So Long and Thanks for All The Fish

So Long and Thanks for All the Fish

In a sense, every parish is the same, and every parish is different. Each brings its own triumphs, its own challenges, its own joys and its own love.

This last parish was the same because it had people. Living, fallible, lovable, enjoyable human beings with all their chips and flaws, all with their sparkle and glee; and all with their weeping and chortling.

This parish was different in that I learnt to divide myself at least 5 ways and muck about in five different ponds with the fish I was sent to catch. Glenthampson, Cavendish, Hamilton, Dunkeld and Penshurst. Five quite distinct puddles, each with its own quirks and fascination. When I was a school chaplain, I was a tiny minnow in a very big ocean, and there were many ferocious sharks and whales who operated in a lot of different ways.

In parish life, you are often the big fish in the little pond, particularly when you stay a while, and connections with the fish are formed and strengthened and enhanced over time. And then you discover to your glee that actually some of your best fishing happens down aisle number 7 in the chips and chocolate section of the supermarket where you learn that there is a pastoral need about Fish Great Aunt Flo who you actually thought was doing rather well.

So at one level people were and are fish. I will make you fishers of men. Some, many in fact, were already swimming with me and often they swam far in front, skilled and magnificent in their spirituality. Others were strugglers and battlers like me. Some fish flittered tantalisingly around the edges; elusive,  desirable and taunting in their nearness. It took me far too long to realise that they were probably a lot closer to the things of God than I thought and that they could teach me a thing or 6 about how to be caught and enjoy yourself in the struggle.

At a different level, there are other fish. These were the conversations, some seemingly inane but always engaging. Something unseen and unnoticed was happening while we were chattering about chooks, footy teams, lambing and the weather. Who was sick, who wasn’t and who was moving where and when and why.

Little wisps of conversations that flickered and shone in the light of the waters of parish life. There were the giggles, and there were the tears, again so plentiful, schools of them, like fish that clustered around each other and there were always more there than what you realised. Raucous, uninhibited laughter. Annoying tears that rushed unwanted and uninvited to the surface. Lovely fish, some easily distinguishable, some hidden many more completely unseen which is as it should be.

These all created the memories I call fish. I have a bountiful catch that I will always treasure and rejoice in, and my hope is that you do too.

So for the last 7 Years I have dived cheerfully into the big ponds and little ponds of the parish. I have discovered lots of fish, but far more found me than I ever realised.

I have mucked around in the waters of Glenthompson, Cavendish, Hamilton, Dunkeld and Penshurst. I have also mucked around in the washing-up water of the kitchen sink, washing dishes for you and with you. Splashing around in the chattering and the soap suds. Whacko. What fun and we were so blessed, are so blessed and will be so blessed. So many fish on so many levels.

The last word should never go to the priest because it is never really about them. Sure, some clergy would like to think it is and are jolly good at kidding themselves, and some laity think that it is about the vicar. But it isn’t really. It never was. It never will be.

In the gospel this morning, the Risen Master has had a wonderful BBQ breakfast with the disciples he loves. So many fish. 153 of them, to be exact.  Right at the end, there is a very poignant, personal interchange between Peter and Jesus…  and then that’s it.

I’ve often wondered what happened after. Did he simply walk off and leave the others and Fr. David to do the dishes? I think not. I’ve always imagined the Master to be a man of manners, so at the very least I think he would have gone back with Peter to the others to say adieu. What words would he choose in this little, temporary goodbye to say to  those who he had served and loved.

‘I’ll see you later.

I’ll see you there?’  Mmm... better…

Yes probably

Or maybe… given the delightful and fun time they had enjoyed together over the years, He would simply look them tenderly in the eye and say.

So long and thanks for all the fish.