The hills come right down to the water’s edge at the northwest corner of the Sea of Galilee. The Galilean hills provide water run-off that works its way down to the inland sea along gulleys that help to define the many coves along the shore. It is into one of these coves that Jesus floats on a borrowed boat from the local fishermen so that he can address the crowd gathered on the hillside, a natural amphitheater. The water between Jesus and the crowd amplifies his voice. He sits down and teaches the crowd.

To sit down was considered a sign of authority, not of weariness or nonchalance. “Cathedra” is the Latin word for “chair.” A “cathedral” is the primary church of a diocese where a bishop “sits.” When our Wesley tour group visits Christ Church Cathedral in Oxford, “Christ Church” being the name of the college, “cathedral” telling us that a bishop presides there, we will see that it is not much bigger than this sanctuary. The fact that it is called a “cathedral” does not have to do with size but power. So, Jesus sits down in the boat and teaches from the seat of power, “ex cathedra.”

But given all of that, Luke does not say one word about what Jesus taught. He gives us no idea what morsels of truth Jesus shared that day. Rather, Luke is focused entirely on what happens next. Jesus directs Simon (soon to be called “Peter”), the owner of the boat, to get his men and to “put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.”

But Simon objects. “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” Here is this landlubber of a carpenter giving the professional fisherman directions, an exhausted, frustrated fisherman at that, but Simon concedes because he already has had some exposure to Jesus and perceives that he is a force to be reckoned with.

When he and his partners haul in the nets, the catch is so great that it is about to swamp the boat. They call to shore for another boat to come out and help them drag the bulging nets to shore. And Simon, humbled by extraordinary power when he experiences it, blurts out, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” Watch out for what we pray. If we plead for a sign from God and get it, the sheer force of it will put us and our inadequacies into perspective.

Jesus does not spend time soothing Simon. He does not say, “Oh, you are not such a bad guy. Do not be so hard on yourself.” He simply accepts Simon at his word and gets on with business. “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” And they beach their boats, leave everything on shore, and follow him. This is Luke’s version of the call of the disciples.

Have you ever seen a net full of fish pulled ashore? I did one early morning when I was walking down a beach in Mexico . . . Acapulco . . . it was a church trip. Who says that the Church cannot go to neat places and still be in ministry? Well, I stood there on the sand as the fishermen dragged in the nets which they had submerged just off shore overnight. And when I looked at the sizable catch there were fish, starfish, jellyfish, stingrays, and creatures I had never seen before. It was a rich mixture of all sorts of marine life. Sometimes we talk about a “mess of fish,” and this was it.

So, when Jesus uses a net bulging with fish as a symbol for the results of the Church casting forth the word of God, I look out into the congregation and see . . . fish, starfish, jellyfish, stingrays, and creatures I have never seen before. That is who we are, a real mixed-net of fish; a “mess” is what we are, the Church as a “mess.”

But notice that the purpose of sending out the fishermen to “fish” for people is not to snag them, to entrap them, to lure them, to drag them into a deadly environment, but rather to gather disparate life into a community. The goal of fishing as an “evangelistic” enterprise, if we can use such a traditional and vaguely unpopular word, is to shape a common existence from among several different life forms. And we can do that only if we are fearless enough to “put out into the deep water.” We are not able to do that if we stay only in the shallows.

Paul Tillich said it this way, “We are in constant motion and never stop to plunge into the depth . . . Like hit-and-run drivers, we injure our souls by the speed with which we move on the surface; and then we rush away, leaving our bleeding souls alone.” (The Shaking of the Foundations, p.55-56). Tillich was one of the greatest theologians of the 20th Century. I sat in a one-day seminar with him decades ago. Our “Bible as Literature” class at the University of Wisconsin came down to the University of Chicago where he taught to spend a day with Tillich. As I look back it was like hearing Artur Rubenstein playing or Marian Anderson singing.

Now, by definition a theologian is anyone who thinks and speaks about God. “Theos,” God; “-logy,” the base-word for “logic,” to think or to put into words. I always have believed that if someone says, “I know what I think, but I cannot put it into words,” that the person still does not know what she or he is thinking. So, we are theologians, each one of us. We think about God. Now, we may be unorthodox theologians, or even heretical theologians, or simply confused theologians, but theologians, nonetheless. Paul Tillich was a systematic theologian, laying out his system of belief in three carefully argued volumes.

