The Fisherman (13 page)

What a day! At last we had the masses on the move. Our victory could not be far away. And it wasn't over yet. For me the best was yet to come.

Our return trip was nothing like our leisurely escape from Capernaum that morning. The sky remained clear, with nearly a full moon for light, but we no longer bobbed contentedly along in a gentle breeze. The wind, now blowing straight into our bow, increased in intensity throughout the night until our only hope of forward progress meant pulling at the oars with all our strength. After three or four hours of this agony, we were all exhausted and still several miles from Capernaum. I wasn't really concerned about our safety; I was just tired and wanted to get where we were going. Whitecaps broke on top of rolling swells as we rose and fell with each new wave sweeping under us.

Then I saw something, two swells over, moving our direction. The human mind does not adjust easily to the impossible. We were in a boat, several miles from land, at three o'clock in the morning. Something tall and thin was protruding from the sea about fifty feet from our boat. It couldn't be a rock, because it rose and fell with the waves. I thought it must be a log of some sort. But then why was it floating on end? . . . And why was it wrapped in a robe? . . . And why did it appear to be walking? . . . And why did it have arms . . . and a head . . . and a face?

I dropped my oar and stood up for a better look. As soon as I rose, the others followed my gaze. I heard James put into words what everyone was thinking. “What is that thing?”

Then, as the “thing” rose high onto the churning swell directly across from us, we all recognized him at the same time. It was Jesus . . . walking toward our boat . . . on top of the water. Someone behind me muttered, “It's a ghost! It has to be his ghost.”

As soon as the word “ghost” was mentioned, we all pulled back from the side of the boat. Even in the full moon it was difficult to see clearly whatever was coming toward us, and no one was volunteering to be official greeter. It looked like Jesus, but with the waves splashing up against him and his hair and clothing whipping about in the wind, it was the most frightening Jesus we'd ever seen.

Then he spoke. “Take courage, it is I; don't be afraid.”

Even in this wind I knew that voice.

Rarely have I troubled to think before I speak, and that night was certainly no exception. I took a step forward, leaned over the side of the boat, and bellowed back, “Lord, if it's you, command me to come to you on the water.”

It all took place so fast, I didn't realize what was happening until after it was all over. As he looked at me, clutching the side of the boat, I saw that incredible, contagious smile spread across his face and heard him speak just one word, “Come!”

And I did!

To this day I don't know what got into me, apart from just being my normal, unthinking, impetuous self, but as soon as he said the word, I sprang over the side of the boat and dropped to the water below. I remember hearing my feet hit. They hit with a thud rather than a splash. It was the strangest sensation. The water gave firm, solid support, and yet the surface on which I stood kept moving up and down with each new wave passing under me. Even with the sea providing firm footing, I should have been flung off balance immediately by the violent movement of the churning breakers. But my muscles seemed to know instantly how to flex and bend with the fluid chaos under my feet.

Jesus stood waiting for me about thirty feet away. I let go of the side of the boat and took a step toward him . . . then another . . . and another. I was doing fine until I took my eyes off of where I was going and looked back at where I'd come from. I saw eleven anxious faces staring at me in concerned disbelief. No one else was following me. If anything, they appeared to be clinging to the boat even more tightly, obviously glad I was out on the water and not them.

Faith by majority vote is never a safe path for the child of God. Rarely does our Lord give others faith for the work he seeks to do through us. In looking back I allowed the others to vote on the wisdom of my trust in the Master. The vote was eleven against one. When I turned back to Jesus, I no longer saw him; I saw the storm. I no longer heard his voice saying, “Come!” I heard the wind blasting around my ears. I no longer felt the solid footing under my feet. I felt the spray of the sea soaking my face and legs and arms and hands. And a great wave of terror flooded over me.

My muscles went rigid. The waves that just a few seconds earlier had been rolling harmlessly under my feet now smashed against my legs causing me to lose my balance. I knew I was going down and reached out instinctively to break my fall. As I went down I caught a breaking wave full in the face, and my arms plunged deep into the churning caldron around me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see, and my waterlogged clothing wrapped itself around me in a sort of cocoon that made swimming impossible. I was going under—I knew it! At the top of my voice I let out one great, terrifying wail. “Lord! Save me!”

