And yet, even in these deeply chaotic 2025 waters, it is my joy to profess this message of resistance—this promise that is so big and unreasonable that only God could keep it: we are held in the love of God.

In our other reading today, we heard Julian of Norwich share her vision of a little thing, no bigger than a hazelnut, held in her hand. It was a vision of everything that God has ever created. And in it, Julian saw three things so clearly: that God made it, that God loves it, and that God preserves it.

No matter what ensnares us in this life, those fallen forces cannot ultimately come between our God and God’s love for us. We are held. 

So when I read this passage, I hear Jesus calling Peter to partner with him in the divine work of casting God’s wide nets of love, belonging, safety, and justice. 

Now, it is also worth noting that you are getting this sermon from someone with a little childhood fishing trauma.

When I was in third grade, our class was invited to the Port of Wilmington, Delaware, to go out on a fishing boat. It was meant to be an exciting science field trip. But for me, it was a front-row seat to fish murder.

You see, my godmother is a very persuasive member of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, and she had already convinced me to be a vegetarian. So when the nets of fish got pulled up, I was not a happy camper. But then, things took an even darker and far less just turn.

The fishermen sorted out the commercially valuable fish and put them in the refrigerated hold. And then, they simply left the rest of the marine life gasping on deck—rays, crabs, small sharks, and fish of many kinds—just flapping around, struggling for life. And no one was doing anything about it.

I waited until my teacher was distracted, and I darted across the safety line that the captain had established. It was my dearest hope to kick at least one of these creatures back into the bay. Maybe, also, to start a third-grade revolution. 

This did not end particularly well for me. I am not the hero of this story.

But my tiny attempt at resistance did compel a fisherman on that boat to have mercy on me. He grabbed a hose and washed the struggling creatures back into the bay.

This memory helps me remember that we don’t come into the world naturally conformed to, or desensitized by, all of its broken systems. So often, as grownups, we get paralyzed trying to figure out how to change the whole extractive fishing industry while a fish is literally dying at our feet. Sometimes, that innocent instinct to help the one gasping thing that you can is good.

So again, I hear Jesus calling Peter to partner with him in the divine work of resisting the systems that seek to capture, control, and throw away all that they don’t deem valuable.

Now, you may be thinking, Nicole, you are preaching to the choir here! But I feel it is still essential to preach this message in this place—to rename and reclaim this passage from harmful interpretations from our past. 

The history of this place, this beautiful Boulder Valley we call home, is a story of prolonged justification of terrible things in the name of Jesus. We need to remember and be ready to resist when histories of unjust capture and control are actively repeating themselves. 

And I want to ask us to get even less comfortable. Our own denomination, the UCC, has a terrible history with Native American boarding schools. These schools aimed to “Christianize and civilize” the first peoples of what is now our country. The bone-chilling philosophy of those schools was: “Kill the Indian, save the soul.”

So when our lectionary serves us scripture that can (and has) led to things like that, we have to take great pause and great caution.

We pause to reflect—so that we can name and disrupt when our history, our tradition, or our present catch people in the wrong ways. We pause to reimagine this passage in ways that resist harm and embrace justice. And then we proclaim that through our words and our lives.

Especially when the gospel is being wielded loudly in the name of hate, we are called to love louder.

Peter’s story is just beginning in today’s passage. He leaves it all to follow Jesus. Following God’s call disrupts, costs, and reshapes him. And not even Peter—the rock of the Church—does it perfectly.

After his three infamous denials, after Jesus’ crucifixion and death, Peter goes back to fishing—maybe believing his calling was over. But at dawn, a stranger on the shore tells him to cast his nets once more. And again, his nets overflow. And just like that, Peter recognizes the risen Christ.

Jesus doesn’t rebuke him. He simply asks him three times: Peter, do you love me? And when Peter says yes, Jesus tells him: Feed my sheep.

God’s call is not a one-time event. As we like to say in the UCC, God is still speaking.

So, friends, gather courage and listen. Because God is still calling. And the nets of God’s love need casting more than ever.