Back to Tillich’s searing observation as it relates to the gospel account: “We are in constant motion and never stop to plunge into the depth . . . we injure our souls by the speed with which we move on the surface; and then we rush away, leaving our bleeding souls alone.” We may be afraid to plunge the depths because we do not know what is down there, creatures we have never seen before. Or we may be afraid because we do know what we will find, as Simon discovered.

What would it mean if each one of us was to leave behind the safety and comfort of the shallows and put out into the deep waters? I cannot answer that for you or you for me, but let me offer an example of where I might have seen it. I have a friend who is a banker. Years ago he worked for a bank just a block away from here that was bought by another bank which was bought by another bank which was bought by another bank. We remember how things went in the 1980’s. As a result, he found it very crowded in middle management. So, after a long time of soul-searching, real soul-searching – “How can I honor my faith within the realm of my expertise?” – he decided at age 45 to start his own bank. Free-standing, one-of-a-kind, and uniquely anchored in what he learned in Sunday School about John Wesley’s instruction on the use of money: make all you can, save all you can, give all you can. You see, he was being his own theologian, and it shaped his professional life.

He needed to raise $7 million from his friends. He graciously did not count me among his “friends” during this venture, and he raised it. Here it is some twelve years later, and his bank is still standing. During the irresponsible days of the past decade people chided him for being so cautious; now they wonder how he got to be so smart.

I think of him when I envision a person of faith leaving the security of the shallows, refusing to be content with just wading knee-deep in middle management of a conglomerated bank, and swimming out into the deep waters of uncertainty but of faithful adventure. He stayed within his field, one not known for its theological substance, and he made it work. Each of us has to finish our own sermon when it comes to plunging the depths of our souls.

In turn, what about us as a congregation . . . fish, starfish, jellyfish, stingrays, and creatures of curious species? It would be easy for us to sit at the Temple and enjoy our surroundings, splashing happily in the shallow waters of our own comfort. But we have heard, and we are trying our best to heed, Christ’s call to put out into the deep waters. Feeding the hungry on Saturday mornings, and providing clothes and shoes, and arranging for transportation, and as important, offering the Word of God both spoken and extended in the friendship of the volunteers, that is deep waters. It is risky, it is unpredictable, it is a “mess,” we could say, but what a glorious mess.

Sometimes putting out into the deep waters does not require that we physically leave the building. The tutoring program is a way of plunging the depths. Our grief support work runs deep. Our association with the Silk Road Theatre as they mount their next production that looks at race, ethnicity, culture, and genetics, there is nothing safe about that, but why be here if all we are going to do is play in the waves and build castles in the sand?

All of these things are going on now, and you can choose to involve yourself if you see it as a way to plumb the depth of your own soul. But, what is next? What more is Jesus calling us to do? Into what deep waters must we now cast the net of faith? I conclude with one that I find provocative. This July is the 20th anniversary of the American Disabilities Act, the ADA. I met Jeanne Gang yesterday at the Columbia College Media Center opening, a building she designed at 16th and State Street. She also conceived of that splendid “wave building” north of Randolph behind the Blue Cross/Blue Shield tower. She said that the ADA has transformed architecture in America and made what was necessary into what is desirable.

We reconfigured the space in this sanctuary two summers ago not simply to conform to the ADA rules, but much more importantly, because it was perceived as a justice issue by the congregation. All parts of the sanctuary must be accessible to all . . . Holy Communion down front, the altar, the choir, the lectern and pulpit.

What if, on the 20th anniversary of the ADA, we put out into the deep waters of truly identifying with all who have disabilities? Not just to tolerate, not just to accept, but to be “at one” with. What would that mean? It at least means that we get outer doors that are easier to open, station greeters on Sundays to help people in and out of the building, and have a drop off zone in front on Washington Street. It at least means accommodating all people at worship, hosting events, and becoming a base for advocacy. You cannot get closer to City Hall, the County Building, and the State of Illinois Building than this. It at least means, and perhaps most importantly, developing a theology that considers the complexities of health, healing, curing, limitations, inclusion, and grace. Deep water, indeed, not without dangers, but teeming with possibilities.

Deep water, a matter of faith individually and corporately. We can live a shallow life, but we will miss God. “Weariness is no excuse for staying where we are,” Jesus tells Simon. “Go and cast your nets and see what a glorious mess you catch.” Amen.