Immediately I felt his strong grip on my right forearm. I closed my fingers around his arm in response as he lifted me effortlessly back up on top of the waves. He wrapped his left arm around my back, and together we walked to the boat. Until my left hand touched wood I didn't realize how tightly I was gripping the Master's arm. I flopped onto the deck, still spluttering the water I'd inhaled. Then Jesus climbed in next to me.

As I lay there on the deck, feeling foolish and relieved, he knelt beside me and said, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the wind stopped, and the violence around us ceased, leaving a small fishing boat bobbing gently under a full moon shining down on the night sea. On deck, eleven men grouped around a twelfth man lying on his back with his Savior kneeling beside him.

Perhaps to you, not hearing his tone or seeing the expression on his face, the words Jesus spoke to me on our boat that night might seem like words of condemnation. They were not. Jesus knew I would doubt before he ever called me onto the water. The title he gave me as I lay there before him was accurate; I was a man of little faith. It was not a condemnation; it was a statement of truth. The great gift he gave me that night was not the thrill of accomplishing the impossible. It was not the honor of being the only man other than himself to have ever walked on water. The great gift he gave me was that single question with which the episode ended: “Why did you doubt?” It was this question that Jesus wanted me to ask myself, and keep asking until I knew the answer.

Why
did
I doubt? He had already given me proof of his faithfulness. I was already walking on the water. The storm had not intensified. The waves were not increasing in size. My circumstances had not changed. And yet one minute I was walking on the sea, and the next I was being destroyed by it.

The twofold answer to the question was obvious. I took my eyes off my Master, and I focused instead on where I was coming from and what was going on around me. The illustration of that night has become a lifelong part of my walk with the King. I now know where doubt comes from. I know where fear comes from. It does not come from seeing the storm around me; it comes from not seeing who stands beside me. I have certainly not lived a life of flawless faith since that night on the water. In fact, all of my greatest blunders were yet to come. But the principle Jesus gave me through our water walk together is now a solid anchor for my life. When I fear, when I doubt, when I allow my past to define my future and feel the stress and anxiety it brings, whenever I feel myself sinking once again, I know I am not seeing my Lord correctly.

Why did I doubt? I doubted because I took my eyes off the only true source of hope and security in this world. I took my eyes off my Lord Jesus Christ.

Even the greatest days must come to an end. When we finally stepped onshore back at Capernaum, the adrenalin high of the past eighteen hours was wearing off, and I slept the instant I closed my eyes. But I slept knowing we finally held victory in our hands. I slept knowing thousands upon thousands of people now stood behind us, cheering us, ready to crown Jesus king. I slept knowing all we needed was one well-organized march on Jerusalem, and the nation was ours. I slept knowing there were no limits to what the Master could do.

The one thing I did not know was how quickly our popularity would come crashing down around us.

I woke to the Sabbath-morning sun streaming in through the window. My muscles ached from our late night and early morning adventure, but even before my mind remembered why, I felt a sense of excitement. Then it all came surging back into my consciousness. The chanting crowds . . . the calls for “King Jesus” . . . the raw excitement and enthusiasm of that cheering congregation . . . there were good things coming.

Of course Jesus had been right to send the crowds away the night before. We needed time to organize, time to plan, time to devise the most effective strategy. Should we march on Jerusalem? How would Rome respond? Should we set up our own alternative power center here in Galilee and let the nation come to us? Jesus would know. Surely he already had it all worked out. This was what we'd all been waiting for. Watch out, Israel! Here comes your king!

Following our morning meal together, we walked to the synagogue with Jesus. His presence at these weekly gatherings always brought a tremendous sense of excitement among those present, and never more than on this particular Sabbath. When we boarded our boat the night before, our departure generated little interest because the one the people wanted remained with them on the beach. But following his instructions for them to return to their homes, Jesus quickly eluded his pursuers. After searching for him in vain, a number of them retraced their journey along the shoreline back to Capernaum. They knew he would be at the synagogue if he was in town on the Sabbath, and the throng surrounding the building upon our arrival was thrilling.

