A couple of years ago I mentioned in a blog post that it amazes me how Andrew and his brother Simon Peter left everything and immediately followed Jesus. The Bible doesn’t say if they were married or had family members to support. But they did have a vocation. They were fishermen. They had their own boat and sold fish as their livelihood. Yet when a man they’d never met before told them to put down their nets, they immediately abandoned their catch and their boat and followed him. Apparently, they didn’t request to stop by their house and pick up some traveling provisions. They didn’t ask to say goodbye to their parents. The power, sincerity, and majesty Jesus exuded was such that they were compelled to just drop everything and go be “fishers of men.” Whatever that meant.
I can’t imagine being one of Jesus’s closest companions. Watching him perform miracles. Gradually realizing he was the longed-for Messiah. And at the same time being friends with him. Young men eating and drinking and traveling with the King of the World. All the while, dressed in sandals and ordinary clothes. Gleaning fruits and vegetables along the dusty roads they walked. Sometimes being hosted by other believers but probably camping out more nights than not.
I wonder if they played games, sang songs, mentioned how pretty that young lady in the last village was. These two young men, and ten others, spent three years in the constant presence of Jesus Christ. Learning how to spread the Gospel, yes, but also building relationships they thought would go on forever. I’m sure they whispered amongst themselves about how magnificent it would be when Jesus was finally crowned King of the Jews, and their nation would no longer be under the tyranny of Rome.
Then just when they were supposed to be celebrating the most important holiday of the Jewish faith, their leader-teacher-friend was arrested, tortured, and put to death in a manner so horrible it was reserved for the most heinous criminals. What should they do? Their lives were likely in danger, too.
So, they went back to what they knew. Andrew and Peter went back to fishing. Maybe they could blend back in with the other working-class guys. But Jesus wasn’t done with them yet. Three days after his body was put in a tomb with a huge boulder blocking the entrance, He came back to life. And immediately started getting the band back together. Most of them didn’t recognize Him at first. I’m pretty sure that was on purpose. Let it sink in slowly who he was. But once they did, there wasn’t much time to waste. Jesus had assignments for them all. Keep fishing. Not for fish, but for people. Spread the Good News. Their assignments were tailored to each of their skills and talents. But they all could proclaim the truth that would bring hope, comfort, faith, and promise that God was still God and Jesus was on the throne. Not in Jerusalem. Not in Rome. But, the throne of Heaven, and He rules the world.
Most of the people who are reading this blog have suffered an awful loss in their life. For many it’s the loss of a child. It’s not something you get over easily. But I know so many grievers who have used that experience as a steppingstone to helping others. It’s hard — it’s nearly impossible — to make something good from a devastating experience. Truly, there is nothing good in and of itself about the loss of a child. But little by little our faith wakes up again; we recognize Jesus again. And we decide that maybe we can help others with the hard knowledge we’ve gained, whether or not we wanted to.
Come on. You wanna go fishin’?
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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