Without really thinking about it, I have taken in recent years to concluding much of my correspondence, either via e-mail or letter, with the closing before my signature: “God’s Grace Is Abundant, Pastor Allen.” It is a small yet obvious way of affirming what I think is one of the central affirmations of our faith: that the welcoming, forgiving, redeeming love of God which we know in the word “grace” is something that is abundant, and never is subject to the laws of scarcity by which we humans order our lives far, far too often.

The gospels are overflowing with stories, words, and examples of God’s abundance. The Patient Father has more than enough forgiveness for the Prodigal Son. The Good Samaritan has more than enough compassion for the Ignored Victim. The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air have more than enough beauty for the Eye and the Ear of the Beholder. The All-Knowing Stranger had more than enough Living Water for the Woman at the Well. The Desperate Syro-Phoenician Mother had more than enough Wit and Resourcefulness for the Master at the Table.

And today we learn that the Familiar and Well-Fished Lake of Gennesaret had more than enough fish to amaze and shame Peter the Fisherman.

I love this story. I love this story because it is both so very human and real and believable, and at the same time it is so larger than life, miraculous, and prophetic. On the surface, it is a simple story. A new teacher and preacher has come to the Gennesaret, otherwise known as Gallilean, seashore and the eager audience that has gathered is squeezing him out. He secures the use of a boat owned by some local fisherfolk washing their nets at the end of their workday so that he can get a better position and will be heard by more of the crowd. His words rang true and deep and unnervingly honest.

After the sermon, he turned to his newfound fishing friends and gave them advice they most likely did not want to hear. “Put out into the deep water and let you’re your nets for a catch.” They probably did not want to hear it because it was first and foremost coming from a carpenter. Tch! Look at his hands. Those are not the hands of one who fishes, but one who sands and saws and builds. Who wants to hear advice from someone that doesn’t even know your trade?

Plus, the words of counsel came at the end of a long, long night of fishing, and a woefully unsuccessful night at that. Perhaps one might humor suggestions at the start of a shift, but rarely at the end of one. They knew already the fitful ways of the schools of musht, today known as St. Peter’s Fish. They had chased them most of the night, and then some, and they were just too tired to chase anymore, no matter how hungry that might mean their families would go that day, or others who were dependent upon their catch. They were already washing their nets, and who wants to get all that tackle out, not to mention set the boat out to sea again.

But there was something to the request of this Johnny-come-lately, carpenter-come-angler that gave Simon pause to consider it. Perhaps the preaching they had just overheard had gotten to him. Maybe it was the genuine care of Jesus’ eyes meeting his or the gentle spirit that strangely warmed his heart. It must have been the same for the entire crew, because in nary a single verse of scripture Simon had convinced not only himself, but his band of buddies to try again, this time doing exactly what the carpenter said. The weary and knowing “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing” turns quickly to the confessional and astonishingly vulnerable “Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets,” which flows into a communal chorus, “When they had done this…”

Against all the odds, of human wisdom and temperament, of human experience and stamina, these men pushed off the shore for one more go of it. The moment would echo in their hearts a couple of years later, when, in John’s gospel, a stranger on the beach would urge them to cast the net on the right side of the boat, in order to catch more. In both instances, the haul of fish was unimaginable and wastefully abundant… straining the capacity of the nets, the ability of the boats to handle the haul, and the incredulity of those who witnessed it.

And then… And then Simon, now, almost imperceptibly, called Simon Peter, falls to his knees at Jesus’ side. “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” Did Peter, in the face of such divine abundance, know that he gave voice to the ancient fears of Isaiah who, at worship in the temple, exclaimed, “‘Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips?” (1) Would he remember this day when Jesus would tell the story of the Pharisee and the tax-collector, quoting the latter “God, be merciful to me , a sinner!” setting the tone for all confessional prayer for millennia to come? Did he realize that he would set the tone for the Apostle Paul, who, decades later in describing his encounter with the resurrected Christ, would confess, “Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called and apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.” (2)

In the face of God’s abundance in our lives, do we not also respond with confession, one of the deepest and most profound responses to the magnitude of grace which the divine creator has imbued this life? I can only imagine in the moment of the birth of a child, a Lucy Jane, that one looks face to face with the One who created all that was and is and is to be and says simply, “Surely not me?” or “How can I be worthy of all this abundance?”

