Cat Goodrich
Faith Presbyterian Church, Baltimore, MD
February 9, 2025
Wild Geese
Luke 5:1-11
Many mornings, I take my dog Cocoa for a walk through our neighborhood – and a couple of times over the past few weeks, I have been utterly astonished to hear the honking of geese, passing far overhead. Each time it’s been enough to make me stop in my tracks, and crane my neck up to the sky, searching until I see them. I don’t know where they’re going, if I’m honest – back North, in classic V-formation? I’m less familiar with the migratory patterns of birds than I’d like to be. I can only watch, open-mouthed, with awe – as their powerful wings carry them across the sky, and I can hear them calling out to each other- harsh and exciting, as Mary Oliver says. Free.
I would think nothing of it, usually. Just another ordinary astonishment, like the sheet of ice that covered my car this morning. The frosty, frozen tips of the cedar branches towering over my backyard. The fresh eggs my hens have begun to lay again – the best harbinger of spring, and part of the everyday beauty of life on this incredible planet. Ordinarily I would take a breath, and move on, but these past two weeks…
These past two weeks I have been gripped by what I have come to realize is grief. And, fury. Righteous indignation. And sadly, a sense of inadequacy, bewilderment. What can we do to respond to what is playing out around us?
The echo of those geese in the grey February sky reminds me that in Celtic Christianity, the holy spirit is depicted not as a dove, but as a goose. A wild goose. Who flies where she will. Who cannot be tamed. Who cannot or will not be controlled. Whose loud cries cut across the wide expanse of the sky, making you raise your head and look in wonder.
The flocks of geese are a sign of the changing seasons, sure. But I can’t help but wonder if they’re also a sign of something more. Is the Spirit at work? Because I sure could use a miracle. Couldn’t you? A miracle that allows lifesaving research to continue. A miracle, to save the lives of people suffering from AIDS in Kenya. A miracle to rebuild Gaza in a way that gives life and autonomy and dignity to the Palestinian people, while also respecting the rights and sovereignty of Israel. It is past time for a miracle.
Do you think Simon Peter, James and John were waiting for a miracle? They didn’t ask for it. They didn’t seem to expect it. They were exhausted, worn out from a long night on the water, with nothing to show for their labor. Hungry. Mending their shabby nets, so they could head home. They were finishing up the night shift, they weren’t there to see Jesus at all –but there he was, the crowd of people pressing in like always, gathered in the morning light, eager to see him, longing for the stories he told and the power he offered.
Can’t you see him, calling to them, and nodding to the boat to ask if he might teach from there? Many sanctuaries are built in the style of an upside down boat, and a sign of the early church was a boat on storm tossed seas. A little community of the faithful, staying afloat.
Simon Peter can see that the crowd won’t leave until Jesus teaches and so SImon pushes his boat back into the water, and rows out a bit – listening as Jesus talks about the reign of God – where the lowly are uplifted, the hungry fed, and the sick healed, and those in need of mercy find it. When he finishes, Jesus turns not towards the shore but out, to the middle of the lake. Maybe it was a nice day, and he wanted to be out on the water. Maybe he just needed to give the crowd a chance to disperse. Whatever the reason, Peter puts up the sail, and out they go – out into the deep water. I don’t know if you’ve ever been out on the open ocean, but out over the deep, it’s unsettling. No matter the experience of the captain – a boat is at the mercy of the elements, the wind, the waves, the water.
Peter wasn’t scared, he was a fisherman, used to the water. But he was skeptical, surely – after all, the fish weren’t biting. They’d been out all night and caught nothing. Willing to humor his friend, he casts the nets again, out into the water – dark and deep.
Suddenly, it seems, the sea is roiling with fish. Splashing and flashing silver as the nets pull up their catch. More than the boat can haul, so many the nets are breaking! So many it threatens to flood the boat, pulling them under. They signal to shore, they call out, their voices echoing across the water – help! Come and help us! Fish! So James and John come, they bring the other boat, and help haul the fish back to shore.
These men, they weren’t expecting a miracle. But the miracle finds them anyway – and it’s disruptive! God’s abundance swamps their boats, it breaks their nets, it threatens their livelihood – it’s impossible to ignore. They can’t control it, cannot tame it, the Spirit shows up in the person of Jesus and calls them, harsh and exciting, to something new. They can’t continue life as usual, their nets are broken!
Simon is awe-struck by the catch, surely, but he’s also terrified. Fearful for Jesus, because what would the authorities do to him when they knew what he could do? Afraid for himself, too, because surely Jesus is touched by God, and Simon was unclean – not fit for his presence.
But Jesus doesn’t see that. Jesus looks at him, and sees not an unclean fisherman, but someone worthy of the work. A partner. He sees Peter’s willing hands, his open heart. And he calls him to discipleship. Peter’s nets are broken, his boat threatening to sink, so Jesus gives him a new job: to fish for people. A new purpose.
We watched the Wild Robot a few weeks ago, a book or movie I commend to you if you’re not familiar with it. At the beginning of the book, a helper robot crashes onto a remote island. Programmed to assist humans with every aspect of daily life, the helper robot is at a loss stranded on an island. She is determined to return to the factory because she does not have a task on the island, until an accident leads her to possess and care for an egg. When the egg hatches, and a gosling emerges, it imprints on the robot: the robot becomes its mother. The little goose gives the robot its task, a purpose in the wilderness. Care for the goose. Help it find food. Teach it to fly. Nevermind that the robot is not programmed for these tasks. It must learn the ways of the wild geese. It’s a wonderful story.
Friends, we are out on the deep water right now. I won’t lie: these are scary times. The daily news highlights an onslaught of cruelty: the defunding of lifesaving research. The imposition of a false binary and denial of trans rights. The dismantling of peace and international development programs worldwide. The list goes on and on. One question we need to be asking amidst the onslaught is – what is our work to do? What gifts and skills can we offer to mitigate harm to our friends and neighbors? Where are people experiencing pain of loss- job loss, of loss of legal status, of loss of funding, lost faith, and how can we lift up their stories for the wider work of healing, and liberation? How can we care for one another, feed the hungry, and learn the skills we need to survive in a new landscape? Yes, it’s overwhelming. Yes, like peter, we feel inadequate to the task at hand. But. if we raise our heads to the grey February sky, we just might hear the cries of the wild geese, harsh and exciting. When we least expect it, when we are weary and exhausted and have given up hope – that is when the miracle might find us. Listen – the Spirit is calling us still. May we have the courage to answer.