--Izaac Walton, The Compleat Angler.
Warm-up: Luke 5:1-11
Nearly three hundred years ago Thomas Boston, a young Scottish fly fisherman, wrote in his diary,
January 6, 1699--reading in secret, my heart was touched with Matth 4:19, "Follow me and I will make you fishers of men." My soul cried out for the accomplishing of that to me , and I was very desirous to know how I might follow Christ, so as to be a fisher of men, and for my own instruction in that point I addressed myself to the consideration of it.
Boston later wrote a booklet entitled, "A Soliloquy on the Art of Man Fishing" in which he spelled out his "considerations," based on what he learned from following the Great Angler.
I too am "a brother of the angle," as that good and true fisherman Izaak Walton would say. It's often occurred to me, as I've worked our Idaho trout streams, that fishing for fish is very much like fishing for men and much could be written on the easy and natural correspondence between the two.
But analogy can only take us so far. Boston's way is better--to follow our Lord and learn our tactics from him. We too must linger over his words and deeds, "so as to be a fisher of men. God's ways are always other and better than our's.
One of the stories in the Gospels that I look to in that regard is Luke's report of "The Great Draught of Fishes," as the old versions entitled it, a story remarkable in its simplicity and yet profound in its shrewd delineation of God's ways.
The story begins early one autumn morning. Jesus was walking along the shore of Lake Genneseret, as he often did to get away from the stifling atmosphere of the city, and came upon two fishing-friends from Capernaum, Peter and Andrew, who were cleaning the trash from their seines. These men, experienced commercial fishermen though they were, had fished all night and caught exactly nothing.
Jesus knew. He had been watching them all night (Matthew 4:18).
As Jesus stood, watching and, I assume, praying for these two men, a crowd began to gather, as they often did in those early days of Jesus' ministry, and seated themselves on the ground around him awaiting his instruction. Jesus made straight for Peter's boat, asked him to put out from the shore and there, on the forward deck of his boat, began to teach.
His instructions on this occasion were not Luke's concern for he doesn't reveal what Jesus said. He only tells us what Jesus said to Peter after he dismissed the crowd: "Put out into deep water, and let down your nets for a catch."
Simon demurred, "Master, we've worked hard all night and have caught nothing...."
I understand. Good fishermen don't appreciate unsolicited advice, no matter how well-intentioned it is. Those I know consider it criticism, generally ignore it and move off upstream.
Peter was a veteran angler and understood fishing as few men did. He knew that in the morning fish schooled in the shallows, not in deep water. Furthermore he knew that other fisherman, consummate cynics that they are, seeing his boat putting out at that hour, laden with nets and preparing to go fishing, would scoff.
Peter, however, despite his embarrassment and uncertainty, did exactly what Jesus told him to do. He and his partner, Andrew, put out to sea and let down their nets. When they had done so they, "caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break."
You know the rest of the story: "They (Peter and Andrew) signaled to their partners (James and John) in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full they began to sink."
When Simon Peter saw this he fell at Jesus' feet and cried out, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man," for, as Luke goes on to tell us, "Peter and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken...."
Then (and only then) Jesus said to Simon, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will catch men."
Here's the lesson: the best manfishers in the world are those who don't know what they're doing and know it. All efforts at communicating the gospel must begin with that certainty.
A Declaration of Dependence
Peter's sin lay in being so self-assured. He knew how to fish. It was his job; he was good at it; he'd been doing it for a long time.
Jesus, however, undeterred by Peter's abilities, challenged him at the point of his greatest strength and showed him he knew exactly nothing about fishing. He let Peter fail at the very thing he did best so he could learn to succeed at a greater enterprise--fishing for men.
Peter had worked hard all night on his own, without reckoning on the one who has dominion over "the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas" (Psalms 8:6-8). This time, when he let down his nets, Jesus issued a call to the schools of fish scattered all over the lake and drew them irresistibly to Peter's boat.
Peter didn't need to read the water or make the right presentation. He didn't need to get himself to the right place at the right time. That was Jesus' business. Peter's waywardness lay in his confident belief that he must lure the fish to net and draw them in.
Peter's sin is the sin that plagues us all. We believe that if we can just perfect the art of man fishing--get our theology straight, our apologetic persuasive, our patter down pat--men and women, boys and girls will crowd into our nets. But it just isn't so.
We know what it's like to fish all night and catch nothing. Again and again we return to shore with our nets empty. But when we enter into partnership with Jesus, when we make ourselves wholly available to him, he will do the rest.
Our business is to stand and wait, alert to be used. If we get ourselves ready our chance will come: God will get us to the right place, to the right person, at the right time, and give us the right things to say.
On the day of Pentecost, though Peter wasn't expecting much, he let down his net and God filled it with three thousand souls. In the house of Cornelius, Peter had barely put his net into the water when this hard-living, unlikely pagan jumped in (Acts 11:15). When we're in partnership with Jesus, "astonishing" things begin to happen.
I recall a flight from Frankfurt, Germany. Carolyn and I were on the first leg of the flight to Boston, then we were off to Boise and home.
It had been an exhausting week of ministry for both of us and we were weary. I dropped off to sleep as soon as the plane took off, but was awakened in a few moments by a disturbance in the aisle.
The attendant and a passenger seated on Carolyn's left were arguing about the man's seat assignment. Somehow, he had been separated from his fiancée who was several rows behind us.
The man grew increasingly angry and argumentative until another passenger, seated by the man's fiancée, offered to trade places. The swap was made and Carolyn's new seat-mate settled into his place, drew out a legal pad and began to work on some project.
As it happened, there was a little French boy seated on his left who wanted to talk. The man, who seemed to be the soul of patience, gave up his project after a few minutes and began to chat amiably with the garrulous child. Carolyn was soon drawn into the conversation.
I heard the man say he was from Los Gatos, California, a town close to Los Altos, California where Carolyn and I had lived for eighteen years. He was on his way to San Francisco. I heard Carolyn remark on the fact that we had many friends in the Bay Area and then I went back to sleep.
When I awakened an hour later I found Carolyn sharing her faith with her new friend, scribbling on his pad of paper, drawing diagrams, animating her story. He was listening intently and asking questions. I sat there quietly and prayed for her and the man.
At one point he said, "You believe as my wife does."
"Oh?" Carolyn replied. "And how did she become a believer?" "Through Bible Study Fellowship," he responded.
"How did she get into Bible Study Fellowship?" Carolyn asked.
"A friend of hers, Nel King, invited her to attend."
"That's amazing!" Carolyn exclaimed. "Nel King is one of my best friends!"
And then the coin dropped: A few months before we moved to Boise, Nel King had asked Carolyn to pray for a friend who had just become a Christian through Bible Study Fellowship and for her husband who was not yet a believer--the man now seated on Carolyn's left--there "by that power which erring men call chance," irresistibly drawn into her net.
I recall another day and a freeway in California on which I picked up a balding, bearded, pony-tailed hitch-hiker--a philosophy student from the University of California at Berkeley.
As we chatted I realized that this was a young man who thought deeply about life and asked him if he had an interest in spiritual things. "My friend," he said, turning in his seat and looking directly at me, "I've been looking for God all my life. Can you tell me how to know God?"
Here is Genneseret all over again.
The lifelong night we've toiled in vain,
But at Thy gracious word,
I will let down the net again:--
Do Thou Thy will, O Lord.--John Keble
David Roper
1/13/98