And Maria sings, “Somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I must have done something good. Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could. So somewhere in my youth, or childhood, I must have done something good.”

I have felt this kind of awesome unworthiness before, even as recent as this past week. Just this past Thursday I was with the We Believe Ohio (Cleveland) steering committee, and sitting with the likes of the Rev. Ken Chalker, Rabbi Richard Block, Sr. Donna Wilhelm, Rev. Daniel Budd, Rev. John Lentz, Rabbi Steven Weiss, and Dean Tracey Lind, I felt both honored and humbled to be counted among their numbers. Others who usually sit around that circle instill in me a similar feeling, such as Rev. Felix Carreon, the Rev. Louis Westfall, and the Rev. George Hrbek. It is not that they held their status or their great gifts out above me, it was actually in their humility and vulnerability, in light of the great things they have done and amazing words they have shared, that made me feel unworthy. It was the abundance of both their “mitzvahs,” to use a good Hebrew word for acts of service and compassion, and the abundance of their wisdom, that they “walked the walk” as well as “talked the talk” that made me feel both like I had much to learn and I had much to share!

I first titled this sermon “Ashamed or Amazed By Abundance,” thinking that both of these emotions were at the heart of Peter’s confession. I initially thought that Peter’s words were a painful assessment of his life lived up to this point, and a heart- and gut-wrenching, self-deprecating admission of all the guilt and failures of his life. No. No, this is a confession, but not one which issues from a broken spirit or a shame filled heart. After living with the text, meditating on it this week, I’ve come to discover that really what Peter showed, in the light of God’s abundant, unearned, and unanticipated generosity, was a profound humility which led to an even more overwhelming awe.

Humility and awe are very different, and much more faithful responses to God’s abundant love than shame and amazement. But how does this happen? Because, when I seek to “be like Jesus” I feel like, all-too-often, I provoke shame or I yearn for amazement, rather than nurturing humility and inspiring awe.

--------- [The following section was not preached on Sunday, but hopefully is still good!  Skip to the ----- to end the sermon as on Sunday.]

How did Jesus do it?

Well, there are a few clear signs of his way that we all could learn from:

- Jesus comes to us in the ordinariness of our lives, in the midst of our daily routine. He doesn’t just need a “special occasion” or a “set-aside teaching moment” to offer an example of grace, beauty, truth, and redemption.

- Jesus isn’t sidetracked by Peter’s humanity. This story reminds us that it is okay to hesitate. God’s call to us is oftentimes unnerving, nonsensical, out-of-sync sort of ways… and God doesn’t expect us to take it all in in a nanosecond!

- Jesus doesn’t always demand that we be something or do something we aren’t. In fact, sometimes the call from Jesus is to continue to do what we are already called to do… but to do it differently in order to be more effective… All too often we get the idea that to truly be “called” by God we have to stop what we are doing and do something else. Actually, many times God had called us to what we are already doing, but simply to do it in a different way, in a more intentional manner, with a deeper hope for faith!

- Jesus often offers miracles that are really already part of the natural, amazing, order of life. I’ve asked myself, is this truly a “miracle” story, or is it really a story of faithful effectiveness? That is, does Jesus actually cause there to be more fish, or does he empower, inspire, goad Peter to be a better fisherman?

- Finally, I realized that Jesus was only living out Paul’s understanding of “Equipping The Saints for the work of ministry…” I like how in this story Jesus actually helps Peter be his best self as a fisherman. Jesus doesn’t do this for him, but empowers him to fish better.

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“Ashamed or Amazed by Abundance?” I think, in our very best moments, it is neither. Being confronted by the extravagant outpouring of God’s Abundant Grace is a deep, honest, awareness that the amazing abundance with which our world is filled is always much, much more than us – as individuals and as a community – but is always what God intended for us to live into.

(1) Isaiah 6:5

(2) 1 Corinthians 15:8-9