Unraveling to Repair

the Rev. Beth Hoffman Copenhaver

February 9, 2025

Text: Luke 5: 1-11

Once while Jesus was standing beside the Lake of Gennesaret and the crowd was pressing in on him to hear the word of God, ² he saw two boats there at the shore of the lake; the fishermen had gotten out of them and were washing their nets. ³ He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon, and asked him to put out a little way from the shore. Then he sat down and taught the crowds from the boat. ⁴ When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch.” ⁵ Simon answered, “Master, we have worked all night long but have caught nothing. Yet if you say so, I will let down the nets.” ⁶ When they had done this, they caught so many fish that their nets were beginning to burst. ⁷ So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both boats, so that they began to sink. ⁸ But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’s knees, saying, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” ⁹ For he and all who were with him were astounded at the catch of fish that they had taken, ¹⁰ and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. Then Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.” ¹¹ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.

PRAYER

Gathering monthly in the church basement on the strange but oddly comfortable pink plastic upholstered couches, a group of women brought their yarn and needles and talked about life and love and joy and sorrow for two hours, all while producing the most beautiful, colorful creations. Because it was a gathering I helped to orchestrate as their minister, I was invited to join them, even though I had no idea how to knit. (Spoiler alert – I still don’t.) It quickly became my favorite evening of the month, a place where I could be person rather than pastor – no prayer or devotion or teaching was expected, the only requirements were my presence and my participation in conversation and my ability to laugh at myself over all my knitting foibles as they patiently, lovingly, tried to teach me. That one I accomplished with exuberance. Over the years I have observed other knitting assemblies, including our Knit A Bit group that faithfully gathers each Wednesday morning in Jones Commons. It has been a joy to watch this group add new folks to their circle and I often appreciate their art from afar. I love to see and to know about what each member is currently making, and their easy and inviting banter on Wednesday mornings is a special treat to staff who are working at the reception desk. What I didn’t know until recently is the knitting term “tink.” Think about this… tink. I just love saying this word… tink is knit, spelled backwards, and it is a way of undoing stitches to fix a mistake. Let’s just say in my experience I did a lot more tinking than knitting. Lately, however, I have realized the power of the tink.

In early December I attended a church conference in which the participants were mostly those holding adjudicatory positions in the United Church of Christ (Conference ministers, national staff, etc.) The stated intent of our time together was an invitation to “go deeply into questions of the ways that white supremacy, often held in the guise of “tradition” or even “processes”, continues to negatively impact the Church.” The emphasis of our days together focused upon what I have long believed, that often the only way toward building something new is for the current reality, literally, to fall apart. To construct a new system, new program, new way of being, new world view, new community is to intentionally and specifically deconstruct the old one. And that is the work that we avoid and resist.

One morning as we gathered in small groups each table was given a handknit sweater that the facilitator had procured from various thrift stores. We were also given a variety of knitting implements. Our assignment? To tink. To take apart. To unravel the garment we held in our hands. One woman in my group of five fretted the whole time, wholly uncomfortable and distraught over undoing work that someone else had dedicated much time towards. One person went hunting for a pair of scissors because they felt the easiest way to complete the assignment was to simply cut the threads – just rip it out, they kept saying. Three of us worked slowly and more meticulously, carefully finding the end of the yarn and painstakingly taking our portion apart one stitch at a time. One stopped after awhile and began winding the yarn into a ball, ruminating on all the potential and possibilities of something new to be made. She ended up taking the yarn home to repurpose. It was interesting to me that our small group became a microcosm of any community with whom I have worked, especially the church – the one resistant to any kind of change out of “respect” for tradition, the one who looks for the easy way to something new which can often result in harm rather than repair, the ones who can see the potential of something new and dive in to the hard work of taking the old apart, the ones who are the builders of the new thing, one agonizing stitch at a time. It is a slow, at times agonizing work. And it takes perseverance to stay with it.

