The Old South Church in Boston

Our Richest Challenge and Opportunity

Sermon by James W. Crawford

February 4, 2001

Luke 5:1-11

My children and I, my grandchildren and I, my in-laws and I spend many an hour on a Canadian or New Hampshire Lake seeking that evanescent school of small mouth bass. We find ourselves usually praying intensely for at least a nibble from a wayward perch or sunfish. After many years, we know it is a crime to catch a fish in some lakes, and a miracle in lots of others—the miracle being the norm in our family. And we still tell fish stories around our North Country dinner table.

My brother-in-law, John Gilwee, for instance, tells of his meeting another ardent fisherman on a dock up in Holderness, New Hampshire, and they swapped stories about different places they fished, the kind of tackle used, the best bait for the conditions, and finally, of course, descriptions of the fish they caught. This particular fellow told my brother-in-law, John, of a vicious battle he once fought with a 300-pound salmon. John listened attentively and confessed to this new friend that he had never caught anything on that scale. However, John did tell about the time his hook snagged a lantern from the depths of the lake. The lantern carried a tag indicating its having been lost back in 1912. But the strangest thing about it lay in the fact that it was a waterproof lantern. . . and the light was still lit.

For a long time, John’s new friend said nothing. John says his friend took one last draw on his cigarette, then rubbed it out in the ash tray. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said slowly. “I’ll take 200 pounds off my fish, if you’ll put the light out in your lantern.”

Fish stories! Luke has one. It smacks of a typical fisherfolk fantasy. See there: Peter and his buddies, at day’s end: experts, pros, characters who know boats and nets, whose intuition and experience send them frequently to the right fishing hole. Peter and his gang rustle around the shore of Genessaret stashing their gear, when some nervy rabbi type comes down the beach and commandeers Peter’s boat. The rabbi wants to use it for a pulpit. He brings his message to a crowd who surround that motley gang of fishermen. The rabbi wants perspective and distance. In any case, he offers his message. He then orders Peter to push out a little deeper into the lake and cast his nets. Can you hear what goes on in the minds of those old pros? “Who is this landlubber invading our domain? How dare this amateur tell us seasoned practitioners what to do. We know the lore of the lake, its moods and manner, its traits and temperament.” And Peter bluntly tells this Rabbi Jesus that they trolled all day, testing every sweet spot and netted exactly nothing. Nonetheless, against their better judgment, tired and resentful, they try again. And— Holy mackerel!—they catch a ton of fish! The nets burst, the boats list, the men gape, flabbergasted!

And Jesus? He rejoices in their stupendous catch, invites them to a mid-life career change, and tells them their nets will no longer strain from fish, but now they will seek out those men and women who might be netted for the Gospel and its service.

What a fabulous fish story! A story Luke tells not simply to describe the recruitment of the first disciples, Peter and Andrew, James and John, but to illustrate the vocation of disciples in every age and time. You shall become seekers, searchers, fishers for others. You! Me. Disciples here gathered on this Sunday morning, February 4, 2001—disciples of Jesus Christ, fishers, not for salmon, or bluefish, pike or pout, but for people.

And how might this fishing expedition work? How shall this vocation of ours—fishing for people—gain success? Friends, I think the secret lies partly in the quality of the net. As one of my colleagues suggests, the net must be made partly of words. I won’t make too much of it, but that is one reason a preacher shows up on Sunday morning. I have always loved the reflection of John Wesley who asserted that “our societies were formed from those who were wandering upon the dark mountains, that belonged to no Christian church; but were awakened by the preaching of the Methodists, who had pursued them through the wilderness of this world to the high-ways and hedges—to the markets and the fairs—to the hills and the dales—who set up the Standard of the Cross in the streets and lanes of the cities, in the villages, in the barns and kitchens and the like—and all this done in such a way, and to such an extent, as never done before since the Apostolic age.”

But you and I know words alone cannot do it. Words are ephemeral, imperfect, destined for a black hole. When speakers are at their very best, and listeners at their most alert, the most listeners can remember is 18%. So, the net can consist partly of words, but such a net would be flimsy, given to breakage, the haul spilling out, the catch just another of those fish stories about the ones who got away.

What strengthens the net? What holds the catch? Is it not a witness? A blending of word and deed? A marriage of faith and action? A binding of hope and personal presence? I have to tell you, the source sustaining my faith and my hope lies not in the things I read (and I read a vast amount); not in the words I compose—and you know words are pretty much the tools of my trade—No! I find my faith buttressed by you, by what your lives testify as you seek to serve our Lord. In an hour or so we will be reviewing our annual report and the activities of this church over the last year. Talk about witness, dedication, commitment, investment of energy, imagination, creativity, compassion. . . a net woven of not only of words, but of deeds.

