At Your Word

In the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, One God. Amen.

May the blessing of the Father who calls us, and His Only Begotten Son who saves us, and the Holy Spirit who sanctifies and transforms us be with us all, that we may hear His word and bear fruit—thirty, sixty, and a hundredfold. Amen.

Introduction

My dear beloved,

There is a kind of tiredness that sleep does not fix. It comes when we have worked hard at something for a long time — a marriage, a job, a child we pray for, a sin we keep confessing — and we look down at the net, and it is empty.

If that is where you are this morning, today’s Gospel was written for you. Because it begins exactly there: with tired men, at the end of a long night, washing empty nets.

1. He Steps Into the Empty Boat

Let us imagine the scene. It is morning on the Lake of Gennesaret. A crowd is pressing around Jesus to hear the word of God. Two boats sit at the shore, and the fishermen have climbed out and are washing their nets. Saint Luke does not tell us what they were feeling. But anyone who has worked all night for nothing can guess.

These are not amateurs. Saint Peter has fished this lake all his life. He knows where the fish are and when they come. And last night, with all his skill and all his effort, he caught nothing.

Now notice what Christ does. He does not walk past the empty boat. He steps into it. “Then He got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the multitudes from the boat” (Luke 5:3).

The boat of failure becomes the pulpit of the Son of God.

Fr. Tadros Yacoub Malaty points out something beautiful here. If the boats had been full of fish that morning, the fishermen would have been busy — sorting, counting, selling. Their empty boat was free. It was available for Christ. What looked like a wasted night was making room for Him.

And notice that He asks. The Lord of the sea asks a tired fisherman to lend Him a boat. Before He gives anything, He asks for what we have.

He asks for our effort, and He blesses it. He asks for our commitment, and He makes it grow. Why does He ask? Not because He needs anything from us. He asks because love that costs nothing is not yet love.

Let me be clear. The forgiveness Christ won for us on the Cross is free. It is offered to everyone. We cannot buy it, and we can never earn it. But it was not cheap.

Remember King David. When he went to build an altar to the Lord, Araunah offered him the threshing floor and the oxen as a gift. David refused: “nor will I offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God with that which costs me nothing” (2 Samuel 24:24). Caesarius of Arles, a bishop of the early Church, saw Christ in this. The true Son of David would not take our hearts for nothing. He paid for them, not with silver, but with His own precious blood.

So the grace that is free for us cost Him everything. And when I stand before Him and say, “Lord, I love You; I want to be with You,” my love answers His love. It has to cost me something too.

Forgiveness is free. Love gives.

Beloved, hear this gently. An empty net is not a sign that God has abandoned you. Exhaustion is not proof of spiritual failure. Sometimes our weariness is real and needs rest, help, even a doctor or a counselor — and God works through all of these. But the Gospel tells us something deeper: Christ is not far from the empty boat. He steps right into it.

2. Nevertheless, at Your Word

When He finishes teaching, Christ turns to Saint Peter: “Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch” (Luke 5:4).

Think about how that sounded to a fisherman. On that lake, fishing was done at night, near the shore. Now it is daytime, and a teacher from Nazareth is telling him to go out into deep water. His Grace Bishop Gregorios, of blessed memory, used to point this out: by every rule of Saint Peter’s trade, the command made no sense.

And Saint Peter is honest. “Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing.” He does not pretend. He tells the Lord the truth about his night.

Then comes one small word that changes everything: nevertheless. “Nevertheless at Your word I will let down the net” (Luke 5:5).

In Arabic we say it so beautifully: على كلمتك — ʿala kelmetak, “upon Your word.” Saint Peter is not saying, “I feel confident.” He is not saying, “Now it makes sense.” He is saying, “I will stand on Your word instead of my experience.”

Why does it work? Saint Gregory of Nyssa answers: “The voice of the Word is the voice of power, at whose bidding at the beginning of the world light and the other creatures came forth.” The One sitting in Saint Peter’s boat is the same Word who said, “Let there be light.” When He speaks to the sea, the sea listens.