The normal Sabbath synagogue routine never happened that day. Jesus' arrival prompted a flood of questions. When did Jesus arrive in Capernaum? How did he escape his pursuers the night before? Why did he leave them? How did he get back to the city?

And so began what at the time I viewed as the most disturbing and disappointing interaction between the Master and the mob since his public ministry began. Jesus ignored the direct questions about his return to Capernaum altogether and responded instead with a statement that could not help but offend a number of his listeners. “You don't seek me because you saw signs, but because you ate of the loaves until you were full.”

His meaning was obvious—you don't seek me because of who I am, you seek me because you want another free meal.

The brutal public revelation of their true motives clearly irritated the crowd. But then he went on to make a statement that seemed to renew their hope of common ground. “Don't work for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you, for on him the Father, God, has set his seal.”

This was better! Jesus was talking about food again.
Food
they understood. That stuff about “enduring to eternal life” was all a blur, but the part about the Son of Man giving them this wonderful food was clearly worth examining more closely.

The self-appointed spokesman for the group put into words the question they really wanted Jesus to answer. “What do we have to do so that we can work the works of God?” The intent of the question was obvious to everyone: “Can you teach us to make food from nothing too?”

It was obvious to everyone, that is, except Jesus. His response suddenly caused the discussion to head a direction no one else wanted it to go. He said, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

That was all well and good, but somehow Jesus was missing the point. A second spokesman took up the challenge. “Then what will you do for a sign, so that we can see, and believe you? What work will you perform?” And then, with skillful verbal maneuvering, he turned the conversation back to the real issue of the day. “Our fathers ate manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread out of heaven to eat.'”

The man's words prompted a rumbling murmur of approval throughout the crowd. The reference to Moses and manna and the quotation from the Prophet Nehemiah about bread out of heaven brought the discussion right back on target.

At first Jesus' response seemed to be staying with the crucial issue. “It is not Moses who has given you the bread out of heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread out of heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven, and gives life to the world.”

Whether it was Moses or whether it was God working through Moses really didn't matter in the least to those listening. The important thing wasn't who gave it but rather what he gave. If Jesus wanted to play theological word games, they would gladly concede their error just so long as this fellow was willing and able to come up with a lot more of that life-giving bread from heaven.

Jesus' apparent offer to once again produce the goods brought an emphatic, enthusiastic response. “Lord, give us this bread forever!”

Let the party begin! Who has a lunch for the Master to multiply? What size groups would you like us to divide into today? Can you do anything else besides fish and bread? Can you hold off long enough for me to run home and get my family? Would you prefer to be addressed as “king,” or will “Lord” be acceptable?

Then came the blow from which the crowd never recovered. Jesus said, “
I
am the bread of life; he who comes to me will not hunger, and he who believes in me will never thirst.”

The whole dialogue was so strange. It was like listening to actors attempting to perform a scene in which the director had mistakenly given them scripts from two totally different plays. The questions and the answers didn't match. With every additional word the Master uttered, I saw another chunk of our support base crumbling. Yesterday Jesus provided these people with an apparently endless supply of free food. Today they returned with a polite request for a second serving only to find Jesus telling them he himself is the only bread they really need.

Most of them never heard anything else Jesus said that morning. They didn't hear because they didn't want to hear. They brought their agenda to their God and skillfully sought to maneuver him into fulfilling that agenda. When he refused to comply with their wishes, they had no more use for him.

As I stood there watching the growing tension between Jesus and the crowd, hoping this time Jesus would finally rally his troops, fearing he would not, I recalled the words I'd heard him speak a few weeks earlier. “But to what shall I compare this generation? It's like children sitting in the market places, who call out to the other children, and say, ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.'”

