Called and Fearful
David C. Myers
February 7, 2010
Communion
I Corinthians 15:1 - 11
Luke 5:1 - 11
Text: . . . [Peter] fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." . . . Luke5:8b
Today both of our lectionary texts have a lot in common. While writing to the Christians in Corinth and reminding them that Christ died, was resurrected and was seen by several witnesses after the resurrection, Paul mentions that the resurrected Christ had also appeared to him, "One untimely born," "for I am the least of the apostles."
In Luke, Peter encounters Jesus after Jesus shows him and two other fishermen how to dip down in deep water and catch so many fish that the boats began to sink. Peter falls down at Jesus' knees and confesses his own sinfulness, tells Jesus to get away from him, and then is called - and goes - to follow Jesus and become a fisher of people. All three fishermen - Peter, James and John - meet God, are humbled, scared, and respond to the call to serve.
There are two things I find striking of both the stories of Paul and of Peter:
• The first is how they were so humbled - even to the point of being afraid; perhaps even sensing to be unworthy.
• And the second how quickly and then earnestly they followed God.
I am constantly amazed at how many people say they believe in God, turn to the church for weddings, funerals, and make sure their kids get baptized, but make choices not to be in church or talk about God. Well, then again, I'm not actually amazed; for my confession is that I could be one of them.
Let me explain. I have always tried to walk the line of being able to meet people where they are, and yet still be a minister. Sometimes it can be an incredibly difficult high wire act.
When we were younger Deb and I used to go on vacations to the Caribbean Islands. For a day or two a nice relationship developed, but inevitably the discussion turns to "what do you do?" As soon as people found out I was a minister, the conversation changed, the relationship changed. It was if I was "off limits."
Yet, I still want to represent God, to show people that it is "O K" to have a real life, and still have deep, spiritual, justice seeking, and life-changing beliefs. But I don't want to be cast aside, even ignored, or to be seen as . . . well, one of those "preacher types."
Perhaps it started when I was a 23 year old youth minister and went to visit one of the youth group members. He always came alone, and his parents were never in church. I thought I would go to get to know him better and perhaps even get his parents to attend church. When I knocked on the door I proudly introduced myself as the "youth minister." I was greeted by his mother who was downright hostile toward me. A week or so later she called me and apologized and explained that her own anger had something to do with her own turmoil with God.
From that point on I tried to meet people first and then be minister second. It became such a problem going to the hospital in the city of my first church, Lowell, Massachusetts, a predominantly Catholic city - I almost needed a Passport and security check, because "I didn't dress like 'a priest'." I finally made an appointment with the Chief Executive Officer of that Catholic Hospital and complained about how difficult it was to see my parishioners. He responded with a laugh - "well, no wonder. You don't look like a priest! You look like you could play for the New England Patriots!" I wasn't sure how much I should take his response as a compliment - I was young then - had hair, and was quite a few pounds lighter. And besides, in the mid-70's the Patriots were the laughing stock of the NFL. At any rate, we did eventually work out a better system of allowing me - and other Protestant ministers - to see our parishioners.
But the down side was that while I tried disguising my identity as a man of the cloth, I also realized that I didn't talk much about God. And sometimes I still don't. It's taken me a long time to realize that for most people I meet - especially in those moments of hospital visitation, counseling, pastoral visits, or representing the church - I am also representing God.
It is still a struggle.
What is it that makes us reluctant to talk about God, Jesus and "all that?" And if it is hard to talk about God, how much harder is it to actually encounter God. Prayer can be hard, painful work, deep work. So is worship. God is not for those content to paddle around in the shallow end. Jesus calls us - like he did in His calling of Peter, James and John the fishermen - to deep waters, where we come face to face with Who God is and who we aren't. As one of my first church members told me, "I'd rather be whipped with a wet rope than have to face up to my own sin every Sunday."
