The Fisherman Read Free Page B

exceptional physical strength, and my determination of will, and he knew he needed a man like me beside him. If he would have told me the whole truth that day, there is no way I could have handled it. If he would have filled in the blanks between who I was then and who I would one day become, I would have bolted in terror. Clearly he appeared to be selecting me and calling me to himself but not for the reasons or the role I assumed. How could I have understood that day the Master’s plan to use me as the greatest illustration the world would ever have of the inability of any human being to live the life of the Spirit through the power of the flesh?

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    â€œSo what do you think, Simon?”
    Andrew broke the silence on the walk home. What did I think? I thought I was more confused and more excited and more terrified than ever before in my life.
    I wonder if you know what it’s like. The most perplexing, frightening, exhilarating hope had suddenly thrust itself into my life and sliced me in half. It felt horrible and wonderful all at the same time.
    My rational mind was telling me this man, this Jesus, was dangerous. I wasn’t sure how, but I felt as if he threatened all my plans for the future. I knew where I wanted to go with my life and how I was going to get there. A little luck, a lot of hard work and determination, and those plans would become a reality.
    But now, suddenly, there was this man. And it wasn’t just that he was an irritating distraction to my little brother. This was no longer about Andrew. It was about me. I knew that his prediction that I would one day be called Peter had nothing to do with fishing. It had everything to do with him . If I wanted the name and all that went with it, whatever that was, I had to go through him to get it. No, I didn’t have to go through him, I had to go to him, with him. If, on the other hand, I was determined to cling to my own plans for the future, Peter would never exist. And why was I suddenly thinking about “clinging” to my plans, as if I were clutching at a chunk of debris in the middle of the ocean after a violent shipwreck? If I was determined to “follow” my own plans for the future . . . yes, that sounded better.
    So what did I think? I thought the sooner we got home and put “Jesus” behind us, the better. In response to Andrew’s question I just mumbled something about Jesus being a very interesting man. Andrew knew me too well to try to get me to talk when I was brooding. We walked the rest of the way home in silence.
    I didn’t sleep much that night. Ruth and I talked for several hours after I got home. She could always get me to talk when no one else could. I told her about the name discussion and tried to explain why it was so unsettling to me, but it must have sounded foolish when I put it into words. Mostly she just listened. It helped me to try to talk through it, but when we went to bed, I just kept churning things over and over again. I felt as though I was being asked to make some huge decision, yet I had no idea what the decision was. Should I just trot along after this man, listening to him talk for the rest of my life? I had a family, a career, a future. He was asking me to make no decisions. He was asking nothing from me. And yet . . .
    Early the next morning Andrew, James, John, and I met at our boats. James and John were full of questions about our absence the day before. We gave them a brief account of our interview with Jesus, but I chose not to go into detail with all my confused introspection. Besides, having already missed one day of fishing, there was no way I wanted to miss another. The fishing went well, but Andrew and I didn’t talk much. For once in my life I didn’t know what to say.

    Have you ever longed for something and not known you were longing for it until after it happened? Have you ever had a hope sitting in your mind just out of sight, a hope you