Go Deep (Luke 5:1-11)

 Marcus Borg, a bible scholar and theologian, liked to say that the church is like a swimming pool; most of the noise comes from the shallow end.

It does seem to be true—even more so now, ten years after Borg’s passing. Many in the church like to quote Bible verses to suit their own needs; verses that maybe bring them comfort, or that help them justify their way of living. 

But rarely do they examine the deeper context of those verses, or lift up the many challenges scripture presents to us, in addition to the comfort it provides. 

And many Christians are not willing to allow for questions or doubts; not even their own. They just want the simple answers, the answers that are easy.

They want to stay where the water is shallow.

But Jesus invites us to go deep. 

That’s more than just fishing advice.

Go deep. Immerse yourself in the water. Don’t just dip your toes in. Commit yourself to it. Jump or dive all the way in.

When you read the Bible, don’t just pick out a verse you like, and quote it ad infinitum. Instead, study that verse. 

In seminary, I learned to explore the context of that verse. What comes before it? What comes after it?

How would the original hearers of that verse have received it or understood it?

What is the genre of the verse? Is it poetry, prophecy, prayer, lament? 

How do other chapters and other books of the Bible discuss the idea presented in this verse? One of the really cool things about scripture is that, at times, the different books of the Bible seem to be in conversation with one another. 

An idea is presented in Genesis; then the writer of Job or Ecclesiastes basically says: “I know Genesis says this, but my experience tells me this.” Or, Deuteronomy says one thing, and Isaiah says another, and then the book of Acts takes both of those ideas, weighs them, and comes to their own conclusion.

And I love that! The Bible is very much a living word. A living text. Every chapter, every book of the Bible is part of an ongoing conversation, about God, and about humanity. 

That conversation continues. We continue the conversation.

And this takes us deeper…

At CWS we go deep. We go deep, even though we don’t have a swimming pool. We go deep, even though we aren’t allowed to swim in the lake! But we go deep.

And here at First Christian Church, we provide many opportunities to go deep. We can only go so far in worship, but our small groups, and the many opportunities we have to serve, to lead, to volunteer, all provide ways that we can go deeper in faith.

Going deep can be scary. There’s a reason we are tempted to ignore difficult questions. There’s a reason why we cling to old beliefs that, in fact, aren’t helpful, aren’t true, and perhaps even cause harm.

Because to question such things rocks the boat and shakes our foundations.

I don’t know about you, but when I was a child, and I didn’t know how to swim, deep water was especially scary. 

It can be scary. To ponder questions that you don’t have answers for. To let God challenge you, challenge your way of thinking, your way of living. To allow yourself to be led to where the water is deep.

But I have this memory… and it’s just barely a memory, so I must have been quite young… of going to a lake, or the ocean, and holding on to my Dad’s hand, or maybe even his shoulders… and venturing out into deep water, feeling nervous… yet being reassured by my Dad, saying: “I got you.”

Just like campers at camp, doing new and scary things they’ve never done before, and just like the disciples, doing new and scary things they’ve never done before, Jesus calls us to do new and scary things. Jesus calls us to go deep.

Yet the whole time, he’s saying to us, “I got you.” And we know that we can trust in him, and go where the water is deep.

Following Jesus (Luke 5:1-11)

 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.

With a Little Help From My Friends (Luke 5:17-26)

When I substitute teach on Catalina Island, as I did this past Tuesday, I take the Catalina Express. The people who ride the Catalina Express are a mix of tourists, residents, and folks who, like me, are going to work: teachers, construction workers, utility workers, etc.

And it’s fairly quiet on board, especially on that 6am departure out of Long Beach.

It was a little different for a few weeks this spring when I worked at the science camp. We weren’t on the Catalina Express; the boat we were on was smaller, and the only passengers on board were the students and their chaperones: a boat full of seventh and eighth graders—more than a hundred of them—many of whom were excited, and perhaps a little nervous, about traveling across the sea on a boat, many of them for the first time. 