In our scripture reading this morning, the call of the first disciples (or as Luke liked to call them, apostles… those closest to Jesus. Disciples were the wider throng of followers according to Luke), we encounter some frustrated fisherpeople. Out all night and their nets were still empty. Jesus tells them to try a different approach – submerge their nets in deeper water. Not surprisingly, there is resistance. “The way we have always done it is the only way to do it”, the fishers cry. What is known is familiar and familiar makes things comfortable EVEN when the familiar and comfortable are unproductive and produce empty nets. Abraham Verghese, author of The Covenant of Water wrote, “even misery, when familiar, has its own comfort.” The fishers reluctantly take Jesus’ instruction, likely with a bit of whining and stomping of feet. And of course, this different approach yields miraculous results, boats so full of fish they begin to sink. Simon Peter, James and John could have said, “thanks, Jesus!”, taken their bounty and sold their fish to feed their families but instead seem to realize this new manner of fishing was not the only possibility for their lives. That perhaps there was even more significant abundance to be had, a life that required risk and leaving everything they knew behind and a trust in a man who promised to show and model for them a different way of being. The familiar structure to the framework of their lives did not work anymore, and likely hadn’t for a very long time. Scripture records that without pause or hesitation they left their nets behind, ready to embrace the unknown and new.

I began thinking about this sermon weeks ago, with regard to the series of change and transition that Plymouth is currently facing. I believe that Plymouth is in a stage of deconstruction and that it is necessary. Systems here must be unraveled in order to re-create a sustaining foundation – it is time for a new iteration of Plymouth Congregational Church. The shift in clergy leadership should be seen as an opportunity and not a loss, a time in which the congregation can focus on, to quote a recent sermon, what matters most. This is the mission of the Campus Task Force, this is the main focus of the work of the intentional interim and this is labor that is rooted in hope and not despair. Yes, it will require a letting go of old visions and older realities. This is invitation to creatively consider the mission of a post pandemic, progressive Christian, urban church. You can tear at the fabric of the foundation here with anger or angst or impatience OR you can move forward carefully, tenderly, tinking one stitch at a time. I believe you know the better way.

Our nation, of course, is unraveling at an unprecedented pace, outside of our own control, with many of us lamenting the inability to make any difference. And yet… and yet…. Here is where our faith serves us. As a community we have professed our values through the purposes of the church, and we proclaim without condition that all are welcome here. That will continue. We work together, and with intention, to prepare to respond when evil invades, when necessary humanitarian relief disappears, when our neighbors are placed in harm’s way. There IS much we can do to repair, to comfort, to stand with, to be changemakers. This is the time to lean in to beloved community, to fill up at the well each Sunday so as to go out into the world representing the loving God in which we believe and to whom Jesus directs us, and to trust in one another that we do not walk the way alone. While the unraveling will continue, so will the repair and the creation of something new – as long as we resist becoming numb, or indifferent to the despair. Rooted in the knowledge of a continually creating God who calls us to drop our nets and live differently, we can build the community we most desire.

In the knitting circle of trust and support there was one evening that was especially memorable. Life as I knew it had unraveled, with a husband in the throes of addiction and an uncertain future with the church I was serving. I was quiet that night, listening to others and grateful for the companionship and comfort and closeness of these women. Sometimes no words are needed to realize another’s pain and struggle. One woman looked at me and took the bracelet off her wrist and handed it to me. She said, “you need this now. Wear it and remember.” I looked down at the silver band with the word COURAGE boldly centered. I slipped it on as tears began to flow and the women reached out to lay hands on me… again, no words needed. I wore that bracelet every day for many years until it cracked in half. And then another dear one in my life replaced it. It has become my guiding force, a grounding, a reminder that truly, there is goodness around every corner and bravery comes best through community. While I don’t have a bracelet for each one of you, I do offer you the blessing of courage as you move forth into these days… repairing what is unraveling in your life, in your church, in your nation. Remember the power of the TINK – that sometimes we have to remove a stitch or two or many to uncover the knot in the yarn. And by going backwards we can indeed move forward, into something even more beautiful to behold.

Amen.