Two fishing boats – empty – are “standing by the lake.” The
fishermen are “washing their nets.”
“Here come da preacher,” Simon thinks as he spots Jesus at
the head of the crowd. “Is He coming for me? No? Good. I’m busy. I have things
to do, mouths to feed, and nothing to show for all my efforts. I’m never gonna
make it. Never gonna get ahead.”
As Simon broods, Jesus has the audacity – the utter GALL – to take Simon for granted by commandeering his boat. Without so
much as a “Hey… ’sup?” He climbs right into it and tells him to push
off. In fact, He pretty much ignores him
by sitting down in the boat and teaching without waiting for Simon to respond. But when He’s done, the great
preacher dangles the prospect of a reward in front of Simon’s nose. “Thanks for
being so patient and cooling your heels while I rattle on,” Jesus says. “Let me
give you something for your valuable time, drop your nets.”
Simon is a little stunned. “Is He messing with me? I’m being
punked, right? Jonas? Zeb? Is this for last week? You’re getting me back
for that Dead Sea salt-bomb I put in your matzo, right?”
This has to be a
joke, he thinks. The nets aren’t even in the boat. Andrew, James and John have just
finished cleaning them and spreading them out on the shore to dry. Do what?
Simon might be expected to protest (“Aw! The nets?! C’mon! I just cleaned those!) but instead he
humbly (passive aggressively?) points out that he’s worked all night long for nothing
but twigs and garbage, he’s just finished all the prep work he needs to do before
he can go fishing that night, he wants to go home and go to bed for a few hours – but, hey, for You, Son of Man? I’ll drop the
nets – and proceeds to make a fortune.
With a single throw of the net, Simon has probably scooped
up more fish in that moment than he has all week – maybe all month. After all, the catch is large
enough to fill both boats and cause them both to start sinking. The promise of overwhelming
abundance with Jesus is clear. As Simon stares gobsmacked at the biggest
score of his life, Jesus whispers in his ear: “It’s still all twigs and garbage,
Simon – and you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.”
Simon can only gawk at Him in horror and hiss, “Get away from me or I’m
a dead man.”
Simon speaks for all of us as he prays on tired, aching knees, wringing cracked and bleeding blue-collar hands. Always impatient, always running
just a little too far ahead, he reaches up and says, “What are You doing here?
What do You want with me, Jesus of Nazareth? I know who You are, the Son of
God. I adjure you: don’t torment me. Don’t call me to follow, don’t send me. Don’t ask me to do something we both know I’m not capable of doing. I’m not that
guy. I’m not nice. I’m not good. I’m full of rage and sin and anger. There’s
nothing I can do. I can’t give you what you deserve – loyalty, obedience, faithfulness,
the works. I AM NOT THAT GUY.”
Jesus, unfazed, chuckles and says, “Of course you’re not!”
and promptly names him Peter.
Turns out, Simon was right: he was a dead man after all.
