It’s Not About the Nets.

Luke 5:1-11

Last weekend I had the great privilege of celebrating the Eucharist for the Youth at Convention event, a gathering of over 50 youth in middle and high school that took place alongside our Diocesan Convention. I knew that there were going to be young people running around the Hotel Roanoke, and I knew that because of COVID-19 there were lots of health and safety measures in place including rapid testing upon arrival and mask requirements. I also knew from others with more experience in this Diocese that it was a significantly smaller group than usual, and a bit more chaotic as all these young people continue to relearn how to be together after two years of turmoil. What I did not expect was the feeling of setting up for the Eucharist and looking up at the sound of 55 middle and high schoolers streaming into the worship space. Having heard from others how much smaller this group was than previous years, I was expecting a few handfuls, maybe a couple dozen people. And it’s true that in the precedented days, Youth @ Convention hosted over 200 middle and high schoolers every year. But I promise y’all, when it was time to begin worship, that room was full. The social distancing was awkward like all teenagers are, and there was plenty of giggling muffled by the masks. And still the energy in the room was full to bursting, full of joy and laughter and the type of solemnity that a group of teens who spend their free time planning church youth group events always emit.

The praise band sang the hymns, and the youth read the scripture lessons from a laptop screen, and three high school seniors stood up after the Gospel to give the sermon. They took turns, first lifting up one of their number who was stuck at home with covid, asking everyone to hold him in their hearts and to maybe send him a text of encouragement. The first preacher shared that she had graduated high school early and is already in college, meaning she quite literally moved from freshman year to freshman year under the cloud of the pandemic. Her message- it’s okay to change, to be different from who you used to be. It’s okay to try new things, and leave parts of yourself behind as you grow. God will bless who you’re becoming. The second preacher told her peers that love is real, and powerful, and they’re never going to be alone even when it feels that way. The final preacher shared the pain of her first heartbreak, her first experience of depression, and the loneliness of doubt and lost faith. She shared through tears that it’s okay to not be okay, it’s okay to doubt and to question and to grieve. God will still be there, when you’re ready to talk. She closed her sermon with an exuberant acclamation that God is love, that love is real, and that everyone is worthy of it. I’ll admit I had to collect myself before moving us into the next part of the service, as the weeping preachers greeted one another with hugs and reminders to wipe their eyes and fix their masks. Their sermons were a clear reminder of how heavy the burden of these last years has been on our children and young people and their families, and how everything we have done and continue to do honors their sacrifices. Many of these young people, including the preachers, never had a homecoming, or a prom, or a lunch period spent in their favorite teacher’s classroom, or a quiet escape to the library. They have endured cancellations, pivots, re-imaginings, and more disappointments and unexplained no’s than we adults can even fathom. And yet they chose to spend three days at a hotel talking about Jesus, and mental health, and how they can serve their communities. I am so grateful for that, and even more grateful I was invited to witness one small part of it.

I share this in part because I believe that the discipleship of our young people speaks and preaches for itself. I also share it because I believe the resilience and vulnerability of the three preachers has something to teach us about our Gospel passage this morning. You see, Jesus encounters Simon at the end of a long night of labor. Simon and his fellow fishermen have been out all night in their boats, casting their nets and waiting with baited breath for a catch that never came. When it became clear that the sun was rising on their nearly empty boats, Simon and the others pulled in their empty nets and returned to shore to clean them in preparation for the next night’s attempt. The cleaning and mending of the nets was the final closing task between the exhausted laborers and their homes. The teacher Jesus interrupts this task and asks Simon to put out from shore, so that he might teach the people from a distance. Simon obliges. At the end of his sermon, Jesus turns to Simon and tells him to go back out and cast the nets again. Simon protests, but again he does as Jesus asks. “Master we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet, if you say so, I will put down the nets.” Simon is a tradesman, a fisherman who knows the water and the currents and the creatures swirling beneath the waves like the back of his hand. He knows the optimal times of day and night to fish, the best weather, the capacity of his nets and his boat. He knows enough to know that putting the nets out again will have the same results as the entire night before. He knows also that the same task of cleaning and mending the nets awaits them on shore if they cast them back into the water again. Simon and his crew have endured a night of disappointment, and their plans to go home have been disrupted now twice. And still, something stirs Simon to listen to the preacher in his boat. Perhaps it was something in his sermon to the crowds on shore, or something about the glint of laughter in his eyes, but something in Jesus made Simon want to try one last time. And we all know by now what happens next. The fishermen are met with nets so full they begin to burst. The catch is so abundant, Simon and his crew have to call for aid from other boats.

We are so very close to that moment in the boat between Simon and Jesus. We are tired, exhausted, a little hopeless, burned out and ready to just be done. When we’re honest, we are tired of casting our nets and pulling them back in empty. We are tired of pivoting, cancelling, re-imagining. There are many in our communities and in the church who are giving up, docking their boats and hanging up their nets, maybe for a season or maybe forever. But Jesus is in the boat, and he’s inviting us to try one more time. Our brother Simon responded with a sigh, and said “Yet, if you say so, I will.” If you say to go deeper Lord, I will. If you say to try again Lord, I will. If you call us Lord, we will follow. That’s the witness of Simon and James and John and also our young preachers in our own diocese. It’s okay to try. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to doubt and believe anyway. It’s even the faithful thing. The story was never about the nets or even the fish. It’s about who is in the boat.