Church of the Incarnation

During the reign of King Uzziah in Judah, worship had changed. The temple had once been full of worshipers offering sacrifices in great numbers. But Uzziah was more interested in building up the military and waging successful wars, so the people's attention had been drawn away from the temple. Worship had become an empty obligation, with the people going through the motions but only half-heartedly, and without having any real experience of God's presence.

It's in the last year of Uzziah's reign, around 740 BCE, that Isaiah enters the temple with all the other perfunctory worshipers. And imagine his surprise when there in the cold, dry temple, of all places he actually experiences God's presence! He describes a vision of God himself enthroned in extravagant and magnificent majesty, so massive that just the hem of his garment fills the entire temple building. Incense, the fragrance which covers our sinful stench and make us pleasing to God's nostrils, exudes from every corner of the temple. God is surrounded by seraphim, six-winged attendants, whose only task is to praise God. They sing that God is holy, or set apart, completely different from us. They proclaim that God, whose presence has so rarely been felt in the temple recently, fills the entire world with his glory. In that moment, Isaiah knows he's face to - well, feet - but definitely standing before the living God, powerful and glorious and very real.

I'm betting we've all had an experience like Isaiah's, a time when we knew we were seeing God himself - maybe in worship, but maybe in the vast power of the ocean of the towering majesty of the mountains. Or maybe in the face of a person so kind and gentle that he stopped us in our hurried path and made us take notice.

The fishermen had such an experience. Peter, James, and John were career fishermen. They worked at night, when the cooler air brought the fish out of hiding and made them easier to catch. They were unaccustomed to dealing with people, spending their days asleep and their nights in silent labor. It's just after daybreak, and they're finishing a long night of frustrated work. They've gone to all the best spots on the lake, and used the best bait they have, but have caught nothing. Not even one fish to have for breakfast. They're exhausted and furious, ready to wash the nets and hit the sack.

But along comes this hot young rabbi, the son of a carpenter, with the crowds following him, begging him to teach them. And while the fishermen are in the water washing the nets, he just gets into their boat like he's going to row off in it. Peter grabs his nets and runs over to the boat, and Jesus says, "Row me out a little ways, would you?" And since the rabbi's not leaving the boat, Peter does as he asks.

From his spot on the lake, Jesus teaches the crowds, while Peter struggles to keep his eyes open, gripping the oars. When he's finished teaching, and the crowds have begun to leave in little groups, excitedly discussing what they've heard, Jesus turns to Peter, just nodding awake in the boat beside him. Clearly Peter has been unmoved by Jesus' words. So Jesus says to the exhausted fisherman, "Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch." Now Peter knows this makes no sense. You can't catch fish during the heat of the day - they hide in the bottom of the lake where it's cool. You can't get your nets down to where they are. That's why they fish at night, when the fish come up to the surface. Even casual fishermen know this. But something about Jesus makes Peter agree. He rows out into the deep water, takes the nets he just finished cleaning and tosses them back into the water, and waits. He's probably wondering how long they'll have to wait until the rabbi will be satisfied and they can row back to shore so Peter can go home. But Peter starts to feel the nets getting heavy in his hands, and pulsing they way they do when they fill with struggling fish. With a sheepish glance toward the rabbi, Peter starts pulling in the nets, so full of fish that they fill his small boat and start to spill back into the water. He waves his arms and shouts to James and John on the shore, who grab their nets and row out to help haul in this miraculous catch of fish.

When all the fish are finally in the boats, and the fishermen have laughed and high-fived and chucked each other on the shoulders, Peter finally turn to the rabbi and says a fascinating thing: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man." It's a lot like what Isaiah said to God in the temple, "Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips." Neither feels worthy to be in God's presence. When facing God's miraculous majesty, both become acutely aware of their own sinfulness. And on the one hand, they're right: God is God, and they're clearly much less than God. But on the other hand, God has come to them, reaching out to them in the way each of them would best understand, meeting them right where they are and beckoning them closer. If they continue looking at the floor and wallowing in their unworthiness, they may miss the opportunity of this encounter.

None of us truly deserves the good things that come our way - the job opportunities, the wonderful friends and family, the random acts of kindness done for us. But that's the way God works. God sees us as we are and knows our unworthiness and loves us still. God gives to us not because we deserve it but because God loves us. And if we keep our eyes on the floor of the boat, mired in self-loathing, we'll miss the love in Jesus' eyes as he reaches out his hand to us and says, as he did to Peter, "Don't be afraid."

God comes to us - in splendid visions in the temple and in miraculous catches of fish, in the beauty of a snowflake and the warmth of a loving glance. God knows we don't deserve it, and still God comes. Don't be afraid.

Amen.