And all that excitement and nervousness, and their normal middle-school energy, all helped to create a whole different vibe onboard. 

In addition to being smaller, the boat we were on was also older, and slower. The trip to Catalina took two hours.

But the boat operators were clever. They had a large TV screen mounted inside, and they played a movie. This attracted the attention of at least some of the students, who settled down to watch, instead of running amuck on board the boat.

The first trip I took, they showed Big Hero 6, one of my absolute favorite movies. The seat I was in was too far forward to see the screen, but I decided to stay where I was, because even though I love Big Hero 6, I’ve seen it a thousand times.

But I could still hear the movie from where I was seated. As I stared out at the ocean and listened to the movie, I realized something about Big Hero 6 that I had never realized before.

At this point, I need to tell you a little about the movie, including some spoilers. The movie’s been out so long now that probably, if it was important for you to see it, you would have already. But if, perhaps, you were actually planning to watch the movie for the first time later today: well, you’ve been warned.

In the movie, 14 year-old Hiro Hamada’s older brother, Tadashi, dies in a terrible explosion. This, understandably, fills Hiro with grief.

Later, Hiro discovers that the explosion was no accident. It was a deliberate act, and even though the explosion wasn’t meant to hurt Tadashi, Hiro’s grief turns into anger, and a desire for revenge grows within him. That desire for revenge overtakes Hiro, and Hiro actually tries to kill the person who set off the explosion.

That person is Professor Robert Callaghan. It turns out that Professor Callaghan is dealing with his own grief and anger over the apparent death of his daughter. The explosion he caused was the result of his own rage and desire for revenge. It was all part of his plan to get back at the person he believed was responsible for his daughter’s death.

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. So much grief and anger!

So, just to make sure it’s all clear: Professor Callaghan’s daughter dies. Professor Callaghan is filled with grief and rage, and he hatches a plan for revenge, to get back at the person he believes is responsible for his daughter’s death. That plan includes setting off the explosion that kills Hiro’s brother, even though Hiro’s brother was completely innocent.

As a result, Hiro is filled with grief and rage, and he hatches a plan for revenge, to get back at the person he believes is responsible for his brother’s death…

On the long boat ride to Catalina, listening to the movie play in the background, I realized just how similar Hiro’s grief and Professor Callaghan’s grief are to each other, and how similar their reactions are.

Both Hiro and Professor Callaghan have grief that turns into anger, and rage, and which leads them to want to destroy the person they believe is responsible for causing their grief. In that sense, there really is no difference between Hiro Hamada and Professor Callaghan. The two are the same.

Except for one thing.

Hiro has friends who love him; and when Hiro’s grief turns into anger, and that anger leads him to seek revenge, his friends stop him from carrying out his plans, and help him realize that violence and revenge are not the way.

Professor Callaghan, however, has no friends who love him enough to stop him; and he becomes the villain.

Hiro becomes, well, the hero of this story; Professor Callaghan is the villain. Yet the only difference between the two of them is that Hiro has a group of friends who love him and who help him see that killing the person he believes responsible for Tadashi’s death is not the right path.

Which means that Hiro’s friends saved Hiro. It’s Hiro’s friends that kept him from being a villain, and made him a hero.

I had never thought of all this before until last week’s boat ride.  Maybe you figured it out right away, but I had never made the connection, how similar Hiro and Professor Callaghan were, and how the only thing that saved Hiro was his friends. 

And it made me think of today’s scripture, in which a man who is paralyzed is healed not because of his own faith, but because of the faith of his friends. He received forgiveness because of the faith of his friends. He was saved because of his friends.

I remember the day in seminary, when we were studying this passage, and my professor pointed this out: that it was the faith of his friends that healed him.

I had a hard time with that. It didn’t make sense to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted to accept it. It so offended my American belief that we are all responsible for our own station in life. It so offended my American Christian belief that Jesus is my personal Lord and Savior, with emphasis on personal. My faith is between me and Jesus. Every person is responsible for themself. 

