The Fisherman Read online

  The following morning Andrew returned to the Master, and I returned to my fishing. Everything in my life was falling apart. Ruth’s mother was dying. I had driven a wedge between myself and my little brother so wide he didn’t dare open his mouth around me for fear I would attack him again. My business partners had been gone for weeks and might now be gone forever. And worst of all, I was turning my back on the one person who could help me make sense of it all.

  Andrew was not gone long this time. Two days later he came home announcing Jesus’ return to Capernaum. James and John were also back.

  The visit to Nazareth did not go well. The people there knew Jesus as a child, and now they refused to listen to him as an adult. At one point the people of the city became so hostile to his message, they dragged him to the edge of a cliff and tried to throw him over. He escaped, however, and left town with his disciples soon after.

  With Andrew, James, and John all back home, we agreed to return to our much neglected nets early the next morning. Jesus was planning to remain at the house where he was staying in Capernaum for an extended period of time, so my three partners were willing to split their time between fishing and being with Jesus.

  When I rolled out of bed the following morning, I assumed it was going to be my first somewhat normal day in weeks. The sun was shining, the four of us were returning to our nets together, and Jesus was busy doing what he did somewhere else. I was finally back in control of my world. I had no idea it was a world Jesus would bring to an end forever with just ten words in a matter of hours.

  Andrew and I were on the beach early, fishing that morning from the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Nothing was really resolved in my life, but at least these things—the nets, the water, the fish, the work—these things I understood. James and John discovered their equipment had not been cared for well by the men their father had hired to fill in for them during their absence, so in the end they decided to spend the morning helping their father make some much needed repairs to their nets.

  Less than an hour later I saw him. He was alone, walking toward me along the beach. And that, of course, was the point—he had been walking toward me since the day we met. A part of me wanted to drop my net and run to meet him. Another part of me wanted to grab my net and run away from him down the beach. In the end I just stood there waiting. As soon as Andrew saw him, he came and stood beside me.

  When Jesus reached us no one spoke for a few seconds. Andrew just stood there with a big grin on his face, obviously thrilled to see him. I stood silent in a sort of terrified relief. I knew this was no chance meeting. For more than a month I had been running, hiding from this man, secretly hoping he would not give up his pursuit. I was tired of this horrible game, and no matter what he said to me now, at least I would not have to run anymore.

  I stood silently, staring at his feet, waiting for his words of condemnation, anticipating his demand for an explanation of why I had stayed away from him for so long.

  But the condemnation never came. He spoke just one word—“Peter!” When I looked up, I saw his smile, a smile of understanding and acceptance that instantly disarmed the terror within me. He looked first at me, then at Andrew, then at our nets and our little pile of fish. Then he said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

  He knew I understood what he was asking. He knew the time had come for me to choose. He was not asking me to follow him for the morning, or for the day, or for the week. He was asking me to follow him for the rest of my life. I could not have both his world and mine. I had to choose. I didn’t know what “fishers of men” meant, but I knew it wasn’t something I could do with the net I held in my hands.

  When my decision finally came, it brought with it a sense of freedom and relief unlike anything I had ever known before. Jesus still wanted me, and I wanted him as I had never wanted anything else in my life. I wanted to be a part of whatever this man was doing. I wanted to be identified with him. I wanted to be on his side, his team. With every ounce of my massive hulk I wanted to do the one thing he was now asking me to do—follow him.

  I didn’t say a word. I didn’t need to. He and my brother saw what no one had seen for more years than I could remember: they saw tears well up in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. And, of course, he understood. I dropped my net and waited for him to lead.

  We walked with the Master along the shore until we reached the boat in which James and John were working. They were anchored to the shore. Jesus waded out to the side of the boat and spoke with the two brothers. We saw them look at each other, then at Jesus. Then they rose, jumped over the side, and waded ashore with their Master.

  Together the four of us walked down the beach next to Jesus, heading toward Capernaum and toward a future that would change us, and eventually the entire world, forever.

  8

  My surrender to the Master left me feeling as though every troublesome issue in my life was instantly, eternally resolved. And in one sense, I was right. For the first time I knew I was on the right course, heading in the right direction. I was well pleased to spend the rest of my life following Jesus, getting to know him, trusting his lead. But submitting to his lead was only the beginning. Having accepted him as my goal, the Master now needed to introduce me to the only means by which that goal could be attained. And that learning process would take years.

  And so the quake began. For several months our tiny nation had been feeling the Master’s jolts and tremors. The pieces were now in place. He was ready to shake Israel as it had never been shaken before.

  We walked with the Master back to the house where he was staying in Capernaum. People were already milling around the outside when we arrived. A few of the more aggressive ones were knocking on the door or peeking in the windows. As soon as Jesus appeared, the entire pack charged us. Some were sick, some crippled, some deformed. Others just wanted to meet this man who was causing such a stir.

