Launching Out Into The Deep

My message this morning comes from the Scripture that was just read — Luke 5.

It’s a familiar passage. Most of us have heard it many times. We know how the story goes. Fishermen become fishers of men. Nets that were empty suddenly overflow. Ordinary work becomes holy calling.

But familiarity can sometimes dull the edge of a story that was meant to unsettle us.

So let’s slow down and step into the scene.

Picture these men with me — Simon, James, and John — climbing out of their boats in the early morning light. The night is over. The work is done. And it hasn’t gone well.

They aren’t celebrating. They’re exhausted.

They’re sitting on the shore repairing nets — mending tears, testing ropes, doing what fishermen do when the fishing has failed. They’ve worked all night and have nothing to show for it.

Then Jesus shows up.

They know who He is.

They’ve heard Him speak before.

This isn’t their first encounter.

But now He asks something very personal.

“Simon, can I use your boat?”

Not for fishing.

For preaching.

Simon is tired, but he agrees. He pushes the boat out a little from shore. Jesus sits down and teaches the crowd from Simon’s boat.

And when He’s finished, Jesus turns to Simon again — this time with instructions that don’t make sense.

“Put out into deep water,” He says.

“Let down your nets for a catch.”

You can almost hear the silence that follows.

Because we know how Simon feels.

We’ve felt the frustration of being asked to do something we don’t want to do.

We know the fatigue of hard work that produces no results.

We know what it’s like to give our best effort — and still come up empty.

They had fished all night. They had failed all night.

And now a carpenter is telling experienced fishermen how to do their job.

Simon voices what many of us would have said:

“Lord, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything.”

But then comes the line that changes everything.

“Nevertheless, at Your word, I will let down the nets.”

That’s not enthusiasm.

That’s obedience.

And when they do, the nets begin to fill — more fish than they can manage.

Boats straining. Partners shouting.

Blessing beyond calculation.

This morning I’m not concerned with how many fish they caught.

What matters is this:

Jesus told them to launch out into the deep

— to go beyond where they had gone before.

And that call wasn’t just for fishermen.

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As we read this passage, it becomes clear that it was recorded for more than historical interest.

This story is here as an example — a living illustration of Christ’s call to follow Him.

It reveals God’s power, yes,

but also God’s desire for His people.

It is a call to launch out.

If we follow Him…

if we are obedient to His call…

if we respond to His direction rather than our exhaustion…

then Jesus has more in store for us than we can imagine.

There are lessons we will never learn otherwise.

There are blessings we will never experience otherwise.

There are opportunities that will never open to us

— unless we are willing to launch out into the deep.

That phrase stays with me.

To launch out means to move away from what is comfortable.

From what is familiar.

From what feels safe and manageable.

It means to venture forward.

And that’s interesting, because when we think about faith, we don’t always think about adventure.

According to the dictionary, an adventure is an undertaking involving risk, uncertainty, challenge — even danger. And yet, when I look around our world, the spirit of adventure is very much alive.

People pursue risk in all kinds of ways.

They fly around the world in balloons.

They jump from planes.

They train for marathons.

They climb mountains.

They invest enormous energy into things that stretch them physically, emotionally, even financially.

Now, I’m not suggesting that everyone should take up skydiving or mountain climbing.

But I do wonder something.

What would happen if we applied that same intensity —

that same discipline —

that same willingness to stretch —

to our Christian lives?

What might God do in us and through us if our faith was approached with the same seriousness, curiosity, and courage that people apply to everything else they care deeply about?

For many of us, faith has become something quite different.

Instead of an adventure, we’ve come to see the church as a safe harbor — a place to remain protected rather than a launching point.

We stay close to shore.

We drift slowly in shallow water.

It feels safer there.

Less demanding.

More predictable.

But the danger of staying in the shallows is that we are never stretched.