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.
---
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.
We never discover the full strength of the Lord.
We never press beyond what we already know.
We never move past the limits of our own comfort.
And over time, we settle.
We tell ourselves things like:
“I’ve been a member a long time.”
“I know what I believe.”
“I’m secure.”
“I attend regularly.”
“I give what I can.”
And quietly, without realizing it, we stop expecting anything new from God.
Some of us tried more deeply once — years ago.
We stepped forward.
We served.
We committed.
And somewhere along the way, we became tired… or discouraged… or hurt.
So now we pull back.
“Why try again?”
“Why risk disappointment?”
“Why put myself through that?”
And yet — imagine if the fishermen had said that.
They were tired.
They had failed.
They had every reason to say, “Enough.”
But Jesus had something in mind — if they were willing to launch out one more time.
That’s where this story begins to touch us personally.
Because many of us have served before.
Many of us have given deeply before.
And now life feels crowded.
We hear ourselves saying:
“I’m busy.”
“I’m worn out.”
“I’ve done my part.”
“Let someone else do it.”
And my personal favorite:
“Surely someone else can do this.”
Jesus could have stepped into another boat.
But He didn’t. He stepped into Simon’s.
And this morning, He is stepping into your boat.
The question isn’t whether He will ask something of you.
The question is how you will respond when He does.
--- Illustration — The Call Beyond the Familiar
When I was a student teacher in Pakistan, I spent my breaks backpacking in the Himalayas. I loved it. I would look at a distant peak and say, “That’s the one.” And off we would go — often without a trail, sometimes without a clear path at all.
There were moments when we found ourselves stuck — facing a steep cliff, forced to turn back and find another way. The climb was always difficult. The ground was uneven. The streams had to be crossed again and again.
As we climbed higher, the air thinned. The challenge increased. The exhaustion was real.
I remember sitting down once, loosening my pack, thinking,
“How did I get myself into this?”
“Is this really going to be worth it?”
And every time — it was.
Standing at the summit, looking out across the horizon, the joy and sense of accomplishment were overwhelming. Some of you know exactly what I mean. You’ve experienced it in your own way.
It all began with a decision — a willingness to go beyond where we were.
That’s what Christ is calling us to.
Not just to believe —
but to grow.
Not just to attend —
but to mature.
Not just to belong —
but to serve.
---
As I understand the Christian life, it is the greatest adventure any of us can undertake.
And it is not a short journey.
Faith is not something we complete in a year or two.
Christian maturity does not arrive after a few good seasons of growth.
It is a lifelong pilgrimage.
That’s why throughout the New Testament we repeatedly hear the call to grow, to press on, to mature.
The early church struggled with this — and so do we.
Paul speaks plainly about it.
In Philippians 3 he urges believers to forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead — to press on toward the goal of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
In Ephesians 4 he calls us to live lives worthy of that calling — to grow up, to mature, to reach the full measure and stature of Christ.
And in Colossians 2:6 he reminds us that just as we received Christ Jesus as Lord, so we are to continue to live in Him — rooted, built up, strengthened in the faith.
The message is consistent:
faith that is alive must keep moving.
And yet, one of the great dangers we face is not rebellion — it’s stagnation.
We spend a lot of time in church activity, but not always in spiritual growth.
We circle familiar territory.
We remain near the shoreline.
We stay busy — but shallow.
Christ is calling us beyond that.
He is calling us to grow in maturity,
in discipleship, in leadership, and in depth of faith.
--- Illustration — The Tragedy of Arrested Growth
Do you remember the story of Peter Pan?
Peter Pan is charming because he never grows up. He moves from one adventure to the next, carefree and unchanged. It’s a delightful story — as long as we remember that it isn’t real.
In real life, few things are more tragic than arrested development.
When our minds stop growing, ignorance becomes permanent.
When our bodies fail to mature, dysfunction follows.
But the greatest tragedy of all is arrested spiritual growth.
When faith stops growing, everything suffers.
It shows up in unwise decisions.
In emotional instability.
In shallow relationships.
In diminished love.
And the writer of Hebrews addresses this directly — and uncomfortably.
In Hebrews 5 and 6, believers are described as people who should be teachers by now, but still need milk instead of solid food. They have outgrown the bottle — yet refuse to move on.
Some Christians are content with the milk of salvation — warm feelings, familiar language, surface encouragement — while resisting the deeper disciplines of faith.
But milk was never meant to be permanent nourishment.
We cannot grow strong without substance.
Doctrines like holy living, accountability, discipline, stewardship, discipleship, and the discovery and use of spiritual gifts are not burdens — they are nourishment.
We don’t mature by avoiding depth.
We mature by embracing it.
There are no shortcuts.
No bypasses.
Growth takes time.
And persistence.
And willingness.
Christ’s call to Simon Peter was to launch out into the deep — because He had a purpose in mind.
