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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 I think 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."
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