’s house for dinner and healed his mother-in-law from a high fever.
So by the time Jesus shows up on the lakeshore to borrow Simon’s boat, they know each other. And it’s either perfectly natural or only a little awkward for Jesus to say, “Hey, Simon, can I hop in your boat so these crowds don’t trample me while I talk to them for a bit?”
And pretty natural and relatively easy for Simon to say yes. Might cost him a little – he’ll be later finishing up work for the day – but not a big ask.
Until Jesus finishes preaching to the crowded shore, turns to Simon again and says, “Okay, go out deep, and drop the nets.”
Now, that’s a lot more effort than “let’s sit out here near the shore” in the first place.
And in the second place, it’s utter nonsense.
Simon has been out all night – a normal time for fishing around there – and caught nothing. He’s already put in a full night’s work, he’s tired, and he knows there are zero fish out there. He did everything the right way, worked hard, got nothing. Zilch.
Of all the stupid things to do, going back out to fish now…?
He tells Jesus it’s a dumb idea.
But – probably because they know each other – probably because he likes Jesus, at least a bit; appreciates his healing, admires what he’s saying when he preaches – Simon says, “Okay, fine. It’s not going to work, but for you, I’ll go out and drop the net again.”
(I can never read that bit without seeing Simon’s eyes rolling as he picks up the oars or lifts the clean net into the sea.)
And then, well, all the fish in the whole lake seem to land in his boat. More than even he and his partners can manage.
They are in awe, uncomfortable in the astonishment and amazement of the miracle, and would like maybe a little less fish, a little less raw exposure to the power of God messing around in their lives right now, please and thank you.
And while they’re still off balance, Jesus announces:
Don’t worry! I’ve got a harder, more terrifiying job for you! Now you’ll be catching people! It’ll be great!
At this point, Simon, called by God to a mission, doesn’t so much “choose to accept it”, as finds himself “voluntold” to take a major job in God’s infinite project of saving the world.
And I suspect that’s how it happens for a lot of us.
We might hear about Jesus.
Might be interested in listening to the ideas and promises and love, get used to having him around, maybe get some good things from the experience – healing, or calm, or joy, connections, inspiration, support in trouble from God’s own self or from other friends of Jesus.
Might say yes to a small task – not too difficult, possibly interesting. Lend a boat for an hour, pray for a friend, read scripture in church, spend an hour or two a month to help with a food program, substitute teach in the Sunday School, be a hospital volunteer….
And then might find ourselves being asked for something ridiculous. Something you’d be a fool to think would work, or make a difference.
Fish where there’s no fish. Lead a class on prayer. Testify at the state legislature. Start a new food program for a new need. Mentor someone through a role you have actually failed at. Preach.
And you know it’ll never succeed. But somehow you find yourself saying “well, if you really want me to…” and rowing out into the deep water.
And before you know it (but hopefully without an entire boatload of dead fish) you discover that people are calling you a saint.
Or that God’s got you actually loving the unlovable; healing people’s broken hearts; changing people’s lives, or minds, or policies by your words, or your presence, or your support.
“Catching people” not with bait, but catching them before they fall, catching people who need somewhere safe to land. Catching people back out of danger; rescuing people. Which is what Luke says Jesus actually said to Simon, in Luke’s original Greek. A “catching” that has nothing to do with fishing, and everything to do with the love and power of God.
That story actually could happen to any of us. It’s a story you or I could be in, and not know it until the last twist, at the end. That probably many of us are in the middle of now, whether we planned it, or know it, or not.
And I suspect many of us need to notice not so much that twist at the end where you’re voluntold for sainthood, but the bit in the middle, today. The bit where Simon points out to Jesus that going out fishing in the middle of the day is not going to work. Because he’s already done the fishing for the day, and done it right, and it didn’t work then.
Notice that here – as in a remarkable number of other places in our lives – God comes to us not for the sake of our success, but in the middle of failure.
When you or I have worked hard. Done our best. Done it right. And gotten nothing for our trouble.
Did all the organizing and praying and effort to launch a ministry, change a policy, find the right leader, heal a relationship, protect a friend or family member – or stranger.
And failed.
Has that ever happened to you?
And more often than we would imagine or desire, that’s when Jesus shows up and says “hey, do that again!”
And Simon, or you or I, might roll our eyes, point out that we’ve already done that, and it didn’t work.
And then maybe square our exhausted shoulders, try the thing we know won’t work – and be suddenly overwhelmed with the immensity of God’s action transforming our ordinary actions into miracle.
Or up to your hips in heavy, wet fish.
Because things that are impossible for us are – at the right moment – shockingly and ridiculously possible with God.
And we are never “called” to do the miracle, but to say “yes” to letting God do miracles with us.
And sometimes – not always, but sometimes – you stand there in the pile of fish or success or God’s glory, and hear yourself voluntold for sainthood. Hear yourself affirmed for an even bigger role in the love and peace and wonder and holiness of God on earth.
And you say yes, even if you never meant to.
Because “yes” is what lets God do miracles with us.
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