First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: John 21:1-17
When last we gathered at this way station in the wilderness, I told you that, in preparation for this trio of sermons, I had learned more than I ever wanted to know about fishing in the Bible. This research included the four primary ways fish were caught in the pages of scripture….or, more to the point, in the waters of Israel.
What was caught was primarily perch, carp, bream, and the sweet (albeit bony) little St. Peters fish, which everyone, once in a lifetime, must eat with a plateful of fries in a little outdoor café in the lakeside village of Tiberias. What was caught but not kept was a garbage fish known as the sheet fish, along with eels and a few other unscaled water animals which the Jews (according to Leviticus 11:9-12) considered “unclean.”
Most of these fish were hauled overland to Jerusalem (70 miles from Galilean fishing ports, 40 miles from Mediterranean fishing ports) where they were brought to the markets of the old walled city, entering through the Fish Gate of the second Temple. All of this, mind you, before the days of refrigerated trucks.
As to how biblical fish were caught, most of them were netted. Some fishermen preferred to cast their nets while other fishermen preferred to drag them. Hand casting was done from the shore. You simply folded the net loosely over your arm, waded slightly into the water, whirled the loose end skillfully over your head, and then released. Done correctly, the net would unwind and fall like a tent, with weights pulling it to the bottom. This effectively trapped any fish upon which it fell. Picture throwing a lasso….which cowboys can do in their sleep, but I could never master as a kid….and you have some idea of the principle involved.
Drag netting, to the contrary, required at least one boat, and most often two. This method utilized a bigger net, but it also covered a wider area. In addition to weights to drag it down, a drag net also required floaters to keep it up. Clearly, many of the disciples were familiar with both kinds of netting. When Jesus met some of them along the shore of the Sea of Galilee, they were casting. In this story, they were dragging. Man, were they dragging.
A third method involved a hook attached to a line. Both “hooks” and “lines” are mentioned in scripture. But no pole is mentioned in scripture. So one either assumes a pole, or speculates that a line was dropped from the hand (which sounded stupid to me, until many of you confessed that that was how you began your early fishing career as children). Perhaps you will remember that when Jesus needed a coin to pay the half-shekel Temple tax, he had Peter hook a fish. Whereupon he pulled a coin from its mouth and asked Peter whose image was on it…. occasioning the famous line about “rendering unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and unto God the things that are God’s.”
Finally, the Bible also speaks of spearing or harpooning, which the Jews learned in Egypt. This generally occurred at night, with flaming torches held over the stern of the boat so that the fish, drawn by the light, would swim within arm’s length (the better to ensure that spearing did not lead to drowning).
I explained all this to Roger Wittrup in the narthex last Sunday. In addition to being a world-class forensic psychologist, Roger is also an avid fisherman. What’s more, he is absolutely certain that heaven will be crisscrossed by trout streams (much to the chagrin of the golfers). Who knows, he may be right. But when I explained the four biblical methodologies of fishing (cast-netting, drag-netting, hooking and harpooning), Roger said: “And, of course, dynamiting.”
What Roger was referencing, of course, was an old wives' tale I once told, some 20 years ago, in a sermon. I’ll give you the short form. A salty veteran takes a rookie fishing….motors to a remote corner of the lake….kills the motor….reaches into his tackle box….pulls out a stick of dynamite….lights it….throws it….waits for the explosion to stun a slew of fish….then scoops them into the boat when they float to the surface. In response to which, the rookie objects…. loudly….strenuously….keeps at it….won’t stop it. So the veteran reaches into his tackle box a second time….lights a second stick of dynamite….hands it to the rookie and says: “Are you gonna complain or are you gonna fish?”
My trouble began when I personalized the story, telling it as if it were true. I told it as if I, the newly-arrived preacher, was the rookie in the boat. What’s worse, I told it as if Ralph McCubbin (a long-time church member, local undertaker, and inveterate fisherman) was the fellow with the explosives in his tackle box. There must have been 500 people who heard me tell it. And there must have been 400 people who “got it” upon hearing it. But the other 100 took it as gospel. They thought that Ralph….their dear friend and beloved undertaker….really did take the new preacher out to fish with dynamite. And a few of them let him have it. I mean, he heard it about it for weeks….in a couple of cases, for years. It got so bad that I actually preached a disclaimer sermon. Thankfully, it didn’t hurt our friendship. For 20 years we chuckled over it. Then Ralph died a couple of weeks back. His wife wanted me to tell that story at the funeral. Which didn’t work out. But it did bring it all back (in a bittersweet sort of way).
Last week I turned our text in the direction of catching fish. This week I want to turn it in the direction of being fish. I want to talk about what it’s like to be caught and landed….hooked, if you will.
In the first campaign mailing, you received a fish hook (albeit a fish hook with its point clipped for safety’s sake). Then you read these words that followed:
Did you ever stop to ponder
What it was that brought you here
What hooked you on First Church, Birmingham?
Was it family tradition
The invitation of a friend
Was it worship, or music, or something more
Or was it simply faith?