I have thought on occasion of what it would mean if we were simply a debating society, or a gathering of folk who enjoyed esoteric dispute, or linguistic abstractions. If we were a people without witness, without discipleship, without the inspiration of not only what Jesus said, but what Jesus did. I have wondered what it might mean if all the fishers for people simply gave up, disappeared into the world’s woodwork, tired or exhausted, cynical, indifferent, heedless. I have wondered, almost as if it is a bad dream, what it might mean if you and millions like you in churches across this city and world were just to walk away, neither needing nor wanting, failing to cherish or give a lick for this body we call the Church of Jesus Christ.

Do you know what I see in this bad dream? As I drive down Boylston Street, there, across from the library, next to the newsstand, a huge Venetian Gothic mausoleum, doors locked, lights out, dank and cold inside, abandoned, and across the square another one-time church, dead, crumbling, sinking into the fens of Back Bay.

So what? Children, growing up, the menu of MTV, the choices of Yahoo, the gossip of their peers, the preparation of their MCAS their primary fare. No one to tell the story of Jesus. No one, for Christ’s sake, testifying through word and deed that love grounds the universe, and holds them in its hand through whatever struggles they may confront.

And as you drive through Dorchester, the signs in front of those Habitat for Humanity houses, dilapidated, the houses incomplete, unfinished, as if the volunteers just quit and walked away.

And the Young Men’s Christian Association, the Young Women’s Christian Association? the gyms dark, the pools empty, no kids playing hoops, no elders, under gentle tutelage, regaining their health treading water and doing side stroke, no teenagers at the checkerboards, no friendly face behind a desk in the library pointing out the latest mystery, biography, travel inspiration.

And the nursing homes? Plenty of officials in white coats and uniforms but really, like a tomb. The flower cart empty and in a dark corner, the front desk occupied by a bell and a telephone, no one arranging the bookmobile, no soft chatter in the residents’ rooms, no piano recital music on Thursday afternoons, no carolers at Christmas, nor prayer gathering on Sunday evening.

And yes, with our Lord’s net ruptured and torn, there being no catch at all, where are the leaders and participants for advocating the release of political prisoners world wide? I can no longer find the ecumenical associations supporting seniors citizens. Indeed, the massive throngs walking for AIDS relief, gone; the vast network of men and women who, for God’s sake, walk to eradicate hunger, vanished; church committees supporting housing consortiums with money and muscle, up in smoke; those gathering in prison fellowships, others joining the voluntary agencies fighting racism, evaporated. Church-goers and persons of faith, certainly not all, but for Jesus’ sake, most, wiped out!

And yes, here on Sunday morning? Worship? No way. This beautiful sanctuary, dark. This magnificent E.M. Skinner organ, silent; these choir members, skiing Franconia Notch, watching Meet the Press or sleeping in; our ushers, tackling The Globe or The Times; no bulletin, no warm smile at the front door or cheery greeting at the narthex desk; your offerings now devoted to mediating, sharing, serving the Gospel on this corner and around the world, we send to the IRS, spend at Lord and Taylor or tip at Legal Seafood. And the preacher? Ah, the preacher. Packing his bags for Fort Myers in anticipation of “pitchers and catchers.” But who cares?

Oh friends, let me tell you what this fantastic fish story is all about. It is about you and me. It is about the net we design and build to persuade, to attract, to introduce, to nudge, to allure, to appeal, to woo, to coax, to interest, to enchant, to enthrall and finally to engage men and women with the saving, releasing, freeing, challenging, world-changing Gospel of Jesus Christ. By our enthusiasm, through our integrity, by the way we treat one another and those outside our community, by a wide embrace of the human condition in Christ’s name, by an imaginative, creative, risky investment of financial resources in the toughest issues of human welfare, by exercising forgiveness rather than bitterness or vengeance, by taking justice no less seriously than charity, by seeking reconciliation that sustains the wholeness and appreciates the point of view of the other, by knowing, finally, who we serve so that when that questioning outsider, that person in spiritual quest or pilgrimage, that seeker, that nibbler at the net, asks us, “So what or who is it that makes you who you are, who sets your moral compass, shapes your use of resources, enables you to appreciate and care for others without limit, sends you to the front lines so life around you in this city and world may be more just and reflective of human solidarity?” we may give answer to the truth that is in us, “For your sake and for God’s world I am claimed by Jesus Christ.” You! Me: A net woven by Love’s word and deed.

My soul! Luke is right. Christ’s claim on us bespeaks a miracle. And yes, most marvelously, provides our richest challenge, our most radiant opportunity.