I think it is because becoming a Christian isn't easy. And that should not be a shock to any of us. Being Christian makes demands on our life - asking us to do things like feed the hungry, clothe the naked, change the structures of society in a way that breaks the chains of oppression and sets them free. It asks us to break out of routines to do things like have daily devotions, pray regularly and perhaps even publicly, and even tell others why you live the way you do and make the decisions you do. Being Christian isn't very accommodating to our well-accustomed "pre-existing conditions."
When I first came to Washington I was appointed to St. Luke's UMC. The church had a lot of energy to participate in the Fannie Mae Walk for the Homeless - after all, the major mission project of St. Luke's was and is St. Luke's Shelter, a transitional shelter for the homeless. So we engaged in some friendly competition about who could raise the most money for our Shelter, in other words, who could get the most sponsors for our walk. I thought to myself, "I don't know many people in Washington, but I know lots of people with deep pockets in New England, so I will send them an Email - surely I can raise lots of money." One of those deep-pocketed "friends" said to me, "Stop! Don't ever ask me to do this again. You know I don't believe in this!" Well, I didn't know, but I did stop asking her.
Being a Christian is hard. It means stop fishing for fish and start fishing for people!
And it was no different for Peter - the premier, though tempestuous disciple, the one who would become the cornerstone of the church - Peter's initial response to Christ's call to be a disciple was literally, "Get out of here; I'm a sinner!"
The call from Jesus was difficult, and it still is, Jesus asked the disciples to move from the security of what they knew - even it if was full of failure - "We fished all night and have nothing" - into full, open, new uncontained, totally uncertain reality. But the water is now deep and dark and the dawn carries with it an odd threat. In a moment Peter senses the gap between his world and the new creation of Jesus. And it was scary! Peter even called Jesus, Lord! And that's when things get unmanageable and scary. It's then that Peter comes to see his situation as a lack of faith rather than a lack of fish. And it's then that he blurts out, "Get out of here, Jesus," literally in the Greek, "Get out of my neighborhood!"
Last Sunday they wanted Jesus out of Nazareth because of his preaching. Now they want Jesus out of Galilee because of his fishing.
Time for honesty. Today's epistle from First Corinthians tells the story of Jesus, crucified and raised from the dead. But I confess that there are times when I do better believing in the first part of the story than the second. I've got a better theology for Good Friday - "Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures" then for Easter: "He was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures." (I Cor 15:3-4) We live in a world of defeats. We always want, but seldom do we experience, Easter. Certainly with the financial dilemma we find ourselves in now, we experience this reality. I sure do identify with Bishop William Willimon when he said, "Too many of my sermons, even in Epiphany or Easter, work the theme: 'Ten reasons why you are not really the Body of Christ even though you thought you were when you came to church this morning.'"
Though Jesus tells us, "Don't be afraid" (5:10), when he promises to teach us to fish like him, it's scary. No wonder Peter said, "Get out of here, Jesus."
Bishop Willimon also tells the story of Sojourners Evangelical activist, Jim Wallis, speaking to a pastor's conference, gave a lecture on "The Renewal of the Inner City Church." Wallis simply stood up and told story upon story of once declining inner city churches that had, by the grace of God, rediscovered their mission. Willimon said he was inspired by Wallis's stories of churches that worked. Yet in the conversation afterwards, one pastor after another rose to criticize Wallis's speech. They accused him of looking at the church through naive, rose-colored-glasses-idealism. One even implied that Wallis's lied.
At dinner that evening, Willimon told Wallis that he was appalled by the group's reaction. "I wasn't," Wallis said. "That's the reaction I always get from mainline, liberal pastors. They are amazed when God wins. Just scared to death that Easter just might be, after all, true."
Jesus said to Peter, James and John, . . . and to (Name some parishioners) . . . and to (Name more parishioners), . . . and to (Name still more parishioners), "Come and I will make you fishers of people."
And Peter, "fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man."
But . . . three verses later . . .
"When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed Him."