The Fisherman Read Online Free PDF Page B

Of course I was impressed with the man. Who wouldn’t be? But he surely understood why my pursuing any greater involvement with him was completely out of the question. It wouldn’t be good for either one of us. And so what if I happened to go for a walk after the others left? And so what if I did happen to walk toward Capernaum? And so what if I did end up at the marketplace . . . at the back of the crowd . . . listening to this man? That proved nothing. Several hundred other men and women were doing the same thing. I simply wanted to stay well informed about the important events in our community.
    I had no further direct contact with the Master for several days following our return from Cana. No, that is not precisely true. It would be better to say that it appeared as though I had no direct contact with the Master during those days. He and I both knew different. Take, for example, that thing with the little flower.
    That particular day the fishing did not go well. We went out early, tried all our tricks in all our best locations with almost nothing to show for it. In the end we packed up and brought the boats in early. I told the others I’d finish putting things away so they could begin their evening sprint to Capernaum. When I arrived in the marketplace about an hour later, Andrew, James, and John had all squirmed their way up to the front of the group. I hung around the back of the crowd listening but trying to stay inconspicuous.
    The Master was once again talking about the reasonableness of practical trust in God’s care for us. Andrew piped up and asked him to explain what he meant. Jesus was sitting on a low stone wall as he spoke. He glanced down at the wall and noticed a tiny flower growing out of a crevice between two rocks. He reached over, cradled it in his hand, and said, “Do you see this tiny flower? It doesn’t toil. It doesn’t spin garments for itself. And yet Solomon at the height of his glory could not clothe himself like this little flower. If your heavenly Father dresses this forgotten little plant in such beauty, don’t you think he knows your needs and cares about you?” Then he turned and looked across the several hundred people gathered around him, straight into my eyes.
    That look jolted me like a sharp stick jabbed into my side. He knew the turmoil his entrance into my life was causing within me. He knew the fierce grip I maintained on my precious future. He knew I needed time to think, time to trust, time to let go. He didn’t push. He didn’t demand. But neither did he leave me alone. I heard him use that illustration numerous times during the next few years. That first time, however, he used it for me. He wanted me to trust him. He wanted me to trust God. And he wanted me to know that I could not do one without doing the other.

    The annual Feast of the Passover was just a few days away. Andrew, James, John, Philip, and Nathanael made plans to travel with Jesus to Jerusalem for the celebration. I had never seen any of them so excited. The Passover in Jerusalem was always a great time, but Jesus’ presence at the Feast this year created an even greater sense of anticipation. He was still unknown outside our immediate area, and this promised to be his first direct exposure to our nation’s center of power.
    I knew I was invited as well, but I just couldn’t bring myself to join the party. Nothing had yet been resolved in my life, and I was in no mood to pretend. Watching the little group head out of town left me feeling empty and irritated. I couldn’t stand not knowing where he was or what he was doing. I ran home and helped Ruth pack up the things we would need for the journey, and a few hours later we joined the growing stream of travelers heading south.
    I didn’t see Jesus again until after we arrived in Jerusalem. We found a place to stay for the celebration. Ruth renewed annual contacts with family and friends, and