Fish Stories
Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Mark 1:14-20
January 25, 2009
We had a houseful last weekend. More than 25 people dropped in at some point over the weekend, and eight of them spent at least one night somewhere in our house.
It was great fun; a non-stop party from Sunday into Wednesday, and by Wednesday morning we were tired. But we still had three extra kids; young adults, actually, 22, 23, 24 years old, whom we’ve gotten to know through my summer work down at Camp Hanover. There they were, just hanging out in our living room chatting. Eventually, we went out to lunch and got them on the road back down I-95 sometime close to 2:00.
Cheryl and I were laughing together in a bemused bewilderment that these three great young adults would choose to hang out with a couple of old fogeys for way longer than good manners required, and wondering just what was up with that.
Then I read again our passage from Mark, “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”
And it struck me quite powerfully that such fishing is at once incredibly complicated but also remarkably simple. People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are. And, well, people want Barackalate Chip cookies.
The kids who were staying with us over the weekend are just like thousands upon thousands of young adults in this culture: they want to be reached out to, drawn in, and caught up in something bigger than they are.
But they don’t want to be trophies hung on the wall of an old sports club.
Enough with that metaphor! They don’t want to hang out in a church that does not speak to their lives, and that feels like their father’s Oldsmobile. Neither do I. Neither, I suspect, do any of you. They don’t want to gather with judgmental people who don’t accept their friends, and they’re not interested in religious leaders pushing old dogmas. Neither am I.
I suspect our young friends – two of whom are wrestling with their own sense of call into ministry – see in me a model of ministry that is not like so many others they’ve encountered, and maybe they find it compelling, or, at least curious.
Why am I sharing this?
It’s not to toot my own horn, but rather to invite you to toot yours. Back to the fishing metaphor: it’s not to show off the fish I snagged or to tell you a whopper about the one that got away, but rather to encourage you to go fish.
People want to be reached out to; people want to be drawn into a net of care and concern; people want to be caught up in something bigger than they are, especially during difficult times.
I love these Biblical fishing stories because I can so easily find myself in them. Jonah? I understand him well. I know what if feels like to be called somewhere you don’t want to go, and I know some fine strategies for avoidance, too – although none quite so creative as spending three days in the belly of a great fish.
And, then, when you finally do relent and heed the call? I know just what it feels like to be disappointed in the results, and to pout when God’s notion of outcomes does not match up to my own.
That is the great, and frankly hysterical result in the tale of Jonah: he preaches repentance, the people repent, God forgives, and Jonah is ticked off because there are no fireworks, nobody going to hell! Imagine that. God extends grace and mercy, but the religious leadership gets upset because that grace is extended to people they don’t approve of!
On the other hand, imagine taking that message of grace into the world of Ninevah while Jonah is sitting by the side of the road pouting. Do you think those people might be open to hearing a word of grace?
We have just such an opportunity in the progressive church these days. For a generation, the religious loud have voiced a message of intolerance in the name of a narrow reading of scripture.
But increasingly, even in some evangelical circles, God’s constant voice of love and mercy is resounding. Among the folks crashing at our house last weekend was a young man, Andy Marin, who spoke at the Olive Branch Interfaith Peace Partnership event at All Souls church.
Andy is writing a book called Love Is An Orientation and it comes out of his own experience of growing up as a self-described Bible-thumping, gay-bashing evangelical whose three closest friends in high school all turned out to be gay. When he prayed to God in lament, asking why his three best friends were gay, God answered saying, “Andy, you’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking, how do you think your friends feel when their closest friend condemns them because of who they are?”
From that prayerful passage, Andy began a two-way ministry of outreach and reconciliation between young gay, lesbian, transgendered and bisexual women and men and the evangelical wing of Christianity.
Andy just might be a contemporary Jonah, except that he is not pouting at the discovery that God’s love and mercy and grace are extended to the marginalized, oppressed and excluded. He repented – turned – from fear and loathing toward mercy and loving. Do you think there might just be people out there these days open to hearing such a message? And we don’t have to do nearly so much translating of our own recent history as do our evangelical sisters and brothers, for we have a story of love and mercy and grace extended right here for many, many years. Do you think there might just be people open to hearing such a message?
People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are.
We are called to go fish.
Of course, fishing is not always easy, and Jesus’ invitation in Mark suggests some of the difficulties that would-be fishers of people will encounter. To begin with, the enigmatic phrase, “fishers of people,” has some challenging Biblical overtones that Jesus’ listeners would have heard. Both Amos and Ezekiel employ the term “hooking fish” in speaking a word of judgment against the wealthy and powerful. Amos says this to “those who oppress the poor, who crush the needy”: “The time is surely coming upon you,
when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fish-hooks” (Amos 4:1-2).
