These are tiring times. Just listening to the news is exhausting. I try to keep up, but find that, more and more, I just need a break. A rest.
If you feel the same way, I hope you know you’re not alone. There is a lot of really difficult stuff happening. More and more, the world seems like some dystopian novel. 1984. Fahrenheit 451. The Hunger Games. A Brave New World. The Handmaid’s Tale. Animal Farm.
All those stories I read in high school and college. I never thought I’d be living in my own version of them. And I didn’t know it would be so mentally exhausting.
Simon is exhausted. Physically and mentally.
Simon, who Jesus named Peter…He’s still referred to in this story as Simon, so I’ll do the same…
Simon is tired. For a number of reasons.
First and foremost, he is tired because he’d been up fishing all night. All night! And has caught nothing.
I can only remember three times ever fishing in my life, all when I was a kid. Twice at a mountain lake, and once, from a boat in the ocean.
I know a lot of people find fishing relaxing, but to me, it was all just a hassle. Baits. Flies. Weights. Rods and reels, and line that keeps getting tangled.
But Simon isn’t fishing with a rod and reel. He is fishing with nets, which, I imagine, is a lot harder. And he isn’t fishing for fun, for recreation. He's fishing for work. For his livelihood.
Which is why he was out fishing all night. He needed to catch some fish. He and his family depend on him catching fish.
Yet every time he pulled the nets into the boat, they were empty.
It has been a long night, and now that morning has come, and the sun is rising, he’s tired.
But it isn’t just physical exhaustion that Simon is experiencing. He is mentally and emotionally tired of giving in to the demeaning, dehumanizing, burdensome way of life that was forced upon him and upon so many others by the Roman Empire.
He is weary.
He is tired of working hard, and having nothing to show for it. Not just because the fish weren’t biting, but because Rome takes so much of his income in the way of taxes, that even if the fish were biting, he’ll never catch enough to lift his family out of their poor economic state.
A good day of fishing just means that he and his family will survive another day. Another day of getting by. But a bad day of fishing—well, too many of those, and they’ll lose their home, and be forced to beg for food.
It’s too much to think about, now, in his tired state. All he can do now is go home, get some rest, and pray that tomorrow, things will be better.
And yet…
After his long night of unsuccessful fishing, while he is washing his nets, counting down the minutes until he can go home and crawl into bed,
He looks up and sees a man standing in his boat!
I imagine that Simon is tempted to yell at this man, but he doesn’t, because he realizes he knows this man. It’s Jesus of Nazareth.
Not long ago, Jesus had stopped by Simon’s house. Jesus had just finished teaching at the synagogue, and he entered Simon’s house; Simon’s mother-in-law was suffering from a high fever, but Jesus healed her.
When Simon recognizes that this is who is standing in his boat—the man who had healed his mother-in-law—he holds back from yelling. How can you yell at a man who miraculously healed a member of your family?
Jesus is in the boat, and he asks Simon to take him in the boat out into the water, a little ways offshore, so that he can speak to the crowds that are following him.
Having a little water between him and the crowd will help amplify his voice, so that the crowd can hear him.
And because it is Jesus, Simon reluctantly obliges.
Given that Simon has been up all night fishing, I can’t imagine that it is easy for him to stay awake… if any of you come to worship after working all night long, I won’t hold it against you if you doze off during the sermon. I’m just happy you’re here!
I don’t know how long it takes for Jesus to speak to the crowds, although my guess is that he spoke for a longer amount of time than I do on Sunday mornings…
And when he finally finishes speaking, he then says to Simon: “Let’s go fishing. Go out into the deep water, and let down your nets for a catch.”
Simon can’t believe it. “Are you serious, Jesus? Look, Master… we have worked all night long but have caught nothing!
Simon—physically and mentally exhausted—knows that this won’t accomplish anything. After all, he—an experienced fisherman—has been trying all night to catch fish, with no luck. To say he has doubts would be an understatement.
Simon is doubtful that things will ever improve for him, doubtful that he will ever catch enough fish to improve things for him and his family, and doubtful that Jesus—despite his ability to heal—knows anything about fishing.
