Fr. Sean’s Trinity V Sermon
- 5 days ago
- 7 min read

For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken.
In the Gospel for this morning, we read the famous and profound narrative of the multiplication of fishes. We pick up the story in Luke 5, which is actually quite early in the Gospel--this is Luke's account of the calling of the Apostles. Already, Jesus is known as a great teacher, as Luke adds: "it came to pass, that, as the people pressed upon him to hear the word of God, he stood by the lake of Gennesaret." Jesus had performed a few miracles but not the public miracles that come later. In Luke 4, the previous chapter, after the temptation in the wilderness, Jesus goes around teaching in synagogues with great authority, he casts out demons and heals Simon Peter's mother-in-law. This is an important detail, for Luke is showing us that Jesus had previously met Simon before he calls him to use his ship. Now the crowds are following him enmasse, to the point that he needs to enter into an empty fishing boat in order to teach all the people on the shore. When he was done teaching, he turns his attention to this small group of fisherman whom it seems he has been staying with. Then “he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.” Indeed, Jesus is now taking Simon into the deep, meaning the deepest parts of reality, opening up to this disciple the revelation of his own person. Remember, though, that Simon has already witnessed Jesus heal his mother-in-law. What is about to happen is something even more profound.
And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net. Simon starts by trying to show Jesus the reality in which he lives – the empirical reality that lacks the vision of the whole. But Simon obeys, and through his obedience, Jesus opens the curtain, as it were, to a fuller vision of reality.
And when they had this done, they enclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake. And they beckoned unto their partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink.
The marvel, of course, is not that Jesus is the best fish spotter this world has ever seen--no, but that he created, ex nihilo, this weight of fish to fill their nets. Luke even used a great play on words to hint at this: Simon had responded to Jesus' request by saying “at thy word I will let down the net.” Yes, it is Jesus’ word Simon obeys for by that Word all of creation came into being. At His word every fish that had ever existed was created, every bit of the oceans and seas were created and sustained by the word of this divine man who stood in his boat. This same action of creation is what the second person of the Trinity, the Word, the Son of God has always done. “[Jhn 1:1-3 KJV] 1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 The same was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.” Perhaps it would be better, if we were trying to have precise definitions, to say that this was not a miracle. A miracle, by definition, is an event that surpasses or works against the natural course of the world. For instance, Simon's mother-in-law was sick and the natural course of that sickness was to wait until her body healed with assistance of medicine and time, or her body would succumb to the sickness. Jesus' healing was a miracle because as soon as he touched her, her sickness left her and that surpassed any natural outcome.
Now, I am quite sure that Simon was amazed by that miracle. And I imagine, or at least hope, that he was thankful Jesus had healed her. I don't want to presume. But what Luke definitely does not record is that the miracle changed Simon like the catch of fishes. No, the overloaded net changed everything. Again, I don't want to presume, but I think this is because Simon finally saw Jesus not as a great miracle worker, but now as Creator. What a glimpse of reality that must of been! Simon knew Torah, he knew the majesty of YWH and the weight of glory. And now before him was the light of the world, like the fire on Sinai or the fire that descended on the temple–Almighty God in the form of man, was standing in front of him.
8 When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord. 9 For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken: 10 And so was also James, and John, the sons of Zebedee, which were partners with Simon. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not; from henceforth thou shalt catch men. 11 And when they had brought their ships to land, they forsook all, and followed him.
Simon Peter’s life was changed by the revelation in this event, and now his whole life altered for he saw reality in a new light of surprise and wonder which was so powerful that it was painful, overwhelming. Simon Peter did not feel that he could even be in the presence of such a reality, but Jesus does not reject Peter in this moment, but sends him on an adventure to illuminate the world with this true vision of reality.
I submit to you that each and everyone of us has had a similar experience to Peter when we have encountered something so beautiful that we feel taken aback, almost pierced by the vision in front of us. The sight can be something in nature, or the face of a lover, or an act of love itself – no matter what it is , it creates a sense of numinous awe that moves us beyond ourselves. It is not always pleasant –meaning that sometimes it feels as if it wounds us. This encounter with beauty or truth or goodness opens us to the true vision of reality where God is not separate from his creation, but as Creator, all creation lives and moves and has is being. As humans, while this experience can be almost overwhelming, this is our natural end.
It is not a miracle that we can experience God like this. In fact, it is how we are created. We are the only creatures whose telos is not purely natural. Our end is naturally supernatural. What that means is God has designed us, prepared us, made us to live fully (reach our telos) only when we are unified to Him. In fact, we can see this by just examining our experiences, which more often than not call us to more. The experience of beauty seizes us, catches our attention, but our attention does not and cannot use up all the beauty that we see! These experiences move us as if we yearn to move beyond ourselves, not to conquer the beauty that we behold but to live in the mystery if possible. This is the life of humility that opens our eyes to see reality as God sees it. To behold all creatures as his creation, and to see ourselves in light of our creatureliness. As with Simon, this can be overwhelming, and the gift of life itself, the fact that creation exists at all, can be painful when we accept it.
It also means that we are called to a life beyond what our world accepts as natural: to live and acquire and spend in order to obtain as much pleasure as possible before we die. The Gospel reveals that we are called, as humans, to live in a divine way. Our fullness is achieved as we live like God--giving ourselves in love. St. Peter in his Epistle for this morning expresses this in a moral vision which might seem impossible to attain. "DEARLY beloved: be ye all of one mind, having compassion one of another, love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous: 9 Not rendering evil for evil, or railing for railing: but contrariwise blessing; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a blessing. 10 For he that will love life, and see good days, let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips that they speak no guile: 11 Let him eschew evil, and do good; let him seek peace, and ensue it.”
Such a life seems so opposite to our culture today. In fact, it might even seem impossible to live out, and in some sense, it is impossible if we were to receive no help from God Almighty. But God has ordered us to receive his grace, which is his own life, into our hearts in order to live like him.
I want to conclude with one more example of this from our own church: our icons, which are graphic reminders of the reality in which we live. When people first see icons, the portrayal of the saints or an episode in the life of Jesus catches them. Something is different, almost 'off.' Because it seems that the normal way of looking at things has been changed, no longer like what we expect. This is done purposefully. Instead of a natural aspect, in iconography, the object gets larger, the farther away it is. The proportions are not what we might see empirically but follow a symbolic language.
In the icons of saint, we see human beings washed in gold, which symbolizes the glory of God. We are witnessing the true reality that our human flesh can be divinised and infused with divine love, just like St. Elizabeth's own life. Her husband, Duke Serge, was assassinated by a Bolshevik revolutionary, an avowed atheist, who set off an explosive device in the Duke’s carriage. The explosion was so large that it shattered the windows in the nearby buildings. The assassin was caught and imprisoned, and a week before his execution, St. Elizabeth entered his prison cell. She offered him forgiveness even though he said again that he did regret his decision. And upon leaving, she left a small icon in his cell and continued to pray for his own soul. This type of love is divine.
It is what St. Peter mentions at the end of the Epistle today: "if ye suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are ye: and be not afraid of their terror, neither be troubled; 15 But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts:"
We might say, this is a miracle! But in reality, it is our naturally supernatural end. Let us receive his grace into our own life and conform our wills to his so that we might live in his kingdom now, humbled by his work for us.
For he was astonished, and all that were with him, at the draught of the fishes which they had taken.


