THE HARDEST THING OF ALL
Luke 5:1-11 (NIV)
1 One day as Jesus was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret, with the people crowding around him and listening to the word of God, 2 he saw at the water’s edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. 3 He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little from shore. Then he sat down and taught the people from the boat.
4 When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch."
5 Simon answered, "Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets."
6 When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. 7 So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink.
8 When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus’ knees and said, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" 9 For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, 10 and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon’s partners.
Then Jesus said to Simon, "Don’t be afraid; from now on you will catch men." 11 So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed him.
It started off as a simple request. The kind of thing you might hear if you’re in a crowded restaurant, sitting at a table with an empty chair. Someone at the next table is one chair short, and they approach you. “May I borrow this chair?”
“Sure,” you say. No skin off your teeth. You have no need for the chair. And they’re not asking you to sit with them. It’s minimal involvement; hardly any inconvenience at all. Just the way you like it.
That’s about what it was like for Peter. He was washing his nets by the water’s edge. There were people all around; it was somewhat crowded. But no bother. He was busy, he and his partners. The crowd didn’t bother him; he didn’t bother them.
Then someone says, “I need a pulpit. May I use your boat? You know, just to sit in while I teach.”
A teacher, Peter thought. This should be good. What could it hurt? “Sure,” he said -- just like you did when a stranger asked to borrow your chair. “Sure.”
The teacher climbed into the boat. He looked at Peter. “Something wrong?” Peter asked. He was beginning to feel somewhat inconvenienced. But not much.
“Could you put out a little from the shore?” the teacher asked. And he didn’t seem to mind asking.
“Put out? Did you say ‘put out’?” Peter was now feeling a little put out himself. But he had gone this far to accommodate the man. A little more wouldn’t hurt. So, he shoved the boat out from the shore a little. Then Jesus sat down and taught the people.
I’m not sure what Jesus taught on that day. It may have been the parable of the soils. You know, the one where the farmer scatters seed and some of it falls on the path, some of it on the rocks, and some among thorns. Of course, some seed does fall on good soil. Luke doesn’t place that parable here at the shore (Luke 8:4ff.), but Matthew and Mark do (Matt. 13:1ff.; Mk. 4:1ff.). So, maybe Peter overheard that story. Maybe not -- at least not at this point.
If he did happen to listen, he must have heard something. But he never expected to hear what Jesus said next. After the teacher was finished teaching, he turned to Peter and said, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.”
Now, listen here, Peter thought. This has gone too far. You ask whether you can use my boat for a pulpit; that’s one thing. Then you ask me to put out a little from the shore; that’s something else again. But now you’re telling me to take my boat out to the deep? And fish?
It’s now a battle of the wills. Peter, the fisherman, against Jesus, the teacher. And Peter has good sense on his side. He’s an experienced professional, and, because he is, he knows that you don’t fish during the day. Not on the Sea of Galilee. Not with nets. Peter has grown up on this sea. He’s been fishing since the day he could walk. He knows his business, and, with all due respect, Rabbi, this is a dumb idea.
Peter, of course, doesn’t say everything that he’s thinking. But he does try to talk some sense into the man. “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything.”
The fish aren’t biting. And it’s a sure bet that you’re not going to have any luck if the sun’s up. And the sun’s up! Do you hear me?
Jesus, of course, couldn’t help but hear him. However, he doesn’t say a word. He just waits. He looks at Peter, and he waits. And, finally, in exasperation, Peter gives in. “Okay. Okay! Because you say so, I will let down the nets. You’ll see. It’s a waste of time and effort.” Is it? Will Peter be proved right? Will he succeed in convincing Jesus to stick to teaching and let those who know how do the fishing?
What’s at stake here for Peter? Everything he thinks he knows about life. He may not be a good man, as far as that sort of thing goes. He doesn’t pretend to be. He probably uses a little foul language. Drinks more than he should. Resents the hardships of life and blames others for it.