And I know that, just as I am tired and weary from all that is going on in our world, that I am also doubtful… Things just seem to keep getting worse, which makes it hard to believe that things will ever get better, and hard to believe that anything I can do will make a difference.
Like Simon, I’m tired, and I’m doubtful. Like Simon, I too want to point out to Jesus: “Look! We’ve been working so hard, and yet things are getting worse! Let down my nets for a catch? I’ve done that, over and over, and it hasn’t made a difference!”
I, too, want to object, just like Simon. It won’t do any good.
But Jesus does not respond to Simon’s objection. There’s just an awkward silence, during which I imagine Jesus just looking at Simon, with one eyebrow raised…
Until finally, Simon gives in.
“Yeah. Fine. If you say so, I will let down the nets…”
And Simon puts the nets in the water.
Immediately, the nets are filled with fish; more fish than Simon has ever seen!
Simon starts pulling the nets in, but they are so full of fish; they’re too heavy! He can’t do it! He pulls with all his strength, and the nets are about to burst from all the weight. He can’t get them into the boat!
He doesn’t know what to do. He signals to his partners to come out in their boat, and help. Jesus also bends down to help, and together, they all struggle, and manage to get the nets—and all those fish—into the boats. And there’s so many fish that the boats can’t handle the weight. The boats begin to sink in the water.
And the crowd that’s watching: some of them are laughing out loud. They’ve never seen such a thing!
Others are standing with their mouths open, unable to believe what they are seeing.
But Simon (now the scripture calls him Simon Peter) is overcome with fear. He knows that this isn’t just the result of good instincts on the part of a man who, apparently, knows more about fishing than him. In fact, this isn’t about fishing at all.
This is a sign, the second one that he had seen, the second one to affect him personally, and he knows that Jesus is calling him to do something different with his life, something extraordinary, something unknown and scary and terrifying.
He doesn’t know all the details, but he knows it’s something BIG. And he’s afraid.
Change is scary.
But Jesus says to him, “Don’t be afraid; from now on, you will be catching people.”
And I don’t know if that is enough to calm Simon’s fears, because it’s hard NOT to fear when you realize that, from this moment on, your life will be radically different than what you had expected, and that now you are going to be a part of something so much bigger than you could ever imagine…
It’s just so scary.
And, like Simon, I’m finding it hard to not be afraid. In our world, hatred is on the rise. People are turning against each other more, instead of uniting and working together. Rights are being stripped away from queer people—trans people—people who I care about very much. Families are being torn apart as immigrants are being rounded up, deported, sent to detention centers…
And I try to maintain my sense of calm, but I know this is all making me more anxious and afraid; I know, because my deodorant doesn’t seem to be working as well as it used to, and that’s a sign of anxiety if there ever was one…
Fear. Anxiety. We’re afraid of what’s coming.
And maybe we’re afraid of what we know God is expecting of us in this moment.
But any worthy calling will terrify us, at least a little. Anytime we step away from complacency, leaving behind our comfort and sense of security to follow Jesus, our knees will tremble, and our hearts will pound, at least a little.
And that’s perfectly normal. Simon, and the other disciples, all felt it; and we feel it, too. It’s normal to feel tired. It’s normal to doubt whether any of this is going to make a difference. It’s normal to be afraid.
But Jesus spent several years with the disciples, teaching them how to have faith, teaching them how to be courageous, teaching them how to trust God.
It took time for their faith to grow.
It took time for them to find their courage.
It took time for them to trust God.
These things take time.
I’ve met Christians who think that following Jesus is as easy as saying a two-sentence “Jesus prayer.” Just say that short little prayer, and *poof!* You’re a Christian, and all is good.
It doesn’t work like that.
Following Jesus is more of a journey than it is a single moment. It’s a lifelong journey.
And as we travel that journey, we learn to rely on Jesus’ strength when we are tired and weary
and we learn to trust even in the midst of our doubts;
and we learn how to be brave even when we are afraid.
Because we know that, on every step of that journey, Jesus is right there with us.
Every step of the way.
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