Broken Fishermen

My favorite running path leads me through town, under a bridge and along the river. It’s quieter, cooler, and calmer than the surface streets— I love the ability to escape to a river just a few miles from my front door.  As much as I dread the idea of long mileage sometimes, it’s always worth it once I hit that stretch of my route, stones crunching under my feet, deer close enough I could pet them. 

This weekend, as I ran that path and caught my first glance of water, I was immediately taken aback by what I saw.  Hundreds, if not thousands of men lined the river, fishing.  Not only were they shoulder to shoulder along the banks, but there were countless others in boats, neatly lined up in rows as far as the eye could see.  It was beautiful—choreographed like a carefully planned dance number.  No visible markers or boundaries, just an unspoken, unwritten code of where each one should stand in order to participate without hindering his neighbor.

I’m going to go ahead and assume that all of these men did not know one another.  I’m going to assume there was not a planning meeting, a sign up sheet or a seating chart, but rather a mutual respect and a shared goal that allowed them to work together, stand shoulder to shoulder, and fish for the same fish without fist fights or arguments, turf wars or tattle tales.  For several miles, I ran past these men—eyes facing the water, quiet, calm, collected, patient. 

The sheer sight of so many neatly organized humans was unreal, but something else hit me even harder.  I was reminded of how Jesus called his first few disciples and told them He was going to make them fishers of men. (Matthew 4)  As my feet crunched past mile after mile of these men, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like if we, as followers of Christ, fished like these men.  What if we fished shoulder-to-shoulder?  What if the common goal of sharing the love of Christ organized us neatly, quietly, without pomp and circumstance, red tape and paperwork? 

Maybe you don’t know Jesus yet. Maybe that’s partly on me.  I wonder if you’ll go down this road, too.  Think about the thing that’s most important to you—what if you could work towards that goal shoulder to shoulder with other people, without competition and criticism, comparison or quarrel?  What if we parented this way? Taught this way?  Worked this way? Served this way? 

I’m going to assume that in that group of thousands of men, there were some disagreements.  I bet some disagreed with how their neighbor cast their line (help me here, I’m illiterate when it comes to fishing) or performed another fishing related task.  I’m certain that conflict existed along the banks of the river that day.

But you know what?  As an outsider, an observer, a passerby, conflict was invisible.  It wasn’t what I noticed, what I was in awe of, or what piqued my interest in what was happening. I wasn’t taken aback by the beauty of a disagreement over technique or tactics; I was in awe of the united front. The big picture of what these fishermen were doing together was breathtaking.  It made me want to know more.  It made me stop, take a photo, reflect.

I wonder what it would look like if we behaved this way.  As believers, as teachers, as members of whatever team comes to mind.  I wonder what outsiders, observers, passersby might think.  Jesus said that the world would know believers by their love, (John 13) a truth that humbles me every time I hear it.  Would those around me know I follow Jesus if I never wore a t-shirt with my church’s logo on it, never posted a spiritual quote, never talked directly about the Lord?  Would someone who watched my weekly habits or listened to my conversations or read my texts know that I follow Jesus? He didn’t say that the world would know I follow Him by my attendance record at church, my volunteer resume, or even my financial donations.  He said the world would know I’m a follower by the way I love others. 

I’ve met people who love this way.  I’ve seen it in action, and it’s breathtaking.  The very nature of the gospel is that performance doesn’t pave our path to heaven.  Grace does.  Am I humbling accepting the grace laid in front of me each morning?  Am I walking in it?  Am I extending it to those around me? My missteps don’t disqualify me—thank you, Jesus.  Am I focused on sharing that message of hope? 

As I watched those fishermen stand in quiet respect of one another, I thought of how nit picky I can be.  How critical.  How quickly I speak when silence and self-control might be the best route.  I surely hope that if there’s anyone out there playing clean up crew for the ways I’ve fallen short in the name of Jesus, that they’re doing a bang up job.  But mistakes can’t be the reason I quit; I can’t wait for someone else to share the story I’ve been given to tell.  Time and time again, the Lord has used the nobodies, the mess-ups, the not-good-enoughs, the uneducated and the unexpected to tell His story and bring Him glory.  (Look up Moses, David, Paul to name a few). I serve a God who is willing to use me in my brokenness, if I’m willing.  Let’s line the banks of the river together, friends.  Broken people shoulder to shoulder, casting our lines of hope over a fallen world.