Lord of the Dance

Text: Luke 5:1-11 February 4, 2007

“They left everything.” That’s what Luke says. In the Gospel of Mark, from which Luke borrows freely, it says “immediately they left their nets and followed him.” It amounts to the same thing. Immediate and total change of life in a single instant. Simon (we know him better as Peter, after Jesus renames him)—Peter and James and John leave behind all that they had and all that they had thought they hoped for. In a single moment, and everything at once.

How are we to take this selection from Luke? Some see it as just an interesting story about how Jesus recruited his first disciples. Not everything in the Bible means something other than what it seems. We learn that they were common folk, not fancy or rich. We meet Peter, who is so impulsive throughout the Gospels. We learn that Jesus intended from the start to conduct his ministry in a team, rather than as a sole practitioner.

And some see it as an allegory, where one thing stands for something else. The disciples stand for us. Or the sea stands for the world and the fish stand for us. Or the fish stand for potential Christian converts. Or, as one scholar wrote, the net stands for us, though I’m not sure I understand that one.

But I see this passage more as a parable, a parable told in the actions of Jesus rather than in his words. As in a parable, unlikely things happen. Jesus, a carpenter, instructs Simon, a fisher, how to fish. They go out in the day, when the fish normally avoid the nets. The results are surprising and outlandish. And, like all parables, this one is less about us and more about the way God behaves.

In this story in Luke, it is as if Jesus and Simon Peter dance with each other. They are partners in one event, the calling of disciples for the ongoing ministry of Jesus. But Jesus is not the choreographer and Peter the dancer. Nor is Jesus the recruiter and Peter the job applicant. Nor is, yet, Jesus the leader and Peter the follower. That hasn’t happened yet, but it is happening right in front of our eyes.

If on the one hand we watch just Jesus dance, we see him make a suggestion about getting in the boat and trying to fish some more. We see him, somehow, provide an abundant catch of fish, too many for the nets to hold. Really, fish without end. And more than Peter by himself can handle. And we see Jesus forgive Peter, or at least we infer that he does so. And finally, we see Jesus tell Peter and his buddies: first, that they do not have to be afraid and second, that their lives have just been transformed.

If on the other hand we watch just Peter dance, we see him complain to Jesus about going out in the boat again. After all, it is daytime, and no one catches fish in the daytime. But in spite of that, we see Peter do what Jesus says. Some say this is a sign of Peter’s obedience, but that’s not quite the right word. Peter is enthusiastic. Peter is ready to try anything, no matter how crazy and weird it seems. He, the fisherman, is fishable. Then we see Peter catch a lot of fish, calling his partners for help. They do help, after which Peter falls to his knees, begs forgiveness, and tells Jesus to get out of town (the words mean “leave the neighborhood”). And finally, Peter leaves everything and follows Jesus.

To tell the story this way makes no sense. It is silly. It makes no sense because the point of the story is the give and take between Jesus and Peter. This give and take are not part of every Gospel story. The same story in Mark goes like this: Jesus said, “follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” And they did. That’s it. That’s the whole episode in Mark. But not in Luke.

In improvisational theater, I’m told, there is a paradigm called “offer and accept.” One of the actors creates an opening, an opportunity. “Wait, look out there. I think that’s my daughter in the car,” the actor might say. That’s the offer. One of the other actors then, if all goes right, steps into the opening and furthers the action. “Sure is, and it looks like she’s got an elephant in the back seat.” That’s an accept. If the second actor had just said “Yep, that’s your daughter,” that would not be an accept. That would stop the action, putting the responsibility back on the first actor.

It is like a dance, each person alternately offering and accepting, creating futures and walking into them. One dancer leads by creating a space into which the other moves.

The dance between Jesus and Peter in this story is a series of offers and accepts. Jesus proposes a boat ride, Peter accepts. Jesus suggests some more fishing. Peter complains at first, then agrees. Peter catches too many fish. Peter begs forgiveness. Jesus forgives him. Jesus tells Peter he has a new job. Peter leaves everything behind and follows Jesus. Ballroom dancing. Step step, side, together. It is the pattern of the life Jesus shares with Peter.

And more often than not, it is the pattern that Jesus shares with us.

It would be easier, for those of us who would like to know God and follow Jesus, if Jesus would just capture us—the word in the Gospel for catch people really means to snag—if Jesus would just snag us as he did Paul on the road to Damascus.

But not many of us feel called so strongly and so suddenly by Jesus that we leave all we have and follow him. Our lives do not usually conform to Mark’s story—Come follow me. Ok, will do, Jesus. Maybe that is the way it works for some. For most others, we meet Jesus in a kind of dance like the one performed by Peter and Jesus. Jesus suggests something. We try it, or we don’t. Something happens. Or doesn’t. We complain, and then like Peter we do what Jesus tells us anyway. We take a step. Jesus takes a step. We step back, Jesus steps forward. Jesus proposes something wild. Too fancy a step for us, we demure. For the time being, anyway.

And for some, we’re in the dance hall standing around watching the others dance, thinking maybe we’ll try it out sometime. But not now. It looks fun, but embarrassing.

Dance is a way of communication. And also an exercise in solidarity, patience, trust, and joy. And it is also a means of seduction. It seems that we are less often commanded to follow Jesus than we are seduced to follow him. Divine seduction is a kind of grace.

They left everything, says Luke. In a instant, says Mark. It appeals to us, this sudden break with the past. It is sentimental, in a James Dean sort of way. Rebellious and outrageous. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus shocks his listeners by asking them to put him, to put God, before other things they hold dear. If we are to follow Jesus, he says, there can be nothing that we are not willing to set aside.

Yet for most of us, we hesitate, thinking about the people were leaving behind—what about poor Zebedee, the father of James and John, who in Mark is left to run the fishing business by himself? Thinking about our families, our jobs, our aspirations and plans, our obligations to others. It is a constant awkward negotiation.

It would be wonderful to be swept off our feet by God. But more often we are gently guided, like a dance partner, learning to trust God and to feel trustworthy ourselves. In calling Peter and James and John, Jesus never says “follow me.” He just steps out onto the floor, puts out his arms. “Do not be afraid,” he says. Just dance.