Simple Fisherman In Simple Places
“As he passed alongside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew, Simon’s brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. “Follow me,” Jesus told them, “and I will make you fish for people.”” (Mark 1:16–17, CSB)
You would have been living under a rock to have missed the news of recent riots and insurrection. Newsfeeds world-wide switched to the never-ending barrage of bizarrely dressed men yelling pseudo-Christian war-cries as they marched on the Capital. It wouldn’t have mattered if you were living in Washington or Wellington, it struck a chord around the globe. It seems everyone knew about it.
Except me. I was sitting on the sandy bank of a slow moving river with my two nephews, my son, and four year old daughter. We’d gone fishing.
While the rest of the world hurtled forward with alarming pace, my world crawled to an amble. The only fish caught was a lousy catfish, but that didn’t seem to matter. The sky seemed more expansive as I listened to the excited cries of the children as they battled imaginary monsters lurking in the depths. Non-existent creatures pulled on their lines every 30 seconds or so, which of course, required us to retrieve our baits to ensure they were still there. They always were. We sat in damp sand with bare feet cooling in the water. We watched dragonflies dance a tireless pattern of courtship over their own reflections. We listened intently to the silence—a silence that was louder than we first thought. Eastern Water Dragons stalked dainty Lady Bugs in the reeds, while Long Necked Turtles popped their heads above water like neighbourhood busy-bodies who can’t stand not knowing what’s going on. The four children and I laughed together, explored God’s good creation together, and gave thanks for the gracious gift of life.
This little stretch of sand on the banks of a slow moving river won’t be found on a postcard. It’s nothing special in the eyes of the tourism industry—just a simple place in the middle of nowhere special. But it is special to me. It was special to the four children who excitedly dreamed of the haul we’d take home for dinner (we ended up with MacDonalds). It is special, because it was crafted by the hands of a good Father who called it into existence.
I wonder if that isn’t what we need more of? Simple fisherman in simple places.
While the world burned, a river flowed out to the sea, just as it always has.
As fools broadcasted their foolishness, children wondered what God would provide for them.
As we despaired at lawlessness, fish were waiting to be caught.
Simple fisherman in simple places.
It seems this has always been the way. Jesus didn’t trawl the schools of Jerusalem, within a stone’s throw from the walls of the Temple. Instead, Jesus felt the cool sand of the water’s edge between his toes as he watched a few simple men tending nets. Simple fisherman in simple places.
For sure, Washington needs to be captured by the gospel. So does Wellington, so does Sydney, so do dozens more. But I wonder if we’ve forgotten something important? I wonder if we’ve focussed too intently on special people for special places? I wonder if the slow moving rivers of this world, and the people who live there, are waiting in quiet desperation for simple fisherman to come sit with them a while? I wonder if the most beautiful feet of all are those with sand between their toes as they carry the good news?
I wonder.
As the day waned toward evening, and the patience of four little fisherman waned with it, we shook the sand from our feet and climbed back into the car to go tell of our adventures back home. I picked my phone up, that had been resting between the front seats, to discover a feed of chaos. I uttered a prayer of protection and wisdom for friends far away, but then finished it with phrases of thankfulness for these simple fisherman in a simple place.
“Lord, teach us to be fishers of men as we follow you. Even when—especially when—you lead us to simple places.”
