Sunday, April 14, 2013

Go Fish! Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter, Year C, April 14, 2013


          When I was a kid my Grandma Gallo taught me a card game called “Go Fish.”  You may be familiar with it; it’s a simple game where each player is dealt 5 cards and you take turns asking the other players for a card that matches one in your hand.  The object is to collect the most matches.  If your opponent has the card you ask for, she gives it to you.  If she doesn't have it she says, “Go Fish,” and you have to pick up another card from the deck.  If you’re lucky, you pick up a matching card and get another turn.  “Go Fish” takes on a completely different meaning in today’s Gospel, and luck has nothing to do with it.

          Today’s Gospel presents an unusual scene.  Following the miracle of the empty tomb and after the resurrected Jesus appeared to the Apostles twice out of nowhere, walking through walls and disappearing in an instant, the Apostles decide to go fishing.  Somehow that doesn't seem like an appropriate response to me.  But we have to remember that John’s Gospel is highly symbolic, and “[b]y the time this Gospel was written, the use of the image of fishing for the pastoral ministry of the Church was common.”[1]  So symbolically, we find the Apostles trying to fulfill Jesus’ promise that he would make them fishers of men.  But without Jesus, they didn't catch anything. 

          You see, when Jesus was with them, when they walked with him and talked with him and shared meals with him, “their hearts burned within them.”  But now he was gone, or so they thought, and they “lost that loving feeling,” as the song goes.  They lost their enthusiasm for the mission entrusted to them.  So they weren't very good fishers of men.  But as soon as they hear his voice and listen to him, they’re wildly successful and their Spirit-filled enthusiasm inspired by love returns.  “The enormous catch . . . represents the universal mission of the Church carried out by those who without Jesus can do nothing but who will be fruitful as long as they abide in him and obey him,”[2] as long as they love him.

          Jesus makes it perfectly clear that loving him is the key to the ministry of the Church.  Toward the end of the Gospel, Jesus interrogates Peter three times with the same question, “Do you love me?”  And only after he receives a positive response does Jesus charge Peter with his mission:  “Feed my lambs; tend my sheep; feed my sheep.”  Peter can’t be a successful shepherd, or a fisher of men, for that matter, if he doesn't love Jesus first.

            We’re all called to be fishers of men, just like the Apostles.  Through our common Baptism, fed by Christ in the Eucharist and sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation, we become “obliged to spread the faith by word and deed.”[3]  But we’ll be no more successful at it than the Apostles were at the beginning of the Gospel if we’re not in relationship with Christ; if we don’t love him first.   We can study the Bible and the Catechism all year, we can hear his Word and consume his Body and Blood every Sunday, but if we don’t love Jesus, we’re just going through the motions.  And we certainly won’t convince anyone to join us, we won’t catch any fish, by just going through the motions.  “Hey, do you want to just go through the motions with us this Sunday?”  That sounds kind of silly to me.  And, as the great philosopher Steven Wright once said, “There’s a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore like an idiot.” 

          In our context, that fine line is love.  If we love Jesus, if we feed his lambs and tend his sheep, we’ll experience the most gratifying life we can live.  And the joy and enthusiasm that come with being in a loving relationship with Jesus is the best bait out there.  The fish will jump right into our boat.  Just look at Pope Francis.  The Holy Father loves Jesus – no one would doubt how he’d answer Jesus’ three questions.  We all know he loves Jesus because we can see it when he washes the feet of prisoners; when he stops his car to embrace a child crippled by cerebral palsy; when he encourages every member of the Church he leads to bring Jesus to the poorest of the poor.  And guess what, Church attendance around the world has gone up since his election.  People see the joy he gets out of his ministry; they feel Christ’s love flowing right through him and they say, “I gotta get me some of that!”  Pope Francis’ success as a fisher of men doesn't come from luck; it comes from love.

          Of course, fishing can be messy business.  You have to get your hands dirty, and you may even end up smelling like fish.  But as the Spanish proverb says, “You can’t catch a trout with dry breeches.”  And I can tell you from my own experience that it’s well worth it.  When Jesus caught me hook, line and sinker, I was filled with a joy and enthusiasm that I couldn't keep in.  I had to share his love.  I had to go fishing.  Some of you may be wishing that Jesus had thrown me back, but Jesus must have thought I was a keeper.  I love my ministry because I love the one who gave it to me, and I love the people he asked me to serve.  You’re not always pretty . . . I mean ministry’s not always pretty – I've done a lot of things in ministry that I never would have imagined I would do – but the rewards are out of this world. 

          I know that this congregation is filled with people who love Jesus.  I see it all the time.  I see it especially today in the five candidates who will receive the Sacrament of Confirmation this morning.  I've been blessed with the opportunity to watch your love of Jesus grow during this past year.  You took your formation very seriously; it wasn't a game to you.  And if I can give you just two more pieces of advice for a joy-filled life, they would be:  “Love Jesus;” and then “Go Fish!”




[1] Sandra Schneiders, Written That You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel (New York, The Crossroad Publishing Company, 2003) at 226.
[2] Id.
[3] Lumen Gentium, The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (Vatican City, Libreria Vaticana, 1964) at 11.

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