Sunday Musings

The sea of injustice

Today is the third Sunday after Epiphany (Epiphany was January 6). Epiphany is the church season in which God’s light is revealed in the world, when glory is made manifest. The spiritual flow of these winter seasons are awaiting light in the darkness (Advent); light overcoming darkness (Christmas); and following the light to its glorious source (Epiphany). The story moves from flickering candlelight, to the light of the cradle, to seekers welcomed into the widening circle of light.

Last week, Jesus invited Philip and Nathanael to “follow me.” In those verses, “follow me” meant “come and see.” Today, Jesus invites Simon (Peter) and Andrew to follow. And, for these two brothers, it meant leaving their familiar work behind and embracing a new vision for their own lives and the world. In both stories, the disciples are first called to step into that “widening circle of light” and then step out in faith and share the light with others.

But that probably doesn’t mean what many of us learned about the calling of the disciples.

This Sunday Musing re-reads a familiar gospel story and was written last January for the parallel reading — Matthew 4:18-23 — to today’s selection from Mark. I loved the sermon last year (it changed the way I saw this text!) and wanted to share it again.

Welcome to fishing Sunday.

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Mark 1:14-20

After John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea — for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets. Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

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“Angling for Justice,” from January 2023

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Years ago, when I was a student at a Christian college, I heard a sermon on these verses during Mission Week in chapel. I remember being amazed and convicted: “The disciples left their jobs to follow Jesus!” with my next thought being, “I could never do that.”

The preacher intended to inspire us to become missionaries and give up everything to go “fish” for people. Save the lost. Evangelize the world. Like the apostles. Like Jesus. A heroic calling. God wants all true believers to fish for people.

That Simon, Andrew, James, and John made such a sacrifice was inspiring.

Mostly, however, that sermon made me feel inadequate. I couldn’t imagine being like them — walking away from everything immediately to go after Jesus.

Sacrifice. That’s what we were always encouraged to do. Give up our dreams, our hopes, our ambitions. Surrender. Follow. Find God’s will for your life. Dedicate everything to serving Christ. And, if you were a woman, submit.

But that’s not really what this story is about.

When Jesus walked by that lake and called to Simon and Andrew, he wasn’t inviting two fellows on a fishing trip to drop everything and hang out. He wasn’t calling successful small businessmen to give up what they’d built. He wasn’t even beckoning these fishermen to leave their good — or even decent — livelihood.

In the first-century Roman Empire, fishing was a miserable job. Cicero once referred to it as one of the “most shameful occupations,” a list that included not one but two fish-related jobs: “fish-sellers, butchers, cooks, poultry-raisers, and fishermen.”

Fish were, of course, a valuable and important part of the ancient economy; they were a necessary commodity for feeding millions of people across the empire. But there was no such thing as a free enterprise fishing business and there were no fishing entrepreneurs. Fishing was controlled by the Roman state — and profited only the elite.

For the fishermen themselves, fishing was essentially a subsistence existence. While local families sometimes formed small fishing cooperatives (which seems to be the case for the brothers mentioned in this passage), the product of their work was not their own. The best and biggest fish would be shipped off to Rome for the tables of the wealthy. Fisherfolk would get no profit from it since Caesar functionally owned the lake and all the creatures in it. The best of the catch literally belonged to him.

After Rome took its portion, some middling fish might be sold at regional or local markets, but those fish would be heavily taxed in a system of tariffs, duties, and tributes, and those who caught the fish would see little from their sale. The leftover small fish — if there were any — fed the fishermen and their families and neighbors.

In ancient Rome, you didn’t work for yourself. You didn’t choose a job or a career. You worked for Caesar. Your entire family worked for Caesar in an interlocking system of obligation, assigned class status, and subservience. You, your parents and children, and your neighbors and friends were part of a massive political and economic hierarchy which took nearly all the work of your hands and gave it to the wealthiest people in the empire — and from which you, your relations, and your community received almost no benefit.

Simon and Andrew weren’t middle class. They didn’t run a successful business. Maybe they owned their own boat instead of renting it. But most likely not. They weren’t even what we think of as working class. They were peasants on the bottom rungs of an extractive and abusive system. And those peasants were often in conflict with the politicians and tax collectors who stole from them. They resented imperial control of their homeland and its lakes and waters. They swam in a sea of injustice.

Understanding this, re-read the story:

Jesus walks by the Sea of Galilee and calls out, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.”

