The first scene is on a lakeside, with a crowd of well-meaning but still uncommitted group of people, pressing in on Jesus to hear the word of God. There are also a couple of sad-looking boats and some weary fishermen washing their nets. There’s a poignant, tragic desperation to this scene. The fishermen have weathered a long, hard night of fruitless work. They have nothing to show for many exhausting hours of repeatedly casting the nets, and they’ve given up. The crowds who come to Jesus are likewise probably weary, weary of life with all its troubles and sorrows, hungering for a good word. Maybe this man can do something for them. They press in on him to find out.
But then, something strange happens. Jesus moves away from them. He steps into Simon’s boat and asks him to push off a bit from the land. And from there, he begins to teach. The action is moving from the shore out into the water. It starts in the shallow water as Jesus teaches, even though we don’t know its content. Don’t you wonder what he was teaching them? Don’t you wonder why, when Jesus had finished, the crowds weren’t running to jump into the boat with him? Maybe they didn’t do that because of what he was teaching. Maybe it was all just too much after all. It would be safer to remain on the shore.
But Jesus is headed even farther out. He tells Simon to put out into the deep and let down his nets for a catch. Poor Simon is weary of a long night that has produced no results. His arms are tired, and he’s emotionally exhausted. He just wants to go home to sleep. His whole body aches, but skeptically, he obeys Jesus’s request. And before too long, his nets are bursting with the catch of fish. Soon another boat of fishermen is summoned to assist with the marvelous catch. The boats are starting to sink. The nets are beginning to break. Simon knows that he and his companions can’t do this alone.
Simon no longer finds himself in the tame, shallow waters but in the wild, scary deep. He can’t do this alone. He’s been called into community. The scene has panned from a multitude of intrigued, passive people to a handful of brave, active souls who venture out into the deep waters at a mere command, despite their fatigue and any possible excuse not to do it. And from that point forward, the lives of these hardy fishermen will never be the same again. The world will never be the same again.
The second camera scene opens on a church entrance through which a group of people are moving to hear the word of God. Like the crowd in the Gospel story, these people have heard of Jesus and are interested in him. Like the fishermen, many are worn down by life. They’re tired of navigating a world in chaos. Some gladly leave, for a couple of hours, jobs that suck the life out of them. Others are less happy to be there, but they’ve still come. Some feel as if their lives are futile, unproductive efforts, working tirelessly for little money or excessive hours for a lot of money but with little reward. They wonder about the purpose of their lives. On this morning, they can leave their cares at the door of the church, hoping that Jesus will give them a good word. They come to the lakeshore.
But they soon find themselves surprised. Before long, Jesus has stepped into the boat and moved out into the water. And after they’ve listened to his teaching safely on the shore, they experience another invitation. Now, Jesus is inviting them to respond, to do something. Put out into the deep, he says, and let your nets down for a catch. Go with me farther out into the deep. Leave everything and follow me.
Things are no longer safe and comfortable, and so there’s some resistance. The people thought they were merely coming to the church to hear the word of God, feel some sense of peace, and then depart. But now, Jesus is calling them into the deep. Let God change your mind, repent, confess your sins, but also receive God’s forgiveness. Leave your pew at its safe distance and approach the altar. Pray for your enemies. Walk side by side with those who are still strangers to you. Move from head to heart. Make amends with those whom you have wronged. Come to the altar and get as close to me as possible, dangerously close. Leave the shore and step into the boat.
And soon, these faithful followers are too close for comfort. They’re kneeling at the Communion rail, they’ve stretched out their hands, and they’ve come so close to Jesus out on the deep waters, that they’ve taken him into themselves. His Body and Blood are mingling with theirs.
What once seemed impossible now seems possible. When before they thought they were incapable of being loved or forgiven, they now realize that they’ve always been loved, and they’re always forgiven. When before they thought that differences could only divide, now they see that unity is still possible. When their last ounce of hope was taken away from them by a cruel world, they found yet more life in themselves to go on another day. When their nets seemed to be sadly empty, they found them filled to the brim with a catch so huge that they began to break. God’s grace had miraculously filled their lives once again, and now they could never be the same again. We can never be the same again.
But perhaps like Simon, we’re terrified to be so near to the living God. We’re incapacitated by the awe of meeting our Lord face to face, of taking him into our bodies, of the awareness of his gracious condescension to be among us in such a palpable way. We fall on our knees, unsure of what to do next except worship. In truth, we’re afraid of that next step, and ironically, we try to put more distance between ourselves and God, even after receiving his remarkable gift.
Into this fear, Jesus speaks. Do not be afraid, he says. Now, henceforth you will be catching people. You’ve come this far, Jesus says, and now, follow me away from the shore. Go out into the deep, cast your nets, he says, and bring the lifeless world to me.
The third camera scene is really a series of different scenes on a Sunday morning, once again on the unthreatening lakeshore. In one, a family is dispersed among the rooms of their vast house, kids with faces aglow as their cell phone screens cast an eerie light on their faces. The parents sit numb faced before the TV news in another room, wondering if there’s any good in the world anymore. In another house across town, a family sleeps in because it's been a long week. In yet another, a person stays at home because the dreary weather is a convenient excuse to do so. They’ve all heard of Jesus, but it’s easier to be intrigued by him and yet keep him at a distance. They will stay on the shore and merely listen to the teaching. But for whatever reason, that teaching doesn’t motivate them enough to run and jump into the boat with Jesus. The shore is safer than the deep waters.
Sometimes, in the Church, it does feel as if we’re on the shore after a long night’s work of hopelessly casting our nets with no results to show. We’re certainly told enough that our casting efforts are futile. There are no more fish to catch. Or rather, the fish that are there are not coming to the nets. When’s the last time we felt that our nets were breaking?
Do you wonder why some filter in through the doors to hear the word of God, but stay only on the shore? At what point does Jesus’s invitation become too demanding to move any farther? At what point do we lose the courage to venture out into the deep? At what point do we stop believing that if Jesus tells us to cast our nets we might actually catch more fish than we can handle?
The truth is that it’s usually easier to stay at home on the shore. At times, it’s more comfortable to be anywhere than here, dangerously close to the living God. We can find any reason not to be here, where Jesus invites us into the deep. It requires very little to listen to Jesus’s words but move no farther than the shallow end of the pool. It’s more comfortable to show up and listen but refuse his constant invitation to leave this place and cast the net to bring others here. It’s much harder to jump into the boat with him and push out into the deep, leave everything, and follow him. To go with Jesus out in the boat means that we must leave one way of living behind and move into another. To follow Jesus, means that it’s not we who live but Christ who lives in us, as St. Paul says.
But those of us who come here week after week know that once we pass the point of no return, once we’ve come so dangerously close to Christ in the Sacrament, our lives must change. When we walk through the church doors, we bring the lifelessness of the world with us. But when we leave, we’re stewards of the life that Christ has given us, a life to be shared with all whom we meet. Although we might be dead when we first come here, when we leave, we’re alive once again.
If we know the energy of that life, then how can we not follow Christ’s command? How can we not go into the deep and cast our nets into a world that’s struggling to breathe? We’re catchers of people, not to snare them into our nets but to invite a lifeless world into the only place that will give it true life. Although the call is daunting, we have no reason to fear. Jesus is in the boat with us. He will always be in the boat with us. And if we can summon the courage to obey his command, our nets will never be empty again.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany
February 9, 2025