  The approach Jesus took with those people that morning established a pattern we saw repeated countless times as we traveled throughout the nation in the months ahead. He turned his attention first to those with physical needs. For those who hurt, entrance into the kingdom so often begins at the point of their pain. He healed and restored each sick and disabled person in the group.

  Then he found a convenient place to sit and began to teach. Occasionally people would ask him a question. Sometimes he would ask the group or one individual within the group a question himself, using the response to help illustrate a concept he wanted to share with us. Always he talked about God, relationships, trust, and the world around us in a way that was absolutely consistent with real life. It was unlike anything any of us had ever heard before. And always we came away from those group teaching times feeling as if we had just finished a private conversation with the Master. That morning the people sat and listened, unwilling to move more than a few inches for fear they would miss something he said or risk losing their place. It was late afternoon before he finally dismissed the group so that we could return home to prepare for the Sabbath.

  As Andrew, James, John, and I walked back to Bethsaida, we talked about what was coming. We knew our future was now bound up with Jesus. He would not remain in Capernaum long. When he traveled, we would travel with him.

  It had been a long, intense day for me. I was tired. The feelings of peace and serenity that had been so intense on the beach that morning were being quickly eroded by what I saw as the practical realities of life. I was a married man, the head of a household, with the responsibility to care for my family’s needs. For the first time I wondered what Jesus did for money and even more how he expected us to meet our physical needs. We would not be able to fish during the days. But why couldn’t we fish at night?

  I suggested the idea to the others, and it met with no small resistance. They pointed out that it would be nice to sleep at night, and I pointed out that we had to do something to stay alive, and they pointed out that their needs had been well provided for by the people they m
et during their trip with Jesus to Judea, and I pointed out that eating a few meals in someone’s house was a long way from providing for an entire household, and they . . . well, you get the idea. In the end they grudgingly acknowledged that some night fishing might become a necessity. Jesus was planning to attend the synagogue in Capernaum the following day. We would join him early, spend the day together, then begin our night job when the Sabbath ended.

  Ruth could tell something was different the moment I walked in the door. Twelve hours earlier she had kissed a grumpy bear good-bye. Now the grumpiness was gone, replaced by an excitement she had not seen for weeks. We talked until late into the night. She understood my anxiety about how I was now going to earn a living given my commitment to the Master, but it didn’t seem to concern her nearly as much as it did me. Her far greater and more immediate concern grew out of her mother’s rapidly failing health. The previous twenty-four hours had been the worst yet. Her mom was now eating nothing at all. The fever raged unbroken. Though none of us dared put it into words, unless there was a dramatic change soon, it was obvious Ruth’s mom would not last more than another day or two at the most.

  “Simon, do you think Jesus would help her?”

  Why is it always so much easier to trust the Lord for someone else’s needs than it is to trust him for our own? Perhaps for the same reason it is so much easier to believe he loves the person next to us more than he loves us. We know ourselves too well. We know all the reasons why we are unworthy of his involvement in our lives. It seems reasonable for him to miraculously intervene in the lives of Moses, and Elijah, and King David. But why should we expect him to do the same for us? That very day I had seen the Master heal a dozen helpless people. Yet, when Ruth asked me that question, I didn’t know what to say. Certainly he could help her. But would he? All I could do was promise Ruth I would ask.

  Andrew, James, John, and I left for Capernaum early the following morning. I wanted Ruth to join us, but her mom’s condition made it impossible.

  We joined Jesus just as he was heading into the synagogue. Everyone in the community knew he would be teaching, and the place was packed. He read a passage from the writings of the Prophet Isaiah and was beginning to comment on it when suddenly a man in the middle of the room stood up and let out the most hideous scream I had ever heard. Then he looked right at Jesus, thrust his finger as if he were trying to skewer the Master on the end of it, and cried out, “What business do we have with each other, Jesus, you Nazarene?”

  The venom with which these words were spoken was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. It is true that Nazareth had a reputation in those days for being a rather ignorant, irreverent community, but this man made Jesus’ hometown sound like vile, hideous blasphemy. Then the man’s tone shifted from hatred to terror as he wrapped his arms around his face and whimpered, “Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!”

  That final phrase triggered an instant response from Jesus. “Be quiet! And come out of him!”

  Jesus’ double command brought an immediate reaction. The man suddenly crashed to the floor with such fury it looked almost as if some massive invisible hand had picked him up and smashed him down. His entire body then contracted in a series of violent convulsions, followed by one final terrifying shriek.

  For a few seconds the man lay motionless. I thought he was dead. Then he blinked, lifted his head, and rose slowly to his feet. It was hard to believe he was the same man. He looked at the stunned crowd standing around him, then turned his eyes to Jesus and spoke just two words: “Thank you.”

  The meeting ended early that day. As the man turned and walked slowly out the door, the entire congregation followed him. Some were walking beside him, asking him about what had just happened, while most of the others couldn’t wait to get home to tell their family and friends about what they had seen.

