Gone Fishing

Back when I was a professional Christian at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky I had the idea that we should close once a year and go on a retreat together. The idea came one day when I was looking at a bunch of homeless people who were tired from sleeping in the streets, begging for alms to buy alcohol, and standing in line to eat.

“You fellows need a vacation,” I said because if anybody needs a vacation it is the poor. The rest of us get them but poor people don’t.

Then I looked at the little old ladies who were the backbone of the place mostly living off Medicare. I would take them to the grocery store and watch them pinch pennies and buy chicken necks to make soup out of because it was the cheapest thing. I thought that they needed a break too.

And the poor students who attended the church because they were the radical fringe of the seminary spent more money on books than they did food. As a matter of fact God’s name was invoked in the Book Store more often than the seminary Chapel whenever we saw the prices of the book. After the short prayer of God’s name we would usually add the word “Dammit!”

I’ve always been good at raising money and finding resources where a lot of people wouldn’t think of looking, even at 25 years of age. So I found a $1000 or so somewhere, booked a band camp out in the countryside, bought a ton of food to cook and about 70 of us went on a retreat from our lives.

We would leave on a Friday and return on Sunday evening so the sanctuary was closed for services that weekend. Before we left I would make a sign that read “Gone Fishing” and put it on the front door.

I crack myself up! This was a great line invoking Jesus admonition that we should be fishers of men and women though it could also mean “To hell with it! We’re outta here for a while.”

So once a year for the eight years that I was there we repeated the practice. I got better at raising money and finding resources every year so the places and the food got better. Towards the end we had almost 200 people attending. “Gone Fishing Sunday” was more popular than the Christmas or Easter service combined!

We would all show up with guitars, Bibles and footballs. Homeless men would show up with bottles of vodka and normally by Saturday evening we were all having a rip roaring time.

And we had a rule. “What happens on retreat stays on retreat” because a lot of stuff normally happened on retreat.

The following Sunday was “Confession Sunday” and I remember that it was the longest service that we had every year.

Ila Massey, one of the radical fringe seminary students gave me a gift at one of the retreats. It was a painting of sand dunes covered with golden sea oats marking the fall of the year (the retreat was always in October). In front of it were lyrics from a Jimmy Buffet song:

Now in my line of work
I seem to see a lot more than most
Write ‘em down, pass ‘em around
It’s the Gospel from the Coast.
Reflections not just replays,
Taking time to escape the maze;
looking for better days.

It is one of my most prized possessions. And now for the first time since those days, I find myself on retreat from the life that I have lived. It is long pass due and for the life of me I cannot figure out why I stopped the wonderful practice of retreats except that the major prophet John Lennon is right: “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”

Retreats are for getting your life back.

So I’ve gone fishing again for the first time in decades.