Fishing for Men and Building a Community

This is the text of a sermon I delivered this morning at St. Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church.

"Come with me and I will make you fish for people." One of the most beautiful metaphors in the New Testament starts with some seemingly random guys putting in a day's work, when they are called into a new life by a stranger. When Jesus meets Simon Peter and Andrew as they are fishing and he invites them to join us, we see a moment of decision and of building new identity within a blessed community.

It is a transcendent moment of conversion for Peter and Andrew.  I mean, there they are, regular guys on the docks, and someone comes up to them and tells them, “Hey, come with me and I will make you fishers of men.”  And, they GO with him! He must’ve been pretty impressive, standing there on the docks, surrounded by seagulls and dead fish.  These guys left their lives and their livelihoods and took off with a travelling rabbi.  Something amazing and inspiring happened there.  Something like the Holy Spirit moving their hearts to follow Jesus.

Simon Peter and Andrew made a decision that day, chose a path in a moment that forged a new identity.  I wonder how much they considered it.  I wonder if they weighed all the positives and negatives of their humdrum, hard-working life as fishermen against the adventure of following an itinerant rabbi.  I wonder if they did a cost-benefit analysis of their new career path.  Or, maybe, they just took a leap of faith.  They left their jobs, their homes, and their families, because they saw a new identity.  Jesus told them he would change them, “Come with me, and I will make you fish for people.”  Come with me, and I will make you fishers of men.  That’s beautiful!

Maybe you can remember moments of clarity, moments of choosing a new identity, moments of supreme leaps of faith.  Maybe it is the moment you say, “I do” in a wedding ceremony, the moment you quit a job that sucks the life out of you or the moment when you accept a job that brings you life.  Maybe it is the moment when you become a parent.

Can you remember the moments in your life when you were called into the Kingdom, when Christ saw you, named you, and called you into a community of service?   Maybe it was the first time you walked into a church and professed your faith.  Maybe it was when you took on a ministry, like teaching Sunday School, or serving on the vestry, or volunteering in the resale shop.  Maybe it is the first time you wore a cross in public, or prayed with a stranger.  Can you think of a “Damascus moments”, where you were struck blind on the road,  where you made a choice?

Do you remember the excitement?  The euphoria of setting out on a goal?  The clarity and conviction of following God’s path?  Picture those fishermen, laying down their nets.  I bet Simon Peter and Andrew were excited.  I bet they were laughing, smiling with glee, walking down the dirt road punching each other on the arm, talking about the new possibilities that lay ahead of them.  I bet they were so high on the Holy Spirit emanating from Jesus that they couldn’t handle themselves.  I bet they got a few miles down the road before any of them even asked, “Dude, did we bring any snacks?  Where are we headed?  I hope we can find somewhere to rest soon. I really wish I’d brought my good sandals, because my feet are killing me!”  They probably were well on their way before they asked a question about the details.  As Jesus went about his business of miracles and ministry, someone had to figure out the logistics of daily life.  And that’s when the excitement wears off and the disagreements begin.

We see this squabbling over daily life in Corinthians.  Paul writes to a church in division, not the type of divisions the prohibit gathering together, but the type of divisions that keep the community from growing together .   People are fighting over which group they belong to:  baptized by Paul or baptized by Cephas.  That’s kind of like fighting over what kind of music to play in church, or how to balance the budget, or whether to expand a resale shop.  Again, the people face a decision, but not a transcendent decision to leave all they have known and follow Jesus on an adventure.  Not an exciting crossroads, but rather a decision to safely steward their resources, or to define their identity within a changing world.  I bet that each one of those Corinthians had his or her own “fishers of men” moment, that moment when they were unmistakably named, called, and carried towards the kingdom of God.  The time when they laid down the nets of their old lives and followed Christ.  They probably remember the clarity and euphoria of the moment of conversion.  But, that euphoria faded with the details of daily life. They are no longer starry-eyed; they are tired and cranky and arguing with each other.

Paul avoids the whole argument by pointing to Christ.    Paul isn’t the point; Christ is the point.  Paul’s job is to preach the gospel of Christ crucified.  “For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”  Paul doesn’t settle the argument by explaining who is right; he just reminds the Corinthians of Christ and of love. The way of the world is to divide ourselves, to place categories and divisions between us and then to argue and fight over those divisions. The way of the cross looks foolish to those following the way of the world.  The way of the cross is to bridge the divides, to find common ground, and to sacrifice with our brothers in the name of Christ Jesus.  The power of God, the power of the subversive Kingdom, comes from listening and loving others, especially through the details and the disagreements.

It is easy to love our brothers when the spirit has just lit us with tongues of fire.  But it is the ordinary time, the time of deadlines and details, that forges the true building blocks of the kingdom of God.  We cannot always chase that euphoric excitement of moments of conversion; we have to come back to earth sometime and worry about paying the bills.   We do the work of the kingdom when we come to consensus on commitments, balance budgets, and plan campaigns.   We do the work of the kingdom when we plan Sunday School lessons.   We do the work of the kingdom when we vacuum and dust.   And, sometimes, the work of the kingdom is boring or difficult or makes us cranky.  Sometimes we lose the luster and we lose sight of Christ.

How do we navigate the lull after the storm of the spirit?   Eugene Peterson, author and theologian, calls it “a long obedience in the same direction”.  We do it by showing up again and again, by greeting each other, by reading and singing and praying together, by saying confession and by giving each other the kiss of peace and seeing Christ reflected in the eyes of our neighbors.  We do it by setting the table and breaking the bread and drinking the wine.  We show up in our flaws and our frustrations, and we join a community of fallen people, struggling up together.  We show up, as often as we can, and we let the mystery of the liturgy and the Eucharist turn us towards Christ and fill the cracks in our souls.

After the ecstasy of the moment of conversion, comes the drudgery of finances, budgets, and supplies.  Through those disagreements, through those details, through the love we find for each other as we work things out, the kingdom of God is truly born.  We bring the kingdom to bear when we show and roll up our sleeves with our fellow travellers.  My friends, the Kingdom of God is near.  You see it in the eyes of the person sitting next to you.  Now, let us lay down our nets and get to work.