On a summer Saturday afternoon, I took one of my children fishing to a small cove on a placid unnamed pond. On the way my child excitedly chatted about the large fish we were certain to catch. The fact was that the pond was so shallow and small that only a few sunfish could be expected to be able to survive. I had wished to be hopeful, but I knew that often led to tears later. So I refrained from telling one of my stories about how when I was a boy, I had caught a fish six feet long, at this very spot we were going, with only a worm on an open bent safety pin. Nonetheless, two or three sunfish would have been nice and the outing would be considered a success.
I baited the hook and helped my son throw out the line about five feet from shore. As I lay back in the soft grass along the bank and looked up at the cloudless sky for a few minutes, my mind drifted to other things. Then, I was brought back to earth with the cry. “Dad, I have a bite!” I raised my head and looked, and the rod was furiously snapping back and bending, almost to the breaking point. Whatever was on there, was no ordinary sunfish. “Hold on with both hands,” I shouted. ‘Don’t loose the rod.” I came to his side semi-consciously fearing that whatever was at the end of the hook might pull my son in. Gradually I helped him reel in the line, as it jerked and pulled with remarkable force. Then, in the shallow water, I saw what it was, a fierce and fat, hoary catfish, huge whiskers and a menacing spike, daring us to try to reel it in to land. My son was now content to let me land the fish. He continued to be very excited, as he grabbed me around the waist and hid behind my one of my legs.
“OK, this isn’t going to be easy,” I muttered, but I pulled the fish up on shore, holding down the threshing of its powerful tail by my foot and some old rags wrapped around my free hand. How could something that big come from that little pond, both of us wondered. Of course it was expected we would keep the fish and bring it home to show mom. And, I was expected to know what I was doing to extricate the hook from its ferocious mouth without getting bitten, pierced, or stabbed.
Years later I suspected my son still remembered that day we caught the giant catfish out of all the other days that summer. Through the years, the fish has grown to barely fit into the trunk of the car and the pond seems to have grown even smaller. It might have been just luck, but there always seemed to be a larger lesson involved that when you have courage to cast away from your comfort zone, there is always the possibility for surprising and wondrous things to occur. Both of us took note: fishing for sunfish on a tiny body of water on a placid summer’s day would never again seem as safe as one might suppose.
When Jesus chose as some of his first disciples who were fishermen, he asked them to take their boat out just a little ways. Peter likely grinned and thought to himself, “Jesus might be a sharp rabbi, but he obviously knows nothing about fishing.” Nonetheless, Peter complied. There sure aren't any fish in this spot he thought as he let the net sink. Quickly there was a strong tug; the water was frothy with fish. Peter couldn't believe what was happening, but just yanked the rope handles of the net, barely getting the net out of the water and onto the deck. Jesus smiled, “Yes, Peter, as one of my disciples, you will see signs of God’s abundance; your expectations will never be conformed to the powers of this world only, and your life will be filled with the challenge and growth of wonder.” Peter trembled and felt his knees give way.
Peter knew well his people’s history. As he knelt before Jesus in the boat he knew he was being called as his ancestors had been called generations ago. He knew that Jesus was not calling him and his companions because of their skill or bravery. Peter knew they were not picked because they were the cream of the crop, or the elite of their village. Nonetheless as Jesus spoke, Peter heard the fathomless voice of the Holy as many other people of faith had heard before.
Today we are deluded into thinking that we are so sophisticated and beyond the foibles of a simple people. Often we place great pride in our skill, in our virtue, and in our strength. The fish story of the call of Peter may serve to hook us in a different way. We live in a world brim-full of disillusionment, but people of faith have a history of being supported in surprising ways. When we have the courage to extend ourselves and to cast God’s love upon the waters of our lives, there is always the potential that the wind of the Holy Spirit will send our line far beyond the limit of our insecurities, and way, way out into the deep.
No, I wasn’t prepared for that catfish. Yet I know now that often when I am trusting enough to cast, I may receive back much more than what I have ever given, much more than a tiny pan fish. I think the Gospel lesson may be really asking, are we prepared, are we expectant and trusting to let God hook us and to be firmly caught in the great struggle of reconciliation and repair of humanity that God has entrusted to us. To change our metaphors what the Gospel may be telling us here in upstate New York, is that when God’s Spirit begins to snow, it might be wiser to expect it to become a real blizzard, not a light foggy mist.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
