Month: June 2013

“Nevertheless, at thy word I will let down the net”

It is, to my mind, a powerful picture and an enchanting scene. Jesus sits down in a boat which he uses as a pulpit for teaching those that “pressed upon him to hear the word of God,” then bids Simon to “launch out into the deep and to let down [the] nets.” There is the intriguing response of Simon Peter. “Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless, at thy word I will let down the net.” It captures a marvelous moment and one which speaks to the existential despair of our age as well as providing the exact counter to our sense of futility and hopelessness.

What follows is equally marvelous. Having let down their nets, “they inclosed a great number of fishes, and their net brake.” Another ship is beckoned to come to their aid and yet the catch is so overwhelming that it “fill[s] both the ships, so that they began to sink.” It is a great marvel and it sparks a further response from Simon Peter: “depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord” to which Jesus replies, “fear not, from henceforth thou shalt catch men.” We are very much in the presence of God, it seems. The story marks Luke’s account of the call to discipleship of Simon Peter and the others.

In God’s Providence, this Gospel story read on The Fifth Sunday after Trinity coincides with Petertide, the Church’s celebration of St. Peter and St. Paul, the twin pillars and princes, we might say, of the Apostolic Church, so outstanding and so incalculable is their witness. Their joint commemoration is a kind of accident of history, on the one hand, and the providence of God, on the other hand, having to do with the coming together of their bodies to a common place of burial in the sixth century, long after their martyrdoms in Rome. Yet there is something fitting about their being commemorated together. It speaks to the truth and unity of the Church’s mission and life.

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“And thou, child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Highest:
For thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways”

The Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist falls immediately after the Summer Solstice, the longest day and the shortest night of nature’s year, and points us to the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and the longest night of nature’s year, that falls just before the Nativity of Christ at Christmas. The interplay of natural and spiritual themes is an intriguing feature of the Christian religion and speaks to a number of other interactions as well, not least between prophecy and fulfillment. The whole significance of John the Baptist lies in his mission. He is sent to prepare the way of the Lord, the way of God’s being with us in the intimacy of the humanity of Jesus Christ.

We are, I suspect, at once very leery and all too gullible about signs and portents; quick to jump to conclusions about the coincidence of events in our own lives, claiming some special blessing from God, but much more reluctant to acknowledge the same reality in the experience of others. It is, I suppose, a feature of our age: insecure in our narcissism, and skeptical, if not altogether suspicious, about others. Yet the story of John the Baptist is a major part of the New Testament witness. The child of an older woman, Elizabeth, thought to be long past the age of child-bearing, and of an old priest, Zechariah, who is rendered dumb for challenging the very idea of the birth of a child in their dotage, John the Baptist’s birth itself is a kind of preparation and foretelling of the birth and ministry of Christ. In a way, that is the whole point. Summer points to winter only to open us out to the eternity of God’s good will and purpose for our humanity and for our world in the Christ who comes into our world.

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“Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father is also merciful.”

Known as the Mercy Gospel, this gospel passage has been read for centuries on this day. Paradoxically, it seems to me, the mercy lies in the realization that we are all hypocrites! The parable Jesus tells is precisely about that. And yet, this is the good news!

The text about the blind leading the blind has become a commonplace in our world; we are quick to use it in relation to political and institutional leadership, but we forget that we are included in its range. The blind who are the leaders lead the blind who are the followers. In other words, this parable forecloses on our tendencies to judge and condemn one another as if we stood upon some superior platform. Quite the opposite, the parable goes on to suggest.

“Thou hypocrite, cast out first the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to pull out the mote that is in thy brother’s eye.” This is a devastating reality check. We are utterly blind about ourselves. I love the language of beam and mote; more modern translations of log and speck just don’t have the same resonance. Think of the massive oak beams of this Church and, then, think of the tiny dust motes dancing in the morning light and you begin to get a sense of the contrast and the problem. And so, what is to be done?

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