February 6, 2022: Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time Isaiah 6:1-2a, 3-8 1 Corinthians 15:1-11 Luke 5:1-11
By the grace of God I am who I am. Buried inside of Paul’s lengthy harangue of the Corinthians, where by turn he scolds and encourages, advises and comforts, is this singular, explosive statement. It is the kind of motto that I can’t help but think should be embroidered on all the shirt pockets of children in schools of a Christian denomination, or emblazoned across the narthex doors of every church. It is not something we expect to hear, is it? And indeed, the rest of today’s readings are filled hand-wringing and self-recrimination that span eight hundred years, from Isaiah, through Peter, to Paul himself - protestations of those who were chosen by God: I’m unclean, sinful, unworthy; I’m the worst possible candidate for the job. And yet, what sounds at first like humility here is quickly revealed to be at worst a slinking cowardice, at best, a faulty self-perception: a creation of imaginary boundaries around ourselves where none exist, which are policed by nothing but our own insecurity. From whence does this arise, the crippling sense of inadequacy that probably does more to hinder God’s work in the world than active persecution? For some of us, it may date back to our early years, when parents or other caregivers may have given us to understand that there is some unbridgeable gulf between the self that we express spontaneously as children and the self we’re supposed to be. For others, it may date to, or have been exacerbated by, a failed venture, a missed opportunity, a break with someone that could not be mended. For whatever reason, when the call comes, we turn away. We tell ourselves that sort of thing is for other, braver, more experienced, more capable people. It’s a call meant for other ears, really: I am simply the eavesdropper. Sometimes - maybe most often? - the call goes unanswered. Other times, it is a little more insistent. Isaiah’s self-recusal, for instance is brushed off in a particularly terrifying manner: when he proclaims that he is unfit to see (and presumably to serve) the Lord as a “man of unclean lips,” nothing less than a seraphim swoops down upon him and touches a live coal from the altar to his lips. There is nothing in us that God cannot turn to the good - and once we get past this kind of performance anxiety, suddenly the tasks God has set before us seem much more within our reach. Not because the coal touched to our lips grants us some new superpower, but rather, we are able to see ourselves as God sees us: made with intention, to a purpose, and recklessly loved. I think Luke’s choice to include the anecdote of how Jesus chose the first disciples was deeply intentional. It serves as both a case study and a template for how we are called, and hopefully, a model for how we respond to the calling. Who does Jesus choose, and why? Much is made, and rightfully so, of the fact that these men are not layabouts or dreamers. They are people who are used to working for a living, and working hard. They are wholly immersed in their tasks, they know what they are doing and one imagines that Jesus might have watched them for a good while before saying anything. It is their very skills and experience as fishermen that probably makes Jesus think they’d be a good fit for what’s in mind. Moreover, Jesus catches them at exactly the right moment, that is to say, a moment of exhaustion and disappointment; of failure. Jesus’ timing couldn’t have been better. In fact, one wonders: if their catch had been spectacular, or even average, would they have been as open to the invitation to become fishers of human beings instead? Probably not. We’re doing all right, thanks, would’ve been the polite reply. Go find your followers somewhere else. No need to confront your shortcomings and dependencies when everything’s as it should be. However, that is not what happened. Jesus finds them at a point so low that they are willing to consider alternatives - even the very radical alternative that Jesus offers, so radical in fact, that Peter declares he isn’t worthy. Never mind what you think, is Jesus’ effective reply. I’ve watched you; I know what you’re capable of - and I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for. For us, this timing is key: because it is only when we, like the apostles, have lost our illusion of self-sufficiency that we are ready to listen to what God has on offer. Sometimes this happens in times of crisis, when we are humbled by circumstance and full of doubt. There, exactly at that place where our own egos have crumbled, is the space where God may enter our lives with something new. That Jesus reaches the apostles mid-morning, their labors frustrated and fruitless, is also good news - especially to those of us who find themselves in middle of life; who may be for whatever reason discerning a new path or seeking to change our ways to reflect not the person that we once were, but the person that we are, and perhaps more importantly, the person we live in hope of becoming. God knows all of our iterations, past, present, and future: God, in ways that we can scarcely imagine, exists in joyous expectation of our fullest-self-yet-to-be. And if we find ourselves at a low point, plagued by self-doubt - this too can be used to our advantage as it was to that of the apostles; in their case disappointment was hardly a liability. Rather, it was the vantage which allowed them to see new possibilities that were now much more believable than if all of their expectations in life had been filled. Who is willing to change, or accept a new way of thinking about ourselves, if everything is going great? So often in Jesus’ ministry, it is like this: the weak, not the strong, are the ones who work the miracles - or as Paul says of himself, although he was “the least of the apostles” because of his past sins, God’s grace to him “was not without effect.” In his case, it was the cataclysm that was necessary to bring about the conversion; for us it may also be so. And so we return to his beautiful phrase of self-affirmation; a phrase that carries no vanity about it, because it takes no credit for the wondrous nature that is ours. God has made us as we are, and God works through us as we are: not in some idealized, sanitized version, not as others would have us be. Like the apostles, we may find ourselves hard up for hope; especially in this COVID-riddled world where the “normal” recedes further and further on our horizons. We may think, there is no use in trying something new, for the results will be the same. But it is exactly this place where Jesus comes - not just to give instructions, but to show how transformation is done. He takes the boat which had been of no use to Peter, and turns it into the seat of wisdom, “teaching the crowds” from its shelter - using its mobility on the water perhaps to better project his voice, perhaps to create a little distance between himself and his audience - even Jesus needed personal space. And the nets that they’ve already washed, ready to spread out in the sun to dry? Jesus issues a challenge: cast them into the waters one more time. Finally, crucially: when the apostles decide to trust, their nets are filled to bursting - but it is only working in unison that not only is the catch saved, but also the boats, heaving as they were under such phenomenal success - and by extension, the lives of the apostles themselves. Every aspect of perceived failure and inadequacy, through Jesus, has been turned to the good. We are what we are - and where we are - by God’s grace. It’s a thought that’s meant not to intimidate, but to inspire us with fresh courage, so that like Isaiah, weak and flawed though we may be, when the call comes, we rise up, and answer, Here I am; send me! |