And He has one for us as well.
--- The Pattern Repeats
Simon and his partners were experienced fishermen. They knew the lake. They had good equipment. They had worked hard — all night long.
And still, they came up empty.
Then Jesus tells them to push out farther than they had gone before.
That’s the moment that matters.
Because that’s where many of us are today.
We know the Scriptures.
We know the language of faith.
We have experience.
And still, Jesus is calling us to go further.
Not because we’ve failed —
but because there is more.
More understanding.
More growth.
More refinement.
More usefulness.
He is calling us to examine our thoughts, our attitudes, our habits, and our obedience.
To launch out again.
--- Illustration — The Fish Scale
This reminds me of a story about a graduate student on his first day in a marine biology class.
The professor handed each student a brown envelope and said, “Examine what’s inside. When you’re finished, report what you’ve learned.”
The student eagerly opened his envelope — and found a single fish scale.
He was insulted. Confused. Offended. This was graduate-level work, after all.
He returned to the professor immediately and said, “This is just a fish scale.”
“Yes,” the professor replied. “And there is much more to learn.”
The student was sent back to study.
A week later, he returned and identified the scale as belonging to a perch.
“Good,” said the professor. “Now go again.”
Months later, the student returned with astonishing detail — the species, the lake it came from, the age of the fish, its feeding habits, even the environmental factors that contributed to its death.
What seemed simple at first turned out to be complex — and deeply revealing.
Faith is like that.
Jesus Christ is like that.
What we think we already know becomes richer, deeper, and more demanding the longer we stay with Him.
But only if we are willing to launch out.
--- CALL
Allow me to be very specific this morning.
I believe Christ is calling us — not in general, but personally — to launch out into deeper waters of spiritual growth and maturity.
For some of us, that call begins with discipleship.
It begins with an honest look at our daily walk with Christ.
Our time in Scripture.
Our prayer life.
Our attentiveness to the voice of God.
We cannot expect to grow beyond a shallow level if we are only occasionally present with Jesus. Growth requires proximity. Relationship requires time.
For others, Christ is calling you to deeper involvement in the life of the church.
And yes — I mean that.
You are not too old.
You are not too young.
You are not unneeded.
There is no better context for learning, fellowship, accountability, and growth than active participation in the body of Christ. Serving does not drain faith — it deepens it.
Some of us need to hear this plainly:
If we are ever going to take seriously Christ’s command to make disciples, then we must first be willing to be disciples ourselves.
That involves discipline.
Accountability.
Training.
Growth.
It stretches us. And yes — sometimes it hurts.
But growth always does.
Jesus is also calling some of us to launch out again into ministry.
Not necessarily the same ministry.
Perhaps a new one.
Perhaps a different role.
But a response, nonetheless.
God is calling us to expand our horizons — to loosen our grip on the shoreline — to trust Him beyond what feels manageable.
Some of you have already said “yes” to that call.
You’ve accepted responsibility.
You’ve stepped into service.
And what you are doing matters more than you know.
The health of this church depends on people who are willing to grow, to teach, to learn, to lead, and to serve.
We are called to be a witnessing and teaching church — building on the dedication and faithfulness of elders, deacons, teachers, leaders, and learners alike.
And here’s the question we must face honestly:
After all the sermons…
After all the Sabbath School lessons…
After all the prayer meetings…
What are we going to do with what we’ve been given?
Are we simply spiritual sponges — absorbing experience after experience — without exercising the faith we’ve gained?
What is our responsibility to God… to one another… and to ourselves?
This morning, as we begin a new year together, I want to invite you to respond to God’s call — not with words, but with posture.
If you sense the Holy Spirit calling you to serve —
to grow —
to step forward —
to launch out —
I invite you to stand.
You may not know yet where you will serve.
You may not know what role lies ahead.
But by standing, you are saying,
“Lord, my boat is available.”
Many of you have served faithfully in the past.
Some of you are serving right now.
Others will be called in the days ahead.
If you are able, I invite you to stand together — as a visible response to Christ’s call.
--- Prayer
Our Father,
We thank You for the call to service and ministry
that You place upon Your people.
We lift before You those who stand today —
asking for the guidance of Your Spirit as they prepare to lead,
and the power of Your Spirit as they serve.
Remind them of the privilege of their calling
as fellow servants of Christ.
Encourage them.
Strengthen them.
Rejoice with them as You work through their lives.
And for all of us, Lord,
keep us teachable.
Keep us growing.
Keep us willing to venture beyond what is comfortable.
Make us salt and light —
in our homes,
in our church,
and in our world.
Bless the mission and ministry of this congregation.
Equip those who have responded today.
Empower them to serve out of a living, daily relationship with You.
Pour out Your Holy Spirit upon us.
Lead us into deeper waters of faith, obedience, and love.
We ask all of this for Christ’s sake —
and in His name we pray.
Amen.
