Fishers of Men - Sarah Curl

As I sat at my desk on Friday morning, writing this sermon, I found myself feeling really tired. My desk, once neat and organized, was now surrounded by post-it notes, each a reminder of things I ned to do. It’s strange how clutter seems to take over, despite our best efforts to stay organized. I’ve always disliked being surrounded by papers, yet despite my attempts to go paperless, I’ve failed. The reminders pile up, and my desk becomes a visual representation of all the tasks I still need to tackle.

On top of that, I’ve been trying to transition to using an Apple Mac laptop. Let me tell you, it’s been a challenge. Everything seems to take longer than it should, and every email requires a response that I can’t just ignore. My diary is packed with appointments, and there never seems to be enough time to catch up. I’m sure many of you can relate to the feeling of being overwhelmed with tasks, emails, and endless reminders.

In the midst of this chaos, I read the gospel passage we just heard, and I couldn’t help but resonate with Simon, the fisherman. Simon had spent the entire night working and fishing, and by morning, he was exhausted. After a long night of unsuccessful fishing, he now had to wash his nets. These nets were heavy and crucial for the next time he went out to sea. But the task of washing them was physically draining, especially after a sleepless night. And on top of that, Simon had nothing to show for his efforts. After all that work, there was no catch. I can imagine that Simon just wanted to go home, climb into bed and sleep.

But then, Jesus asked him to take the boat out again. Simon could have said no. He could have refused, deciding that there was no point in trying again. After all, what was the point? He was tired, disappointed, and felt like he had nothing left to give. But Simon didn’t say no. He agreed, likely in part because he knew who Jesus was. Jesus had already been to Simon’s house in Capernaum and had healed his mother-in-law. So, despite his exhaustion, Simon took Jesus out in the boat.

And then, something incredible happened. They caught so many fish that their nets began to break, and their boats started to sink. Jesus had surprised Simon. In that moment, Simon realized that this wasn’t just any ordinary catch—it was a miracle. Overcome with awe and perhaps a little guilt, Simon fell to his knees. “Go away from me, Lord,” he said, “for I am a sinful man.” He recognized his own imperfections, his own unworthiness, in comparison to Jesus’ power.

And don’t we all know that feeling of being unworthy? I know I do. I remember when my daughter Meg was little, we had a book called "Nancy No Size." The story is about a little five year old black British girl who felt like she didn’t fit into any category. She was the middle child in her family and felt neither big nor small, neither tall nor short, she wasn’t fair skinned like her baby brother or dark like her sister, she was always too much of something or too little of something else, she felt thoroughly in-between, and grumpy and fed up like we all do at times whether we are 5, 25, 55 or 95 She wasn’t anyone special—she was “ Nancy No Size.”

I can relate to Nancy in that story. There was a time when I felt exactly like her—insignificant, unworthy. Years ago, I felt a powerful call to serve God in ordained ministry. But with that call came an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. I didn’t feel special enough. Why would God call someone like me? I was just Sarah, Sarah no size. Just an ordinary person.

I remember one particularly emotional moment at Wells Cathedral when I was really struggling with this call. I was battling low self-confidence and the feeling that I wasn’t good enough. I felt so burdened by the idea that God wanted me to serve, but I didn’t think I was capable. I was worried that people would think I was too full of myself or that the negativity I held about myself was how others saw me. As I sat there in the cathedral, surrounded by tourists snapping pictures, I cried. But then, I looked up at the figure of Jesus on the cross, so small compared to the vastness of the building. And in that moment, I realized that Jesus understood. He understood my tears, my doubts, my imperfections. I felt as if He was collecting my tears, holding my brokenness in His pierced hands.

It was in that moment that I remembered that God calls imperfect people. He calls the weak, the broken, and the small—just like David was called to defeat Goliath. We live in a world where giants—those who are powerful, confident, and fierce—seem to dominate. But most of us are like David, small and overlooked, with nothing special to offer. And yet, we are still called.

Returning to Simon, despite being exhausted after a long night of unsuccessful fishing, Simon agreed to take Jesus out on the boat. He probably didn’t believe they would catch anything, but he obeyed. And when the catch was so great that the nets began to break and the boats began to sink, Simon Peter realized that he had just witnessed a miracle. But it wasn’t just about the fish. It was about Jesus, and in that moment, Simon was overwhelmed by His presence. Immediately, Simon recognized his own sinfulness.

In that moment, Simon’s response was to fall to his knees and say, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” He recognized the vast difference between his own imperfection and the holiness of Jesus. He felt unworthy. And yet, Jesus did not turn away from him. Instead, Jesus responded simply: “Do not be afraid.” Jesus then called Simon to follow Him, to leave behind his fishing nets and become a fisher of people.

Here, we learn something profound about God’s call. God calls imperfect people—just like Simon, just like you, just like me. We don’t have to be perfect to be called. We don’t have to have it all together. In fact, we are often called because of our imperfections, not in spite of them.

When I think about my own journey of faith, I see that God doesn’t wait for us to be perfect. He doesn’t expect us to have all the answers. He calls us just as we are—imperfect, flawed, and human. But the good news is that God doesn’t leave us in our imperfection. He takes us, as we are, and transforms us into something new, something greater. Jesus took Simon and his fellow fishermen—James and John—and called them to be fishers of men. But this wasn’t just about catching fish. It was about bringing people to life, calling them into a new way of being, a new mission of salvation for all.

What does this mean for us today? It means that our vocation as followers of Jesus isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being willing—even when we’re tired, even when we feel unworthy. It’s about being available to share Christ’s love with others, to give time, resources, compassion, and care. It’s about standing up for the powerless, being an advocate for those who are overlooked, just like Jesus did.

This story also reminds us of God’s provision. Throughout the New Testament, we see examples of God providing abundantly—whether in the feeding of the 5,000, the healing of the sick, or the forgiveness of sins. God’s provision isn’t just about meeting our physical needs—it’s about giving us life. It’s about pouring out His grace and mercy on all people, regardless of their status or worthiness.

And that’s what Jesus calls Simon, James, and John to do: to share that grace, that life, with others. Jesus doesn’t want them just to catch fish. He wants them to catch people—catch them alive, and bring them into God’s life-giving mission.

In the end, the story calls us to trust that God will act. We may be tired, we may feel unworthy, but God still calls us to share His love with others. He calls us to be like Jesus—gentle, kind, compassionate, an advocate for the weak and the vulnerable. And as we respond to that call, we find that, just like Simon, our lives are completely reoriented.

So, when we feel tired, when we feel unworthy, when we feel like we have nothing left to give—remember that God still calls us. He calls us to be fishers of men, to be agents of His love and grace in this world. And we don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be willing.