Over at All Souls Church where Andy told his own fishing story last Monday, I noticed a plaque on the wall dedicated to the Rev. James Reeb. Reeb was an associate pastor at All Souls when, in 1965, he answered the call to join the outcasts of Selma, Alabama, as they marched to Montgomery to demand the right to vote. On March 9, Reeb and two other ministers were beaten. Reeb died two days later from the injuries he suffered.
No, the call to fish for people is not simply a matter of inviting the outcast, the lonesome and the searching to come to church. It is a call to join the outcast, the poor and the oppressed in their struggle for justice, as well.
It is also a call to us to repent. Jesus called to fisherman who had businesses, and to follow him they had to repent of working merely for their own security in order to cast their nets more broadly and work, instead, for the salvation of all.
In the end, it does come down to salvation and how broadly the net of salvation will be cast.
I know that we in the progressive church often have difficulty with the language of salvation and its undercurrent of “who’s in and who’s out,” “are you saved,” and “who’s your savior.”
Set that discomfort aside for a moment and ask yourself, do you find in this place a sense of wholeness, of healing, of well-being, of communion with God and community with one another? Do you find in this community some deeper trust in something larger than yourself? Do you find here a clearer sense of who you are? Do you find, in the stories of Jesus that we share here, a clearer sense of the way of God?
I know that I do. Sisters and brothers, this is salvation as scripture describes it. It is living into the kingdom of God – not fully and completely, to be sure, but one step at a time, day by day, as we draw nearer to God and to one another in our effort to follow Jesus.
Wholeness, healing, well-being, communion with God and community with one another. Deeper trust in something larger than ourselves. A clearer sense of who you are. A clearer sense of the way of God.
Don’t you think that other folks long for such experiences, especially these days? Might such experiences have something essential to do, also, with building a community of love and justice in the midst of a society rent by economic upheaval and injustice?
We have such incredible good news to share in this place: that in a time of economic insecurity we dwell in an economy of gracious abundance; that in a time of global unrest we rest in the loving arms of God; that in a time of widespread fearfulness we know ourselves to be loved.
The world aches to hear such news.
People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are.
We are called to go fish. Let us go fish. Amen.
January 25, 2009
We had a houseful last weekend. More than 25 people dropped in at some point over the weekend, and eight of them spent at least one night somewhere in our house.
It was great fun; a non-stop party from Sunday into Wednesday, and by Wednesday morning we were tired. But we still had three extra kids; young adults, actually, 22, 23, 24 years old, whom we’ve gotten to know through my summer work down at Camp Hanover. There they were, just hanging out in our living room chatting. Eventually, we went out to lunch and got them on the road back down I-95 sometime close to 2:00.
Cheryl and I were laughing together in a bemused bewilderment that these three great young adults would choose to hang out with a couple of old fogeys for way longer than good manners required, and wondering just what was up with that.
Then I read again our passage from Mark, “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”
And it struck me quite powerfully that such fishing is at once incredibly complicated but also remarkably simple. People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are. And, well, people want Barackalate Chip cookies.
The kids who were staying with us over the weekend are just like thousands upon thousands of young adults in this culture: they want to be reached out to, drawn in, and caught up in something bigger than they are.
But they don’t want to be trophies hung on the wall of an old sports club.
Enough with that metaphor! They don’t want to hang out in a church that does not speak to their lives, and that feels like their father’s Oldsmobile. Neither do I. Neither, I suspect, do any of you. They don’t want to gather with judgmental people who don’t accept their friends, and they’re not interested in religious leaders pushing old dogmas. Neither am I.
I suspect our young friends – two of whom are wrestling with their own sense of call into ministry – see in me a model of ministry that is not like so many others they’ve encountered, and maybe they find it compelling, or, at least curious.
Why am I sharing this?
It’s not to toot my own horn, but rather to invite you to toot yours. Back to the fishing metaphor: it’s not to show off the fish I snagged or to tell you a whopper about the one that got away, but rather to encourage you to go fish.
People want to be reached out to; people want to be drawn into a net of care and concern; people want to be caught up in something bigger than they are, especially during difficult times.
I love these Biblical fishing stories because I can so easily find myself in them. Jonah? I understand him well. I know what if feels like to be called somewhere you don’t want to go, and I know some fine strategies for avoidance, too – although none quite so creative as spending three days in the belly of a great fish.
And, then, when you finally do relent and heed the call? I know just what it feels like to be disappointed in the results, and to pout when God’s notion of outcomes does not match up to my own.
