At Thy word, I will let down the net

Luke 5:1-11

The Gospel reading from the Mass today is a wonderful lesson in humility, obedience and the power of God's grace. Imagine Simon. He had spent the night working hard on the sea. You know how hard fishermen work even in today's diesel driven, sonar guided vast netted vessels. So in the dark, his boat under sail and with nets only as big as he and his crew could handle had spent the night throwing them out and hauling them in all but empty. All that effort for so little reward. Not much to sell the next day. That meant not much to buy to eat, to repair his boat, and perhaps pay his crew. Physically tired and emotionally exhausted, it seems probable he felt he had nothing left to give.

And yet he did have something. He had a platform from which Jesus could speak. Already he was providing the foundation of the Gospel - in a very real and concrete sense - because he had his boat, from which Jesus could reach more people. The acceptance of the request to use his boat has a resonance with Simon's future, as Peter, still the foundation for the proclamation of the Gospel in the world, just as his boat was on that day.

And, as always, Jesus asked for no more that Simon could offer. We are never asked to give more than we can. So Simon was asked to put out "a little way" - not a great distance, no more than he could manage - to help Jesus preach. Simon listened, and I always imagine him listening to Jesus as a child enthralled by a story. His face in my mind always has a picture of complete concentration and wonder, understanding from the very beginning that there is so much he will never understand, but not being frightened to try.

Then Jesus finished. Perhaps then Simon prepared for the short sail or row back to the shore and getting his head on his pillow at last. Perhaps he grudgingly realised that there was more net-mending to be done. Perhaps he was desperate for breakfast. I'll bet, though, he wasn't expecting the instruction to set sail for deeper waters. Nor, I suppose, was it a welcome suggestion. It certainly would not have been for me. And we can tell this from the moment of comment which almost has us believe that Simon was about to argue. "Master we have laboured all the night, and have taken nothing". I hear that half of Simon's reply with his voice showing his tiredness, his incredulity that this carpenter could be telling him, an experienced fisherman, to have another go and his humanity not yet understanding. And yet, without another doubt, "but at Thy word, I will let down the net".

I don't know if Simon was acting in blind faith, or if he was being diplomatic. It is possible that he realised that the quickest way to his bed was to throw the nets over once more, show the carpenter who knows the sea best, and set sail again for shore. But in a way, the reason doesn't matter. What we learn is that, no matter how hopeless God's vocation for us seems, no matter how many time we have tried in the past without success, no matter how myterious His motives seem, following His will leaves us with an abundance of His gifts which is more than our human frame can bear without bursting.

We are constantly asked to let down our nets, even when we think there are no fish. In our work there seem to be ever-increasing demands on time and skills - we are always expected to work longer and harder for the same (or less) wage. The parish asks us to organise a stall at the fete, coffee after Mass or even, God forbid, a programme of evangelisation. We are asked to live the Gospel in a world which sees us as foolish for doing so. We are asked to witness to our faith in the same environment, and ignore the attractions of the earthly to seek a heavenly goal which can seem distant, or even unattainable. We are asked to attend Mass weekly and on Holydays. Confession (at least once a year, but with constant exhortation from the pulpit to go more often), Rosary, Stations, Catholic Men's Society, Parish Consultative Group, Choir practice, pilgrimage and the seemingly endless list that follows this. And all these can seem, to our earthly selves, like fishing in a spent sea, where our experience of the world tells us that there is no point.

In a way I hope Simon was trying to show Jesus who was right. I hope he was a little angry, affronted and proud. I even hope he swore under his breath as he resigned himself to this final worthless task before getting the rest he needed. Because, if he did, there is hope for me. I would have been swearing. I would have been exercising my pride. I would have been longing to stop work and get to my bed. And, please God, I too would have seen that His grace is still given, even to grudging sinners like me.