It was all so confusing to me. Though I wisely kept my mouth shut throughout the subtle verbal warfare raging between Jesus and the crowd, I knew my own hopes and desires seemed to align far more closely with the mob than with the Master. They wanted to crown him king; I wanted to crown him king. They wanted him to lead our little nation; I wanted him to lead our little nation. They wanted the things only he could give; I wanted the things only he could give. True, they were things that would make life better for us, easier for us, but what was wrong with that? He was the one who offered free food in the first place. Why offer it one day and then refuse to do so the next? Jesus obviously cared deeply for each of us. He loved us. He had the power to give us everything we thought we needed for a fulfilling life—health, food, safety, protection. Then why wouldn't he do it?

My questions would not find answers until the Master finally crushed my heart of flesh just prior to his crucifixion. At present I was still doing what I had been doing since the first day Jesus stepped into my life. I was staring at the world of the Spirit through the eyes of the flesh, wondering why nothing seemed to make sense. There are some among us who think the mind of the flesh sees only the world of the flesh. That is certainly not true. The mind of the flesh may see the world of the Spirit with vivid clarity, but it sees it as a means, a resource through which the goals of the flesh can be achieved. The flesh can pray. The flesh can call upon God. The flesh can cry out to its Creator. But it does so with the hope that it can enlist the power of the spirit world for its own fleshly goals. I longed for the supernatural, as did this crowd standing before Jesus. But we longed for it only as a means through which we could more effectively achieve our selfish, self-centered little fleshly ends.

It all seemed so complicated, so confusing back then, like pieces of a puzzle I could not fit together. It was complicated because the one piece onto which all the others fit was still missing. It was standing right in front of me, and yet I could not see it. I like the way my brother Paul said it in that letter he wrote to the church at Corinth. He said, “But I am afraid that, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, your minds will be led astray from the simplicity and purity of devotion to Christ.” There we all were, several thousand hungry, greedy, selfish people seeking what only Jesus could give. And that, of course, was the heart of our problem. We thought we needed what he could give. What we really needed was him. We thought God could provide the things that would fill our spirits and make our lives worth living. We could not see the truth. The only thing that could ever truly fill our spirits and make our lives worth living was God himself.

I now understand, of course, that Jesus was not playing verbal games with his audience that day. He answered their questions with razor-sharp precision. They came telling him they hungered, asking him for help. He responded not with far less than they asked for but with far more. He said in effect, “I know you hunger, and I know, too, that what you truly hunger for is me.” He said it so perfectly, so beautifully that day. “I am the bread of life. Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread which comes from heaven, so that one may eat it and not die. I am the living bread that came from heaven; if any-one eats this bread, he will live forever; and the bread which I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

He spoke the truth. We could not hear it. When he talked about eating his flesh, the discussion disintegrated completely in a matter of minutes. I heard one of the group's leaders who turned to another standing next to him and said, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”

Jesus' final words of response brought the meeting to an abrupt end. “I tell you honestly, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in yourselves. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats my flesh, he also will live because of me. This is the bread which came down out of heaven; not as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live forever.”

Even I had to admit that it sounded as if Jesus was losing touch with reality. The twelve of us stood silently behind the Master and watched as several thousand disgruntled former followers of Jesus finally dispersed in frustration, irritation, and bewilderment.

Then I heard Thomas's voice saying quietly, “Well, that didn't go well, did it?”

I responded, “No, and for obvious reasons.”

Though none of us wanted to come right out and say it, we all felt as though the Master could have handled the situation far better. Less than twenty-four hours earlier we had a small militant army behind us ready to crown Jesus king of Israel. Now we had Jesus and the twelve of us and maybe half a dozen others still in the group. Perhaps it would be best to postpone that march on Jerusalem for a few weeks.

Jesus knew we were frustrated and confused. He turned to us and said, “Does this cause you to stumble? What then if you see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh profits nothing; the words that I have spoken to you are Spirit and are life.”

This was awful. He might feel as though his words were life, but they certainly seemed to be the death of the King Jesus Movement. He made a few more comments to us, then for a few seconds we all just stood there, huddled together in silence. No one knew what to say. We felt as though we'd just witnessed our best friend bungle the most important public address of his life. For some reason it didn't seem to trouble him, but it devastated us.