When it comes to fishing, I’m a pretty good golfer.
Which is to say, if you’ve ever seen me swing a club, you’d probably think twice about getting into a fishing boat with me. I may be crummy at my chosen sport, but I’m even worse at angling.
That’s one reason why—until last month—it’d been nearly 30 years since I last got a hook wet: When I go fishing, nobody catches anything. We all get skunked. So to give the other guys a fighting chance, I tend to stay away from rods and reels…and focus my ineptitude on wedges and 4-irons.
But there’s something about the Land of the Midnight Sun that stirs up in one an irrational exuberance: “Thar’s gold in them-thar hills!” you think, “and just as surely Alaska’s deep waters must be teeming with hongry fish!”
A hubris heightened, no doubt, by the very name of the place where your fishing excursion is set to begin: Ketchikan. “Catch?!? Why yes, I believe I can!”
And so we set out…and once we arrived over the guide’s favorite fishing spot, it took mere seconds to discover that my “empty boat curse” had been lifted: First, the newlywed from Philadelphia pulled in a rockfish…and then my son Chris had his catch-of-the-day, too.
But as for the Old Man? Skunked again: The only thing I managed to snag in that favorite fishing spot was the outboard motor.
Still, our guide was a hardy soul…one not to be deterred by tales of “no-catch” curses. “Why don’t we go trolling,” he says. And I says, “Sure…”…all the while wondering what in the heck “trolling” means.
As it turns out, trolling is something like “hands-free fishing.” The guide extends a rig over the side of the boat…casts a lure, attached somehow to the weighted cable of the rig…snuggles the butt of the rod into a holster…and begins to motor along. “Your job is to watch the tip,” he says to me. “If it bends down, then grab the rod and set the hook.”
It’s the perfect way to fish, I suppose, for a doofus like me…because within a couple of minutes, I did indeed spy some action and started reeling ‘er in. “Don’t screw up…don’t screw up!” I started thinking to myself, channeling the very same spirit I tend to sport on those rare occasions when I’m standing over a birdie putt.
Only this time, saints be praised, I didn’t blow it. Our guide soon netted “my” fish – a handsome silvery King Salmon.
Alas: at 23”, a King too small to keep. And then—horrors!—tossed back into the ocean waters before we even managed to snap a photo of me-and-the-fish. But that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
I was still in a bit of a daze when we reached Fish Camp, my heart filled with wonder at the events that had just transpired. Though my catch would not contribute to our communal feast, it did not detract from my enjoyment of the meal: pan-seared rockfish and salmon, nestled atop a steaming bowl of fennel-infused cioppino.
Heavenly, it was. Simply heavenly!
And reminiscent, I came to think, of the instruction we receive from Jesus in this week’s gospel passage. The people had just experienced a wondrous deed—the hunger of thousands, appeased by five loaves and two fishes. And they wanted more of this. They wanted a piece of the action:
So they said to [Jesus], “What can we do to accomplish the works of God?”
The answer, Jesus tells them, is a little like relying on trolling to catch a fish: “Less of you. More of Me,” he seems to say.
Jesus answered and said to them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in the one God sent.”
It doesn’t seem like enough, does it? Our job, first and foremost, is to believe and receive what God does for us…to rely less on our own faulty efforts, and lean more on the power of the King.
The more I think about it, the more I realize this is precisely the gift Jesus offers us in the Eucharist: This bread, His Body, our heavenly food. Consumed…so that we have the chance to actually become what we eat.
Let us pause now…to recall that we are in the presence of the Holy & Merciful One.
IHS
With Us Still 
Not your average Fish Story. But you’ll always be a fisher of men.
Aww, shucks, Mary!