When I made my confession of faith, I did it as an individual. When I was baptized, it was my decision; mine and mine alone. 

At least, that’s what I’d been taught.

So I didn’t know what to make of this story in which a man is healed and forgiven of his sins because of the faith of his friends.

In the same way that Hiro Hamada becomes a hero instead of a villain, because of his friends.

And I’m still wrestling with the implications of all this. It’s a whole new way of thinking about faith and salvation. 

And it’s just one more way that the way of Christianity—the way of Jesus—is radically different from the way of the world. It’s one more way that the kingdom of God is a radical alternative to the kingdoms of this world.

And every day, I’m trying to repent of my acquiescence, my conformity, to the way of this world. I’m trying to repent of my individualistic, every-man-for-himself mindset. I’m trying to repent of my personal religion that isn’t really the religion of Jesus, but the religion of American individualistic culture.

I’ve learned that in many cultures, you don’t start a conversation without first inquiring about your conversation partner’s family.

And you don’t describe who you are without describing your family, and your community.

In many cultures, it is understood that your identity is what it is because of the connections and relationships you have, with your family, your friends, the town where you grew up, the church that taught you about Jesus.

To truly know who I am, you have to know who my friends are, and who my relatives are.

When I’m honest with myself, I know that this is true for me as well.

But that American, individualistic mindset is so ingrained in me, that I forget. And I really do make it all about me.

This is what I’m constantly trying to repent of in my life.

And this is why it was so startling to me, to realize that Hiro was saved by his friends; that Hiro was made into a hero because of his friends.

This is why it was so startling to me, to realize that the paralytic in today’s scripture was healed and received forgiveness and salvation because of the faith of his friends.

I’m trying to repent of this individualistic mindset, because I really do believe that, in the kingdom of God, it’s not all about me. In the kingdom of God, inflated egos have no place. In the kingdom of God, the individual is like a drop in the ocean, virtually indistinguishable from all the other drops. 

In fact, even though I admit that there is so much about the afterlife that I don’t know, one thing I do think is true is that, after we die, we become so united with all the rest of God’s saints, that it’s virtually impossible to speak of an isolated individual. Our unity is so complete, and so characterized by love, that we are all ONE. One with each other, and one with God.

And part of me—the egotistical, individualistic part of me—is kind of put off by that. 

But I really do believe that, in God’s kingdom, it’s not about me; it’s about we. It’s about all of us. The love between us and each other, and the love between us and God, is that strong, that it unites us so that we can’t even think or speak about the individual, without thinking or speaking about the family or the community.

I think the late Rachel Held Evans understood this. She mentioned more than once about those who believe for her on the days when she herself found it too hard to believe. She talks and writes about those who believe for her, on her behalf, on the days when she herself finds it too hard to believe.

And I think of the days when I myself find it hard to believe. Maybe it’s hard to believe, to have faith, because of someone who claims to be a Christian but who acts so un-Christlike; maybe it’s because of the injustice and unfairness of the world; maybe it’s because of my own grief that I carry around with me…

…whatever the reason, some days, it’s just hard to believe.

…Some days, I rely on the faith and the prayers of others, to believe on my behalf, so that I can be healed and made whole through their faith.

Some days, it’s only the faith of others that gets me through…that saves me.

The paralytic in the story wouldn’t have found healing, or forgiveness, or salvation, without his friends. They carried him to Jesus. 

Which of your friends do the same for you?

And whose faith have you carried?

One of the reasons we gather as a church, as a community of faith, is to practice carrying one another. Private times of meditation are good and meaningful; my faith is greatly enriched by the time I spend alone, just me and God.  

But private meditation isn’t enough. We also need a community that can carry us, and that we can join with to help carry others. We need to walk this journey of faith together, because together is how we find healing, wholeness, and salvation.