And yet — notice — Christ does not fill the boat by Himself. He uses Saint Peter’s own net, Saint Peter’s own hands, Saint Peter’s own tired arms. Bishop Gregorios put it this way: God’s way is not to cancel what we have, but to bless it. “Bring what you have, and I will bless it.”

That is how grace works. Not, “God does everything while I sit.” Not, “I do everything by my own strength.” But: I bring my empty net to His word, and He fills it.

And He fills it beyond measure. The nets begin to break. They signal to their partners in the other boat, Saint James and Saint John, the sons of Zebedee, and both boats are filled until they begin to sink. As Saint Ambrose says, this was “not the work of human eloquence but the gift of divine calling.”

May I ask you: where is Christ saying to you, “Launch out into the deep”? Which net have you folded up and put away, because experience says it will never work?

3. Do Not Be Afraid

Now look at Saint Peter. The boat is sinking with fish. This is the best catch of his life. And what does he do? He does not count the fish. He does not calculate the profit. He falls down at Jesus’ knees and says, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!” (Luke 5:8).

When Saint Peter saw who was in his boat, he saw himself. Abba Matoes, one of the Desert Fathers, said it simply: “The nearer a man comes to God, the more he sees himself to be a sinner.”

How often we do the opposite. When things go well, we take the credit. When the net is full, we congratulate ourselves. Saint Peter’s success brought him to his knees.

But here is the good news. Christ does not depart. Saint Peter says, “Go away from me,” and Jesus stays. And He answers with the words every sinner needs to hear: “Do not be afraid. From now on you will catch men” (Luke 5:10).

Saint Ambrose turns this to each one of us: “Say thou also, Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord, that God may answer, Fear not. Confess thy sin, and the Lord will pardon thee.”

And what does it mean to be caught by Christ? Origen, the great teacher of the School of Alexandria, noticed the difference. A fish taken from the sea dies, and that is the end. But the one caught in the net of Christ’s disciples also dies — he dies to the world and to sin — and then he is made alive by the Word of God. Christ does not catch us to end our life. He catches us to give us life.

“So when they had brought their boats to land, they forsook all and followed Him”

Luke 5:11

Beloved, our church carries the names of two fishermen, Saint Peter and Saint Andrew. Saint Luke names only Saint Peter in this Gospel, but Saint Augustine tells us that Saint Andrew is thought to have been in that same boat. Two brothers, called from their nets, sent out to catch the world. Their story is our parish’s story. And Christ is still looking for fishermen — not with pressure or argument, but with love, honesty, and the light of a changed life.

Let us be still for a moment and ask ourselves:

What net have I stopped casting?

When God blesses me, does it bring me to my knees, or does it make me proud?

What sin am I afraid to bring to Him — fearing He will leave, when He is waiting to say, “Do not be afraid”?

Conclusion

We began with tired fishermen and empty nets. Perhaps some of us came in this morning the same way.

But remember what happened on that lake. Christ stepped into the empty boat. He asked for what they had. He spoke, and the sea obeyed. And when Saint Peter fell at His knees, the Lord did not leave. He lifted him up and gave him a new life.

In a few moments, this same Lord will come to us again — not in a fishing boat, but on this holy altar. We come to Him as Saint Peter did: empty-handed, aware of our sins, knowing we are not worthy. And He answers us as He answered him: “Do not be afraid.” He fills what we cannot fill. He gives us Himself.

So whatever your night has been, let your answer this morning be the answer of Saint Peter:

Nevertheless, Lord — at Your word.

Lord Jesus Christ, You stepped into the empty boat and filled the nets with Your word. Step into our homes, our work, and our hearts. Give us the faith to say, “At Your word,” the humility to fall at Your feet, and the courage to follow You wherever You send us. Amen.

May the Lord bless us and transform us — that our homes may stand on the Rock, our hands may serve in the harvest, and our hearts may long for Heaven. Through the intercession of our Lady, the Theotokos Saint Mary, and the prayers of Saint Peter and Saint Andrew. Glory be to God forever. Amen.

Prepared and presented by Hegumen Fr. Andrew Awad, D.Min.