And what is it that brings you back, time and again?
We are all lured by many things in life.
How wonderful for each of us that this place
and God’s grace has caught us.
I love that. I only wish I’d written it. I didn’t. Lindsay Hinz did. But it’s great theology, don’t you see. And true to life, don’t you see.
Start with the “true to life” part. Some days it seems as if everybody wants to hook you, or….in that strangest of euphemisms….wants to “get their hooks into you.” Sometimes they dangle and dance colorful “flies” before your eyes. Other times they go right for your unprotected flesh with something sharp and pointed.
Advertisers are brilliant….simply brilliant….at this. I can’t believe how good they are. In fact, I envy how good they are. But preachers do the same thing. Given the world you live in, I know that many of you won’t give me 22 minutes of focused attention. And some of you who will, can’t. So I have to hook you early in the sermon. I have to make you care about what I am going to say. I can do it by asking a question you can’t answer, unfolding a mystery you can’t solve, posing a paradox you can’t bring together, or inviting you on a journey you can’t see the end of, but are willing to take because it seems intriguing. Or I can tell you a story that gets a little bit close….sometimes a little bit too close.…to where you live. In the old days, preachers hooked you by starting each sermon with a joke. But you got wise. You stayed awake through the punch line before mentally going to sleep.
There are lots of lures in the world. Nice ones from lovers (“Why don’t you come closer?”). Dangerous ones from drug dealers (“Hey kid, want to try something cool?”). There are few places where any of us swim free. Not that we want to, mind you. I think most of us want to be caught. Somebody once crooned about courtship: “A man chases a woman until she catches him” (even though it sometimes works the other way). While somebody else explains an activity or cause that has changed his or her life by saying: “I don’t know how I got started. I just got caught up in it.”
Remember, I said that while Lindsay’s words were true to life, I also said that they were good theology. Why? Because people of faith are often caught up before they sign up. Chris Hall’s little song (which we have adopted for the campaign) is so instructive here. How does it begin? I’ll tell you how it begins. “It’s all about who is the fish and who is the fisherman….” Maybe….just maybe….you and I are the fish.
So who is the fisherman? You know darn well who is the fisherman. In this story, he’s the only one not in the boat….the only one not trying to shake off a night’s worth of failure….the only one who’s not empty of net, empty of heart, empty of hand and empty of hope. The man on the shore, I mean. Jesus, I mean. The man who (when Peter hears John say: “It’s the Lord”) causes Peter to vacate the boat….half swimming….half running….looking every bit as clumsy as I do when I try to run in the water.
End of scene. Cut to the next scene. We’re a little further up the shore now. What I want you to see is the fire….the charcoal fire….over which Jesus is grilling fish. Jesus is getting ready to feed somebody. But what’s new about that? Always did. Still does.
But don’t let this lonely little detail slip by….about it being a “charcoal” fire, I mean. So what’s the big deal about Jesus grilling Peter’s breakfast over a charcoal fire? Think. Think hard. Surely you remember. It was a charcoal fire that was warming the soldiers outside of Caiaphas’ palace the night that Jesus was arrested and brought to trial. I am talking about the same charcoal fire across which the soldiers squinted and spotted Peter in the dark. Yes, the same charcoal fire over which, three times, they asked Peter: “Are you not one of this man’s disciples?” To which Peter said: “No….no….for the third time, No.” And for the rest of his life, a charcoal fire would be Peter’s symbol of shame (as if we all didn’t have one….a symbol of shame, I mean).
Yet there is Jesus cooking fish over a charcoal fire, saying: “Come and have breakfast.” That’s all he said. All he needed to say. I could preach a thousand sermons on forgiveness and none of them would be as eloquent as Jesus saying those words over that fire.
But the story is not over yet. They eat….scrape the plates….throw the dirty napkins into the fire….pour a second cup of coffee (decaf for Peter, who’s already fidgety enough). Jesus looks at Peter. “Do you love me?” he asks. Peter says: “Yes.” “Feed my lambs,” Jesus says.
Second time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you,” says Peter. “Tend my sheep,” says Jesus.
Third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Now Peter is hurt….angry….agitated…. clearly out of sorts by the probing intensity of the grilling. Jesus will not let Peter off the hook. Why? Because unless Peter and Jesus get into it….or down to it….Peter’s never going to get past it….or move beyond it. It’s always going to be between them. It’s always going to get in the way.
“Yes, Lord….you know it all….you know everything….you know as much as I do….more than I can hide from you….you know who I am….what I did….how I feel about it….and how desperately I love you in spite of it.” And Jesus simply said: “Feed my sheep.” Which, translated, means: “Peter, you’ve got your old job back.”
You have probably figured out by now that Ithink this story….written as it is….placed where it is….is about the church. The fish are those who need hooking. The sheep are those who need feeding. And Peter is the one who needs healing….along with a job.
So, who are we?
Are we fish?
Are we sheep?
Are we Peter?
I think that’s something you need to figure out for yourself. If not right now, at least after breakfast.
“It’s all about who is the fish and who is the fisherman.”
