Written on January 18, 2008

[For the January 27, 2008 lectionary: Isaiah 9:1-4 + Psalm 27:1, 4-9 + I Corinthians 1:10-18 + Matthew 4:12-23.]

OCCASIONS FOR HOPE By Larry Patten

My wife, loving life partner that she is, does laundry.

I, the self-sacrificing spouse, shop for groceries. I am so thankful she handles the cold-water-only and take-it-to-the-dry-cleaner decisions. Apparently she is equally grateful that I, like a primeval hunter-gatherer, wander supermarkets for our daily bread.

We each have our tasks.

The other day, my task meant I saw a kid, tucked inside a shopping cart with the milk and lettuce, head for the checkout as his Mom steered the cart. The kid’s hand dug inside an open bag of Pepperidge Farm goldfish crackers.

Maybe three or four, he was seriously fishing. His Mom was smiling. The clerk was making small talk as he scanned items. I was next in line like a plane waiting to land. I understood what was happening. There have been times, like with a cold drink on a hot day, when I handed a grocery clerk an empty container. Yep, scan it, let me pay for it, and then, please, recycle it immediately. I had to have it then.

It was time to scan the cheesy, fish-shaped crackers.

No way. The kid hunkered down in the cart. There was more to eat. No one was getting his fish.

This is a fish story. What did Jesus promise near the start of his ministry? “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.”

He said this to Peter and Andrew, brothers and fellow fishers. He said this to James and John, brothers and fellow fishers. That invitation has been part of Christian tradition ever since. Let’s go fish! For people.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if the Nazarene talked with Matthew (the tax collector of Matthew 10:3 and not the unknown writer of the Gospel) before Andrew or James. Would he have said, “Follow me and I will make you tax the people.” Or maybe, under other circumstances, “Follow me and I will make you bake the people.”

Frankly, I’m glad Jesus met some guys out fishing, rather than a tax collector, bread baker or backhoe operator.

Let’s go fish. For people.

Christians have, both rightly and very wrongly, used that image to go forth and proclaim the good news. It’s one of our tasks. I suppose the Crusaders thought they were reclaiming the fishing hole as they journeyed toward the Holy Land. I wish they’d carried fly rods instead of swords.

Still, I like the notion of fishing as a way of understanding faith and my truest tasks in life. Norman MacLaren (in his “The River Runs Through It”) said of fishing: "…all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation, come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy."

In MacLaren’s story of a Montana family, with a father who was preacher and fly-fisher, both the joy and the pain of life were revealed. I believe, like MacLaren, we are already saved. All of us. Christian and non-Christian. Believer and doubter. Fool and hero. We don’t earn God’s love. God’s grace has blessed us already. And yet to live with, and to live out, the grace can be extraordinary difficult. We so often choose selfishness or fear or complacency.

Henry David Thoreau challenged, “Many go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” What was Jesus asking? To force people into faith? I don't believe so. First, and maybe even last, going fishing needs to be about me. How will I live my life in the midst of others? When I “fish,” am I not after me more than the fish?

I am not a fisherman. Sometimes that surprises people who know I’ve spent hundreds of days backpacking. Don’t all people who hike by alpine lakes and snow-fed streams take a rod and reel? Not me. But I have watched hiking friends try Norman MacLaren’s “art” in pursuit of trout.

Once I observed a fellow hiker on a church backpack launch his line into a high country lake as the sun’s light faded. Day’s end. Last cast. And he hooked a trout. After long minutes, punctuated by his shouts of joy and sublime silence, he brought the trout close. Kneeling by the shore, he held the fish, admiring it, and then he let it go.

Later he said it was the largest fish he ever caught. And, though we all know jokes about how fish keep getting bigger, I believed him.

He enjoyed the moment. He let it go.

The kid in the cart let the bag of crackers go. The clerk was kind, and promised he’d return the bag right away. Mom was gracious, patiently helping her son understand he could trust the clerk. In that moment, as far as I was concerned, we were all fishing. Scottish novelist John Buchan said, “The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.”

I love the moments when hope is cast, discovered, and shared.