That is the great, and frankly hysterical result in the tale of Jonah: he preaches repentance, the people repent, God forgives, and Jonah is ticked off because there are no fireworks, nobody going to hell! Imagine that. God extends grace and mercy, but the religious leadership gets upset because that grace is extended to people they don’t approve of!
On the other hand, imagine taking that message of grace into the world of Ninevah while Jonah is sitting by the side of the road pouting. Do you think those people might be open to hearing a word of grace?
We have just such an opportunity in the progressive church these days. For a generation, the religious loud have voiced a message of intolerance in the name of a narrow reading of scripture.
But increasingly, even in some evangelical circles, God’s constant voice of love and mercy is resounding. Among the folks crashing at our house last weekend was a young man, Andy Marin, who spoke at the Olive Branch Interfaith Peace Partnership event at All Souls church.
Andy is writing a book called Love Is An Orientation and it comes out of his own experience of growing up as a self-described Bible-thumping, gay-bashing evangelical whose three closest friends in high school all turned out to be gay. When he prayed to God in lament, asking why his three best friends were gay, God answered saying, “Andy, you’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking, how do you think your friends feel when their closest friend condemns them because of who they are?”
From that prayerful passage, Andy began a two-way ministry of outreach and reconciliation between young gay, lesbian, transgendered and bisexual women and men and the evangelical wing of Christianity.
Andy just might be a contemporary Jonah, except that he is not pouting at the discovery that God’s love and mercy and grace are extended to the marginalized, oppressed and excluded. He repented – turned – from fear and loathing toward mercy and loving. Do you think there might just be people out there these days open to hearing such a message? And we don’t have to do nearly so much translating of our own recent history as do our evangelical sisters and brothers, for we have a story of love and mercy and grace extended right here for many, many years. Do you think there might just be people open to hearing such a message?
People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are.
We are called to go fish.
Of course, fishing is not always easy, and Jesus’ invitation in Mark suggests some of the difficulties that would-be fishers of people will encounter. To begin with, the enigmatic phrase, “fishers of people,” has some challenging Biblical overtones that Jesus’ listeners would have heard. Both Amos and Ezekiel employ the term “hooking fish” in speaking a word of judgment against the wealthy and powerful. Amos says this to “those who oppress the poor, who crush the needy”: “The time is surely coming upon you,
when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fish-hooks” (Amos 4:1-2).
Over at All Souls Church where Andy told his own fishing story last Monday, I noticed a plaque on the wall dedicated to the Rev. James Reeb. Reeb was an associate pastor at All Souls when, in 1965, he answered the call to join the outcasts of Selma, Alabama, as they marched to Montgomery to demand the right to vote. On March 9, Reeb and two other ministers were beaten. Reeb died two days later from the injuries he suffered.
No, the call to fish for people is not simply a matter of inviting the outcast, the lonesome and the searching to come to church. It is a call to join the outcast, the poor and the oppressed in their struggle for justice, as well.
It is also a call to us to repent. Jesus called to fisherman who had businesses, and to follow him they had to repent of working merely for their own security in order to cast their nets more broadly and work, instead, for the salvation of all.
In the end, it does come down to salvation and how broadly the net of salvation will be cast.
I know that we in the progressive church often have difficulty with the language of salvation and its undercurrent of “who’s in and who’s out,” “are you saved,” and “who’s your savior.”
Set that discomfort aside for a moment and ask yourself, do you find in this place a sense of wholeness, of healing, of well-being, of communion with God and community with one another? Do you find in this community some deeper trust in something larger than yourself? Do you find here a clearer sense of who you are? Do you find, in the stories of Jesus that we share here, a clearer sense of the way of God?
I know that I do. Sisters and brothers, this is salvation as scripture describes it. It is living into the kingdom of God – not fully and completely, to be sure, but one step at a time, day by day, as we draw nearer to God and to one another in our effort to follow Jesus.
Wholeness, healing, well-being, communion with God and community with one another. Deeper trust in something larger than ourselves. A clearer sense of who you are. A clearer sense of the way of God.
Don’t you think that other folks long for such experiences, especially these days? Might such experiences have something essential to do, also, with building a community of love and justice in the midst of a society rent by economic upheaval and injustice?
We have such incredible good news to share in this place: that in a time of economic insecurity we dwell in an economy of gracious abundance; that in a time of global unrest we rest in the loving arms of God; that in a time of widespread fearfulness we know ourselves to be loved.
The world aches to hear such news.
People, unlike fish, want to be reached out to. People want to be drawn into a net of care and concern. People want to be caught by something bigger than they are.
We are called to go fish. Let us go fish. Amen.
posted by David Ensign at
9:52 AM
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