My grandfather on my father’s side was named Edgar. The only person I ever heard call him "Edgar" was my grandmother, and then usually when he was in trouble. We called him "Bicki." When my oldest sister was born, he wanted his grandchildren to call him "Big Daddy." She, of course, couldn’t say that, so he went through the rest of his life known as Bicki.

Bicki was never particularly successful in life, at least not by worldly standards. He never made much money, didn’t build any empires, and just barely kept the family fed during the Great Depression. The two things that I knew he could do well were make music and fish. When he was healthy, he loved to play the piano. I have childhood memories of him playing at family gatherings. And whether he was healthy or not, he loved to fish. Like a lot of fishermen, it was a real passion with him.

And, I mean, he could catch some fish. We had a freezer in the basement that was almost always stocked with fish. I’m talking fish, now. Big, big fish. When he went fishing, he came back with whoppers.

I didn’t get the music gene, unfortunately, and I sure didn’t get the fishing gene. I only went fishing with him once. I think I was about eight. I remember looking forward to going. I didn’t know how he did it, but I thought it must be very exciting to catch these whoppers.

When we got to the lake, he took two lawn chairs out of the trunk, set them on the bank, gave me a fishing pole, threw his line in the water (it was the kind with a red and white bob on it), and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And then — he went to sleep. And when he woke up after an eternity, he sat there some more.

Now, I can barely sit still through church, and I’m a lot better now than I was when I was eight. That fishing trip was agony. I sat with him as long as I possibly could, but finally I set my pole down and got up to explore the lakeshore. I’d check on him every now and again, and he’d be — sitting there, sometimes watching his bob, sometimes dozing, always very contented. It was that day that I knew that whatever fishing gene he got, I didn’t get. When we got home, I overheard him chuckling as he told my dad the same thing.

We’ve got a fishing story today. It’s not at all about the same kind of fishing. Bicki sat (and sat, and sat) on the shore and fished with a line and a float. Peter and his partners fished from boats with nets. They fished in the night so the fish couldn’t see the net. It was backbreaking work. Row. Cast. Haul. Row. Cast. Haul. All night. And nothing. They caught nothing. So in addition to the weariness they felt, they also felt frustration and a sense of futility. As the first light of dawn began to break over the hills, they were looking forward to washing the nets, stowing the gear, eating, hitting the sack, and putting this futile day behind them.

And then, Jesus comes. You know the story. There’s a big crowd. He borrows a boat to teach from and asks Peter to row him out a little. Peter does it, but I’m guessing that this wasn’t his first choice of things to do after this long, fruitless night. Then Jesus teaches. We don’t know what he said, but wouldn’t you have loved to have been in that crowd, standing on the shore listening to Jesus teach? Peter wasn’t. Not on the shore. He was in the boat with Jesus.

And you know the rest of the story. When Jesus finishes, he tells Peter to row out into the deep water and lower his nets. Peter, who so often speaks for so many of us, says what we so often say: "We’ve worked all night and caught nothing." "We’ve tried that before, and it didn’t work then, so it won’t work now." (Sound familiar?) But then Peter says what we need to say more often, "Yet if you say so, I will let the nets down."

And, of course, he catches so many fish that the boat almost sinks and he needs help from his partners, then both boats almost sink. It’s an astounding catch in the same waters they plied all night with no success. And it scares Peter: "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" But Jesus says, "Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people."

What an astoundingly powerful encounter this must have been. Peter and his partners James and John leave everything and follow Jesus for the rest of his life, and then for the rest of their lives.

The first thing I’d like you to notice is whom Jesus calls to be his disciples. These are not philosophers, or princes, or wealthy people, or beautiful people, or powerful people, or highly educated people. These are fishermen, regular folks, making their living with their arms and backs. That’s important because it’s pretty clear to me that Jesus is calling every single person in this room to be a fisherman, to bring people to Christ. And Peter, who speaks for so many of us so often, speaks for so many of us again here when his reaction is to say, "Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!" When we think about being evangelists, messengers of the Good News, about bringing people to Christ, don’t we so often say, "I’m not worthy, Lord. I’m not good enough, or I don’t know enough, or I’m not skilled enough, or I don’t have faith enough. I can watch from the shore, but I can’t go out on the water and do that." Jesus says to Peter and to us, "Do not be afraid. You can do it."

You can do it. Your first task is to believe that you can do it. You can bring people to Jesus. Now, knowing what we know about me and fishing, you’d think I’d be really worried since I’ve demonstrated that I’m not much of a fisherman. But note that I’m not much of a float fisherman. Peter and James and John were fishing with nets. That’s very different. Nets catch all kinds of things. When you pull in a net, you don’t know what’s going to be in there. And, with apologies to Bicki, God wants us to fish with nets. To put it in Prayer Book language, we are to catch "all sorts and conditions" of people. And, fortunately for me, fishing with nets is a very active enterprise. You can’t just sit there!

And there are lots and lots of ways to be a fisherman for Jesus. I told you that Bicki loved to make music and to fish. But he fished with a line and a float. But I’ll tell you something; my dad told me that when he was a little boy, he and Bicki used to go out to the prison on Sunday afternoons. Bicki had a portable organ that fit in the trunk of his car, and he would play music for a worship service. When he was at the lake, he fished with a pole, but I’m telling you, when he was at the prison, he fished with a net.

So let’s think about how we are called to fish, and whether we are doing it. There are lots and lots of ways. I’m going to focus on one way, and that is, simply, inviting people to come to church. Nothing fancy. No advanced technique. Nothing you need a degree for. Just inviting people to come to church with you. As I told you last week, I do it all the time, but my collar compromises me. People think I’m doing it as part of my job. You need to do it.

Do you know why people make their first visit to a church they eventually join? Research shows that 43% of the time, it’s because someone invited them. That’s almost twice as much as the next leading factor. And when congregations double or triple the number of invitations they extend, attendance and membership grows.

Now, I don’t want us to grow just for the sake of growth, and growth just so that we can brag about it is demonic, but we baptized Christians of the Episcopalian variety have wonderful Good News of God’s love to bring to those who have never heard it, we have healing Good News to bring to those who have heard it in a punitive and distorted way, and we have supportive Good News to those who are deeply spiritual, but are trying to do it alone.

So are we spreading this Good News? Are we inviting people to come to church? Are you inviting people to come to church? I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but I do want to challenge you. I’d like everyone in this parish to invite someone to come to church with you. And here’s your deadline: Easter morning. You can invite them before then, but that’s your deadline: Easter morning.

Folks, we are disciples of Jesus Christ, and things are expected of us. You can do this; do not be afraid. I’ll be reminding you. Let me know how you’re doing. Let one another know how you’re doing.

But please, for the love of God, don’t let people miss out on God’s love because they’re golfing; you help them find the exhilarating Good News that we know — because you’ve been fishing.