The first time I read this passage, I was very young in faith…an adult, but wholly immature regarding scripture.  Back then, I imagined that Peter and Andrew were strangers to Jesus.  I pictured a scene where Jesus is walking on the beach in a bleached tunic; he carries an air of quiet contemplation.  (Give me latitude - I didn’t know anything about over-turned tables or post-resurrection appearances, yet.)  So, he’s walking.  And far in the distance, he sees two men working at their boats.  As he gets closer, he nonchalantly invites these two to come into his inner circle.  “Follow me. And I will make you fishers of men.” They drop their nets and go. [End scene.] 

No conversation.  No questions.  No hesitation.  Just, “Okay,” and they follow.

A few years and a little spiritual maturity later, I assume that Jesus, as he grew into his role as teacher and Savior, spent a few sleepless nights figuring out which of the people around him were best for the tasks of his ministry and that he was looking for just the right set of skills in those people. 

So, what was it about Peter and Andrew?  What makes these fishermen special?  It takes skill to make and mend nets, patience to accept that a small haul is part of a fisherman’s lot, and strength to pull a huge haul over the side of a boat.  It takes strong will and steadfast perseverance to catch fish and feed people day by day. 

Jesus understood the great metaphors in life and taught with them often, so it is possible that he simply liked the humor of “fishers of men.” (Come on. He has a sense of humor. It is a good play on words.)

I would like to believe that he watched his friends and learned their hearts, planned the parts they would play on his team, what he would have to do in order to develop them, and all of this before he invited them.

Church leaders, staff and lay-persons alike, lament over the lack of volunteers in ministry.  We cite society and culture as reasons that our fellow followers bow out of the hard jobs. But have we really done what is necessary?  Have we watched people, identified their strengths, and planned for their inclusion in ministry?  Or are we just throwing our nets out there, hoping for a good catch?

- Amy

There are countless times when I have thought over, re-hashed, listed, catagorized, theorized, analyzed, or otherwise overthought situations, information, and decisions in my life.   Sometimes there is a running circle of I-should-have-dones that paralyze me for the next thing coming.  Nine times out of ten, I know what the answer is, I just forget to stop digging for more information.  

I'm a music teacher.  And there are many times, once a student has done the work of learning notes, words, fingerings, terms, and more, that they just need to stop thinking and do it.  They need to get out of their minds and into their hearts in order to make it to the next level of musical expression. It is the same principle in sports.  Athletes need to do the same thing in order to run a 4-minute mile or a marathon. And only the few who can get beyond the fear actually achieve those hurdles.

Recently, a friend asked me to work with his son who was auditioning for a part in a musical.  He had 16 bars to prove his worth.  Dad had helped him learn the notes and the words, but they were both stuck on making it work.  We talked briefly about what needed to be done physically to make the sound happen, and the son understood what needed to be done, but the kid wasn't doing it. He knew he could and he wanted to, but he couldn't get out of his own way.  

I told him that no matter what I did, he had to keep singing.  We started and I pushed him in the chest and told him to risist, all the while he was singing.  I tried like hell to push him over and he pushed right back.  He began making some glorious sounds he had never made before.  Dad was dumbfounded. And so was son. It wasn't too high.  It wasn't too hard. It was just too scary. All I really did was make him think about something else.  I made him get out of his own way.  It was in him all along.

Nadia Boulanger was a famous French music teacher who coached a number of American composers of the Twentieth Century.  She once said that her only job was to turn on the light and ask why the student couldn't turn it on for himself.  She knew that her students possessed everything necessary to succed. They just needed to get out of their own ways.

The word is already planted in us.  We know what needs to be done.  But we are afriad.  Afraid that we don't know the notes.  Afraid we will make a mistake. Afraid that if we run a mile in six minutes that we have failed.  Afraid of the judgement of others.

Funny thing.  My oldest son seems to know the truth. Shortly after discovering Power Rangers, he made a note for everyone in the family.  It was a few years ago, and I'm not sure how his brother's note survived the piles of paper in the house.  But he knows that hope is in his brother.  It is in you, too.  

This past week, I have been re-reading a favorite historical fiction novel called The Expected One. Similar to Dan Brown's approach with The DaVinci Code, Kathleen McGowan weaves together pieces of histories, stories, and images to create a compelling account of Mary Magdalene, her life in the teachings of The Way, and the aftermath of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection.  The story, in may circles, is considered heretical, and the results of that heresy are played out in the modern story line of the book.  I am not a biblical scholar, so I'll skip over any thoughts I might have about which historical pieces are supported and which are creatively manipulated by the author, but I will share my experience reading it for the first time.

I was travelling on business when I was pregnant with Andrew and had two long cross-country flights.  After the first, I knew I would need something better than television and magazines to occupy time during my evenings in the hotel and on the flight home.  I picked up the book on my first evening, read about three quarters of it during my stay, and - on the third day - took the return flight home.  It was there, in a single front-row seat, adjascent to the flight attendant's station, that I found myself weeping overtly at the foot of the cross.  McGowans description of scene was vivid, and her care in expressing Mary's overwhelming emotions carried me directly into the moment. The roar of the engines and the scraping metal sounds of the wobbling  beverage cart drowned out the sound of my sobs, Mary's sobs, as Jesus died.  Had they not, I'm sure the passangers behind me would have thought that the pregnant lady in the front was about to come unglued.  The stewardess had her suspiscions and eyed me closely.

I write today, on Good Friday, having calculated that I have one hundred and one pages to finish reading after I sing the Agnus Dei at service tonight.  I know what's coming.  But I will still read into the night. And I will weep.  I will follow Mary's example, because I love Him. And because God reveals himself to those who love Him, as he did to Mary that first Easter morning.

May your Easter refelctions be blessed by these thoughts.

                                                                                                  - Blessings, Amy