Chasing Birds       

Luke 5: 1-11

 

            One of our boys has always had this fascination with wildlife. When he was, at most, 3 years old, he got it into his head that he wanted to catch a bird. Not with a net or a trap; with his hands.

 

            He would be playing in the back yard and would spot a bird hopping about in the grass, most likely a robin or a sparrow. His eyes would light up and he would go after it, on his mission to catch a bird.

 

            The birds weren’t scared of him. They hardly ever took off into the sky. Most of the time they just hopped away, or flew over to the fence post. Sometimes it seemed that the birds were just toying with him. They would let him get close, and it would seem like they were paying no attention to him, and I guess that encouraged him to think this might be the time when he caught one. But, of course, they knew exactly where he was, and well before they were in any danger of being caught, without any effort at all, they would hop away or fly to the fence post.

 

            In a way, it was a bit heartbreaking to watch this little toddler at work in his determined mission, knowing in our adult wisdom and experience that it was hopeless; that he didn’t have a chance of doing what he set out to do. There was no way he was going to catch a bird in his hands. It’s hard to watch, knowing in advance that your child is going to fail, and then seeing it happen, time after time, especially when they go after something with such energy and determination.

 

            I have brother who has dedicated most of his life to peace and justice issues. When I think of people like him, I often see that image of the bright-eyed, chubby-cheeked little guy going after a bird.

 

            Yeah, I would love to see peace and justice in the world. We pray for it every week at our worship service. Who wouldn’t want to see the world rid of all this ridiculous hatred and violence and killing and hunger and oppression and poverty? Of course that’s what we all would like to see. But what are the odds it’s really going to happen, or even more absurd, that we’re going to do something to make it happen.

 

            Yet people dedicate their lives to this mission. Some much work goes into the planning and strategy and organization and speeches and programs and letter-writing campaigns and fundraising and prayers and travel and awareness-raising to get step-by-step closer to that wonderful goal of peace and justice. And for what? One person in a single moment can blow all that away with the squeezing of a trigger, the detonation of a suicide bomb, a call for vengeance from a pulpit, or even a collective shrug of apathy from the insulated affluent.

            Peace and justice are never in any real danger of being caught. We spend so much energy to get a few steps closer only to have it careless hop out of our reach every time, and we have to start all over again.

 

            I see bright-eyed idealists, not as many as I used to see, taking on the mission of peace and justice, and when I see that, I see a three-year old trying to catch a bird in his hands. And it is heartbreaking to watch, knowing in our adult wisdom and experience that they are going to fail; that they don’t have a chance of doing what they set out to do. It’s hard to watch good people fail, time after time, especially when they go after something that important with energy and determination.

           

            Do you ever feel that way about the call to discipleship? Do you ever feel that we in the church are that 3-year old kid chasing after birds? That we’re going after a goal that doesn’t have a chance of happening? We spend so much time and energy trying to build up this thing called the church, to be the hands and feet and hearts of God on earth, to be the voice that brings good news to a world in need, to be the work force that joins with God in bringing hope and meaning into lives, to be the supply line through which God’s goodness and mercy flow into our world.

           

            All the work that goes into planning and carrying out worship and education opportunities and stewardship and evangelism programs, in developing meaningful faith disciplines and valuable life habits, in providing facilities and music and inspiration, in feeding the hunger, clothing the ragged, and housing the homeless, and in trying to pass on this awesome gift of faith to our young, gets us step by step closer to the goal.

 

            And what happens? All of that effort to proclaim the word of God is blown away in a single unkind word, a single cold shoulder of uncaring, a single lapse of judgment, a single weakness of character, a single moment of selfishness, a single moment of pride, or a just a collective shrug of indifference.

 

            Despite all of the effort and money and sweat and tears we put into it, in a nation with a growing population, the ELCA and other denominations get a little smaller every year. Attendance at churches in southwest Iowa goes down a little every year. More than 40% of the population of Union county has no attachment to any church, and that number grows a little each year. While incomes, productivity, and the gross national product rise every year, giving (adjusted for inflation) goes down a little every year. A few more young people slide away from the church every year.

 

            Do you ever have moments where you wonder, what is the point? Are we getting anywhere? Do we have any hope of getting anywhere? Are we who take seriously the mission of the church naïve little 3-year old kids chasing after birds with our bare hands?

 

            Today’s readings speak to that question. In the Gospel of Luke, we encounter some of the disciples who had spent a long night fishing. Not recreational fishing; this is their livelihood and they work hard at it. They’re up all night long, rowing the boat, dropping nets, pulling them up, scouting for better prospects and then going through the whole sequence again. Hour after hour, all night long, and for what? They didn’t catch a thing.

 

            Exhausted and discouraged, they realize they have been wasting their time. There is no point in keeping at it. There’s no fish out there, at least none within range of their nets. Bleary-eyed from their effort, they bring the boats in and wash their equipment, get all the seaweed out of the nets.

 

            And here comes Jesus. He gets in Peter’s boat and has him go out a ways so that he can speak to the crowd on the shore. Tired as he is, Peter agrees. But then when the speech is done, Jesus makes a request that makes no sense.

            “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” he says.

 

            Peter can’t believe it. What do you think we’ve just spent the whole night doing? Been there, done that. We went out into the deep water and let down the nets. We got nothing. We did it again and again and again. Nothing. We have worked our fingers bloody all night long, and we are so tired we can barely lift a net out of the water. It’s no use. We tried and it just didn’t work.

            We are 3-year old kids chasing birds with our bare hands. Give it a rest. Isn’t there something useful we could be doing instead of wasting our time and energy on this?