  Andrew, James, John, and I all grouped around Jesus, pummeling him with questions. What happened back there? How did you do that? What did it mean?

  We talked for several minutes. Then, when a little lull came into the conversation, I blurted out my request. “Master, I need your help. Ruth’s mom is really sick. I’m afraid she’s going to die. Will you come?”

  Why was that so hard? Why did it scare me so much to admit I needed him? Was it just my own self-sufficient pride? Or was it the fear he might not come or might not care?

  Then I glanced up at his face and saw it once again—that look in his eyes. He knew already. He was simply waiting for me to ask.

  I learned something important that day. During the next three years I would see Jesus intrude into thousands of people’s lives with his miraculous touch, people he had never seen before, people who offered him no allegiance, no submission, people who often offered him no faith whatsoever. Some of them eventually bowed before him and called him Lord. Most simply took what he offered and went their way, never looking back again. With each of them, Jesus did what he did to present himself to the nation of Israel. He was their Messiah, and he came bringing his credentials for all to see.

  But with those of us who were close to him, everything was different, and he wanted us to know it. The things we received from him were not given simply as one more item in his packet of credentials. They were given as the expression of his personal love for each of us. But we had to ask! Only then could we hear the love in his response. The world around us would share in the goodness of his presence simply because they happened to be near the one who is the source of all good, just as they shared in the benefits of the sun that rose each morning or the rain that brought life to their crops. With those of us who belonged to him, however, it was always intensely personal. We shared in his goodness not simply because we happened to be in the right place at the right time but because he loved us and willingly assumed responsibility for our needs. I knew now why it had been so hard for me to ask for his help. I was afraid—afraid he didn’t know, or afraid he didn’t care. Neither was true. The truth was he was simply waiting for me to ask.

  I led the way home as quickly as possible. James, John, Andrew, the Master, and I all charged into the house. One look at the anxiety in my wife’s eyes told me how her day had gone.

  Her mother now lay near death, motionless except for her desperate, shallow breathing. Jesus entered the room where she lay and stood beside her bed. I stood next to him, watching, and Ruth stood next to me. The others gathered behind us. The room was dimly lit, hanging heavy with the odors of disease and approaching death. As I stood there, looking down at the fragile form before me, I was struck with the sudden terror that perhaps my plea for the Master’s help was too late. Maybe this was beyond the Master’s healing powers. If only I hadn’t fought him for so long, if only I’d brought the Master earlier, if only . . .

  What I saw next I had already seen in the lives of others. I would see it again thousands of times in the years ahead. Yet, for me, the Master’s power to heal never lost its wonder. He did not approach disease or sickness or deformity as a doctor would approach it. He did not do battle with it. He did not conquer it with some mysterious potion. He simply forced the sickness to submit to his authority. He reached down, took my mother-in-law’s right hand in both of his, and commanded her fever to leave. And the fever left.

  She opened her eyes, looked first at Jesus and then at the room filled with people staring at her. She gave an embarrassed little laugh and said, “Oh! Dear me!” as if she had been caught sleeping in on cleaning day. Then she looked at Ruth and said, “Well! We must fix our guests some supper, my dear. Just give me a minute to get dressed, and we’ll see what we can find.”

  The meal we all shared together that evening was the best I could ever remember. It wasn’t the food, of course. It was the Master’s presence, and the laughter, and the peace, and the realization that for the first time in a very long time everything was just the way it should be.

  The Sabbath was over, but I chose to put off my nighttime fishing scheme until
the following day. For some reason, with Jesus sitting there with us, it just didn’t seem appropriate to focus on my financial concerns. I wasn’t altogether sure Jesus would understand. I saw no need for him to know about my little plan. Discipleship demanded sacrifice. I knew that. Asking Jesus to heal Ruth’s mom was one thing. But asking him to feed my family was something very different. Besides, what could he do? He had no money. It was far better for me to take charge of the physical stuff and let him take care of the spiritual. We were fine for a few days. Tomorrow night would be soon enough.

  How was I to know that the following night we would all be many miles away from the Sea of Galilee?

  9

  With sundown and the end of the Sabbath, our community underwent a dramatic transformation. The rumors of Jesus’ healing powers had been circulating throughout the region for weeks. But his dramatic public confrontation with the demon-possessed man in the synagogue that morning finally ignited the explosion. The strict restrictions on Sabbath travel kept the crowds contained throughout the afternoon. But the instant the sun dipped below the horizon, every human being in the city suffering from any form of physical need imaginable made for the Master as fast as they could move. Those at the synagogue saw Jesus leave with me that morning, and word of his whereabouts spread quickly.

  It was the noise that first alerted us to what was happening outside our home. At first I thought a neighbor was at the door. But when I looked out, what I saw sent a shock through me. Several hundred people were packed around the front of our house, with many more coming behind them. As soon as they saw me at the door, someone called out, “Is he here?”