A good man? No. He won’t lay claim to that. But a good fisherman? Now you’re talking. This is something he knows. This is what he’s good at. Ask him anything. Ask him about the sudden storms that come up on the Sea of Galilee without warning. He’s seen them. He’s been in them, and he’s survived them. Ask him about navigating these waters. He knows them like he knows his own name. Ask him about the going price for fish. Ask him if the merchants ever pay him what he’s worth. Ask him about the seasons and the effect they have on the fish. Ask him about nets. How expensive they are. How to maintain them. Why to maintain them. Ask him about fishing itself. When to go out. What to expect. He’ll tell you. He knows this stuff. This is his life. It never varies. It never changes. The way it is is the way it’s always been. Let down the nets? Give me a break!
But then...Luke says, “When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break.” Not the kind of break Peter had in mind. Not the kind of outcome he had in mind either. Have you ever reached to lift something -- a milk jug, perhaps -- and you think it’s full. You think it’s heavy. But it’s not. And you almost throw it to the ceiling.
Reverse that. You throw the nets over the side of the boat. You’re sure nothing will happen. So you give no resistance. And the draught of fish is so great, the nets become so heavy, so suddenly, that you’re almost pulled overboard.
You have to come from behind now. If you’re not going to lose the nets, you’ve got to strain to pull them in. You gain a little advantage, and the net reappears again above the surface of the water. And you can see what you never expected to see. The net is teeming with fish. Thousands of fish.
It takes you and everyone of your partners to get the net in the boat. You’ve never seen a net this full. So many fish. The boat begins to sink. Water begins to lap over the sides and into your craft.
And then you realize. You don’t know life at all. You know what you thought you knew. But it’s not enough. Everything’s changed. It doesn’t make sense -- not nearly the way it used to.
And then you look at Jesus. And, in an instant, it doesn’t matter to you anymore that you don’t have it all worked out. Everything around you is spinning, and you can’t recover your balance. But when you look at the teacher, he seems to be the one still point in the whole world. And the only way you can find your footing is to fall to your knees.
Peter’s words are telling. “Go away from me, Lord,” he said; “I am a sinful man!” What’s happened? Suddenly, his world has been deconstructed. Up is down, and down is up. Day is night, and night is day. And he is fearfully vulnerable.
All our lives, we learn the tricks, the little devices, to fool ourselves and everyone else into thinking that we’re not vulnerable. That we are an impenetrable fortress of self-sufficiency. And then the light of day shines on some tiny crack in our armor, and our weakness is exposed. And we’re afraid. Just like Peter. That’s why he wants Jesus to go away. Jesus sees him now as he is: fragile, stripped down to the bare soul, and wide open. Jesus has the power to crush him like an ant. Maybe he will.
But he doesn’t. There’s no end to surprises for Peter this day. Instead of putting Peter in his place, instead of striking the final blow, instead of snuffing out his dimly burning wick, instead of grinding him into dust, Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.” As simple as that. “Do not be afraid.” And then he adds, “From now on you will catch men.”
Peter must have wondered. No better than he turned out to be at fishing -- despite having done it all his life -- how was he to do this new thing? How was he to help others find the path? How was he to bring light to dark places? How was he to bring bread to hungry souls, the water of life to thirsting spirits? How was he to announce peace to troubled hearts? For that is what Jesus was summoning him to do? How would he do it?
Same as you and me. Maybe the way is the last thing we would ever have thought. Instead of pretending to be strong, what if we were honest about our weaknesses? Instead of being untouchable, what if we were transparent with others? Instead of needing nothing and no one, what if we became accessible to any and everyone? Instead of having it all all figured out, what if we modeled the faith to trust God with the part we don’t understand? Instead of hiding behind our defenses, what if we came out into the open? Instead of turning a deaf ear, what if we offered an outstretched hand? Instead of a stone, what if we offered bread, instead of a scorpion, an egg? Instead of a hard exterior, a softened heart?
It’s no way to catch fish, I know. But it just may be the way to live life. Luke says of Peter and his friends that “they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything, and followed [Jesus].” It wasn’t just boats they left, you know. And it wasn’t just nets. It was the hardest thing of all. It was their pride.