 

            But of course, he’s not telling Jesus anything he doesn’t already know. Jesus knows they’ve been out there all night without catching a thing. Jesus knows how hopeless it is. And yet he tells them, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” Go out there and do it again.

 

            Peter understands this. He understands that he has been asked to do something that doesn’t make any sense, doesn’t have any chance of success. He doesn’t understand it; all he knows is that Jesus asked him to do it.  “Yet, if you say so, I will let down the nets.”

 

            Most of those who have been working all their lives for peace and justice have no illusions about the nature of their task. They know they are chasing birds with their bare hands. They have cast their nets in the waters time after time, and come up empty time after time. The gap between the rich and the poor doesn’t get any smaller. The world is filled with enough blessings for everyone to have what they need and for no one to go in want, and yet those blessings never seem to get distributed. Poverty and homelessness don’t go away. Leaders of nations and of ethnic and religious groups don’t ever seem to get the message that violence begets violence, always has and always will.

 

            It often seems to those in the peace movement that they’ve been asked to do something that doesn’t make any sense, doesn’t seem to have a chance of success. They don’t understand it; all they know is that Jesus asked them to do it. They answer, “Yet, if you say so, I will go out and let down the nets.”

 

            And so it is with us in the church. Many of us have been faithfully trying most of our lives to build the church into what God intended it to be, to share the light of Christ with all the world. And we have looked on as congregations get smaller, as budgets get tighter, as the Christian message of love gets ever more twisted into a message of holier than thou, as our society increasingly tells us that we, and any concept of God, are irrelevant.

 

            Sometimes what we are asked to do doesn’t seem to make sense, doesn’t seem to have a chance of success. We don’t understand it; all we know is that Jesus asked us to do it. 

 

            Jesus asked us to do it. The one who has done so much for us, the one who willingly paid the terrible cost to end the separation between God and the people God loves, asks us to do it.

            Today’s gospel tells why, as people of God, we keep on keeping on. Why we keep saying, “If you say so, I will go out and let down the nets.”

 

             I don’t think it is an accident that this incident comes immediately before Jesus calls these people to be his disciples, right before he calls them to a new mission and asks them to stop being fishermen and to start being fishers of men. In this one incident, Jesus gives them a vivid demonstration of what it will mean to be a follower of Jesus. Guys, it will often seem like what you experienced last night.

 

            Contrary to the message delivered by many thriving modern churches, that belief in Jesus is a sure-fire way to wealth and luxury and success, being a disciple of Jesus more often means many long nights of casting the net in the water and coming up empty. Because human beings are so entrenched in pride and selfishness, this kingdom of God business has its dry spells. Very often we’re going to feel like three-year old kids chasing after birds with our bare hands.

 

            At those times we are asked to back and do it again. At those times, we can do little more than cling to what Paul says in I Corinthians, “Hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you: the message of that wonderful Easter morning when sin and death and sorrow were defeated so that we might live.” And that means going out into the deep water again and dropping the nets one more time.

 

            Why does God want us to do that? I’ve got two possible answers.

 

            Our little 3-year old went all those years without catching a bird, but in the process of chasing them, something else happened. He became more interested, more fascinated by wildlife than anyone I have ever met. He can still go to the zoo every week and find it magical every time he goes. He can tell you an unbelievable number of things about the natural world and the creatures who inhabit it.

            In chasing after birds, he opened himself up to the astounding mysteries of nature. He did not catch the birds, but his pursuit of nature opened up a whole new world to him.

 

            The same thing happens to us, whether it’s taking part in peace and justice causes, or in carrying on the work of the church. When we take on the tasks that God has set before us, we may not accomplish what we hope or want. The nets may seem empty much of the time. We might wonder if we are accomplishing anything. But even when we do not catch any fish, or any birds, our pursuit of God’s will opens up a whole new world to us. We see more clearly what life is all about, and we find ourselves closer to God.

 

            The second possibility is this. About a year and a half ago, our son was walking along a sidewalk in San Diego. There were a few birds twittering around on tables and ledges. He noticed that a bird didn’t move, didn’t even seem to flinch even though he went right past it, with several inches.

            He stopped, and instinctively tried to do what he had been attempting since he was tiny. He reached out and tried to catch a bird. Only this time he did. The sparrow never moved; it never tried to get away. He picked it up in his bare hands and it stayed there, calmly looking at him, until he finally set it back down.

 

            Catching a bird with your bare hands is not impossible. Sometimes it happens, when you don’t expect it, are not looking for it.

 

            The disciples dropped that net like they had a hundred times before, with no expectation for success. And their net filled with so many fish they couldn’t lift it. The pastor at Hope Lutheran in W. Des Moines nearly gave up. For years, they couldn’t draw enough people to survive on their own, and he was ready to give it up.

 

            God told him to go back out into the deep water and put the nets down again. This time that net filled with so many fish they can hardly pull it in.

 

            It happens. We don’t know when or where or how, but God has promised that our work is not in vain. God has promised that our nets will fill with so many fish that we cannot lift it. That the bird will fly into our hands

 

            So keep chasing birds. Keep putting your net in the water. Keep working for peace and justice. Keep planning and carrying out worship and education opportunities and stewardship and evangelism programs, keep developing meaningful faith disciplines and valuable life habits, keep providing facilities and music and inspiration, keep feeding the hungry, clothing the ragged, and housing the homeless, keep working to pass on this awesome gift of faith to our young.

 

            There will be nights when the nets are empty. But when God tells us to go out and put down our nets, there’s a reason for it. Something is going to happen. There will come a time, perhaps when we least expect it, that the nets will overflow. Somehow, some way. I don’t know what that will look like, but I sure want to be there when it happens.