Bombing the Good Shepherd

Bombing the Good Shepherd
Reflections on
Isaiah 6:1-8 (9-13), Psalm 138, 1 Cor. 1215:1-11, Luke 5:1-11
Holy Trinity/La Santisima Trinidad 2/7/10

This past Friday and Saturday I was sent on a retreat for ministers in multicultural settings. Fr. Javier, myself and twenty other bay area ministers went to a set of beautiful cabins in the Santa Cruz mountains to rest and reflect.

The first thing I did when I arrived was to walk around the beautiful grounds and just inhale the woodsy air. After a while I discovered a lovely and rather large lake, ringed with think rushes and with a stand of pines on one side. I realized that I had about an hour before dinner, and so I just sat and watched the lake as the sun set. After a while the wind picked up, it started to get cold, and ripples began to appear on the water. The trees were reflected black in the water
And their outline was visible in the slowly dimming sky. I realized that the whole lake would be the black of those trees after the sun set.

At dinner I heard that this was a great place for catching all kinds of fish, and although I had not brought a line and a pole, I went back to look at the lake, after dark, while an almost deafening soundtrack of frogs filled the air. As I shone my flashlight before me and crashed through some undergrowth, three deer sprang past me. I approached the pitch-black lake and a sudden terror arose in the pit of my stomach. The reality of the fearfulness and the wildness of a lake in the black of night crept up on me with unexpected strength.

The disciples in our story of today were out in that kind of blackness all night- struggling to bring home the thing that kept their families alive- the thing that kept their communities alive. Jesus must have come to them at dawn, after a whole desperate night of struggle to bring life out of that pitch-black lake.

At the time of our story in the Gospel of Luke, Peter hasn’t been called yet. But he knows Jesus enough to do what he says even when it makes absolutely no sense- even when his experience as a fisherman tells him just the opposite. And so once again, against all odds, they cast their nets. And doing the impossible, the unlikely, even the ridiculous yielded astonishing results- results so astonishing that Peter was propelled into a spasm of unworthiness. But Jesus, as he has so often before, tells him, “Do not be afraid.”

This story led me to wonder, for what do we cast our nets? What unlikely, seemingly impossible thing? What are we called to do for the very life of our community? Since I have come to Holy Trinity/La Santisima Trinidad, and now Good Shepherd, Berkeley, it seems that we are all called to cast out our nets in an effort at community that knows no bounds of culture and country of origin. I feel as unsure of myself in this calling as Peter OR Isaiah- an unlikely choice, I think- I can’t speak Spanish, I am easily afraid, and timid when I encounter strange fish.

And yet I was called as surely as we are all called in this church. And I have seen impressive catches sometimes in our efforts. The first thing I did at this church was to participate in a grand service of reception, confirmation and baptism, where the yield was incredible. There were 168 people there, and the net did not break. There were 15 receptions (some of them spontaneous) five confirmations (one of them spontaneous) and one baptism. The bishop was gay, the Latino, and Anglo parishioners were enthusiastic in their pews and the Holy Spirit was everywhere. We had similarly lovely experiences at the wonderful posada Christmas service at Julia Mcray-Goldsmith’s home, and the beautiful Epiphany service at Deacon Kate’s, where the children brought the three kings to the altar, and 8 yr old Lionel found the baby in the Epiphany cake. Two Sundays ago I netted 13 of the best-behaved children, ages 3-9 that I have ever told a Godly Play story to in 12 years. And I have been very impressed by the respect and clear communication at our bi-lingual bishops committee meetings.

Sometimes we have struggled- sometimes the net has not been so full. But all in all, we have had a wonderful yield, however discombobulated we fisher people have sometimes felt.

But this past week at our new sister church, Good Shepherd, we experienced something akin to our nets being hauled in not only empty, but sliced to ribbons.

On Monday morning, as four day laborers sat on the steps of Good Shepherd church, seeking work and waiting for another car to come by, a 40ish while male drove by and threw a bottle at them. The bottle turned out to be a home-made bomb. Literally by the grace of God (La gracia de Dios), when the bomb exploded it propelled itself away from the workers- all the way across the street. I heard about this as I was checking my e-mail at the airport, coming home from Georgia. I was shocked by the news- that a group of peaceful people, sitting on the steps of a church could be attacked like this.

I met with Father Rigo, the head of the Multicultural Institute, which partners with Good Shepherd in their ministry to the largely Guatemalan day laborers.
He was surprisingly unruffled by what had happened. It turned out that there had often been cars full of men yelling racial slurs at the laborers, or threatening them. To the workers, to anyone from a war-torn country, this did not seem like much- imagine what they went through just to get to this country.

We decided to have a quiet service, right in front of the church where the bomb was thrown, to bless and show support to the day laborers and to bless and reclaim the ground. I had no idea what it would be like, or who would show up, or how they would receive a new, female, Anglo priest. It looked like rain, and I was afraid of more than rain.

But we cast out our nets anyway. Under sunny skies, about a hundred Guatemalans, three Franciscans one Buddhist and a Jewish woman from the multicultural institute joined us on this past Friday morning. Fr. Javier joined us as well and Fr. Rigo and myself conducted a short service of blessing and support for the workers, who then filed into the parish hall for their weekly lunch. We all gathered under that blue sky to follow the words that Jesus spoke so many times- be not afraid.

Miracles happen when people have the faith to keep casting out their nets. Miracles happen when we refuse to be afraid of dark water, threatening skies, even entrenched hatred. Miracles occur in the hearts of people who, even when exhausted, even when they have exhausted every possibility, go forth without fear and cast their nets again.

Amen.