Simon and Andrew respond: Immediately they left their nets and followed him.

No kidding. Wouldn’t you?

This isn’t about sacrifice. Jesus invited them out of a miserable existence into an entirely different life, a better one, their truest vocation. He offered them an alternate way of living — “the kingdom of God has come near.” This is the Good News: You don’t have to be part of Caesar’s empire. Come with me as we pursue the long-awaited commonwealth of God’s justice and mercy.

Of this episode, biblical scholar Ched Myers says, “Jesus is inviting common folk to join him in his struggle to overturn the existing order of power and privilege.”

Instead of fishing for Caesar, they chose to go with this rabbi who promised something different, a strange and compelling possibility: “I will make you fish for people.”

Jesus’ remark surely harkens back to the vision of the prophets where the unjust, those who abuse the poor, will be “hooked” like fish in punishment for their sins. Amos says, “The time will surely come when you will be taken away with hooks, the last of you with fishhooks” (4:2). And Ezekiel threatens the wealthy Egyptians who oppress other nations: “But I will put hooks in your jaws and make the fish of your streams stick to your scales. I will pull you out from among your streams, with all the fish sticking to your scales” (29:4, NIV).

Fishing isn’t about converting people to bring them to church. It isn’t about evangelizing the “heathen.” For the prophets, fishing was a radical snaring of the wicked, wrenching them out of the familiar environs of oppression and setting the world a-right with divine justice.

Jesus invited the peasant fishermen to fish for people — to “hook” Caesar’s elite and beach the empire. When he called them, he called them to participate in this prophetic work in the world.

Jesus bid them to angle for justice. They had probably waited their entire lives for such an invitation. They’d been entangled in Roman fishing line far too long. It wasn’t hard to drop Caesar’s nets and pick up the hooks of God.

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INSPIRATION

Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud! – Death eddies near –
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time,
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! Never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.
— Rupert Brooke, “Heaven”

Fishing provides that connection with the whole living world. It gives you the opportunity of being totally immersed, turning back into yourself in a good way. A form of meditation, some form of communion with levels of yourself that are deeper than the ordinary self.
— Ted Hughes

The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.
— Mary Oliver, “The Fish”

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There is perhaps no expression more traditionally misunderstood than Jesus' invitation to these workers to become "fishers of men" (1:17). This metaphor, despite the grand old tradition of missionary interpretation, does not refer to the "saving of souls," as if Jesus were conferring upon these men instant evangelist status. Rather, the image is carefully chosen from Jeremiah 16:16, where it is used as a symbol of Yahweh's censure of Israel. Elsewhere the "hooking of fish" is a euphemism for judgment upon the rich (Amos 4:2) and powerful (Ezekiel 29:4). Taking this mandate for his own, Jesus is inviting common folk to join him in his struggle to overturn the existing order of power and privilege.

. . . The point here is that following Jesus requires not just assent of the heart, but a fundamental reordering of socio-economic relationships. The first step in dismantling the dominant social order is to overturn the "world" of the disciple: in the kingdom, the personal and the political are one. . . This is not a call "out" of the world, but into an alternative social practice.

— Ched Myers, “Binding the Strong Man”

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RUINING DINNER KICKS OFF 2024
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A Paid Subscriber invitation:

Tripp Fuller of Homebrewed Christianity and I are back at it with our quirky, cross-generational, spontaneous, unplanned, slightly irreverent, theologically-opinionated takes on the faith dimensions of politics and the news. You can expect a lot of conversation this year on Christian nationalism, authoritarianism, and the elections.

We usually “ruin dinner” with our religion and politics discussion (everything mom told you not to discuss) — but sometimes we ruin lunch, too! This may or may not be your thing — there’s no requirement to be there if religion and politics is just too hard for you to take. (And don’t fret about FOMO — there’s lots of great non-religion and politics content at The Cottage.)

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If you’ve ever wondered how the paid version of The Cottage differs from the free one, here’s a small preview. Among other special subscriber offerings, we hold an online conversation every month with an author who writes about faith, ethics, and spirituality. Our guest this week was Rabbi Sharon Brous talking about her new book, The Amen Effect: Ancient Wisdom to Mend Our Broken Hearts and World.

In this excerpt from the longer interview, Sharon shared a rabbinic take on Sodom and the traditional story of Lot’s daughter, Plotit. This was new to me!

Make sure to check out her book. You can also read this piece she wrote this week in The New York Times.

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