Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  But she was struggling with deeper issues that concerned her even more than that. Even before coming to maturity, Miriam had realized that her father was not a deeply religious man. Oh, the outer trappings were there. The Sadducees cloaked themselves in the robes of righteousness, but Miriam came to realize early on that what they really worshiped was power. Power lay even behind the drive for wealth.

  Miriam had grown up in a life of unbridled luxury. Her father was one of the richest men in the country, and she had been coddled, pampered, and spoiled. Her friends, who came from similarly wealthy households, never questioned their wealth. In their eyes, this was their rightful place in life. So why couldn’t she just accept it? As she entered her teen years, she found the question more and more troubling. She would walk through the markets of Jerusalem’s inner city, see the squalor and the poverty, see the children who had so little of the world’s abundance, and she would wonder. What divine plan put her where she was and them where they were? If she could have pointed to some deep sacrifice she had made or some act of supreme effort, then she might have been more comfortable with her status. But she couldn’t. She had done nothing to merit it. And knowing that she loved her circumstances—loved the luxurious home in the upper city, loved being able to choose her clothing from exotic fabrics from across the empire, loved the scented baths and the mysterious perfumes—only deepened her guilt.

  Miriam’s mother had died when she was six, so Miriam was not sure if she had gotten this inner sensitivity, this natural sense of injustice, from her or not. It certainly hadn’t come from her father. She had once asked him about the obvious unfairness of life, wondering if it was from God or simply some blind chance. He responded with a derisive laugh. Fate? Divine intervention? What about effort and natural talent and a willingness to work? The poor were poor because they were lazy. They were satisfied with their hovels and their uncomplicated lives. It wasn’t injustice at all. Life actually was infinitely just.

  The answer hadn’t satisfied her. For one thing, she knew that it wasn’t totally true. Especially for her. Virtually nothing she enjoyed was due to her own labors. Even her beauty. She knew that she was uncommonly lovely. Her long dark hair would glow like something liquid and alive after her bath. Her skin was almost without flaw. Her dark, wide-set eyes reflected intelligence and sensitivity. Her body was slender and graceful.

  What all this privilege did for her was create a vague discomfort, a never-ending feeling of unease. It was more than guilt. For reasons she could not explain, she was filled with a deep spiritual hunger. The religion of her father was not satisfactory. For a brief time she thought perhaps Pharisaism might fill her void, but she quickly turned away from its stifling obsession with minutia. Through the influence of her father’s position, she was able to obtain her own copy of the Torah and other scriptures. She went through a period where she devoured those scriptural writings—the five books of Moses, the historical books, the prophetic writings. That helped, but did not totally satisfy.

  And then Jesus had come into her life. And therein lay her sorrow. Her father utterly rejected the idea that Jesus might be the Messiah. When she tried to speak with him about it, she found an implacable coldness in him that almost frightened her. He had forbidden her to even speak the name of Jesus.

  The pain squeezed in around her heart. Was her joy, only so recently found, to be crushed? Must she choose between Jesus and her father? In a few days, Miriam would be back in Jerusalem. In spite of his failings, she loved her father deeply. What would she say to him? She carried two terrible secrets in her heart now. First, she had been the one to betray him. She could barely fathom what he might do if he learned that piece of knowledge. Her second secret had even greater implications. She believed in Jesus. Her time in Capernaum with Simeon’s family had convinced her. She wanted to become one of Jesus’ followers. Somehow, instinctively, she knew this would affect her relationship with her father even more profoundly than her betrayal.

  With that thought, unable to bear the piercing sadness that swept through her, she left the window and threw herself down on the bed. She closed her eyes, trying to smother the thoughts long enough to get to sleep.

  III

  Capernaum

  Simeon slipped away from his father’s house while it was still dark, going carefully through the gate so as not to awaken anyone. It would be another hour before the villagers on the streets began to stir. He walked swiftly down to the seashore, found a place beneath some willows where he was half-hidden in the shadows, and sat down to wait. He wasn’t very hopeful. Peter, Andrew, James, and John still fished occasionally to provide for their families, but not on a regular basis. As four of the Twelve Apostles Jesus had chosen, they had little time to pursue their former occupations.

  Half an hour later, he heard voices floating to him across the water and could see the dark shapes of the boat against the lightening eastern sky. He stood, hoping that his luck would hold. Ten minutes later his wait was rewarded when he heard Peter’s booming voice directing Andrew to steer the boat into shore. Simeon moved down to the water’s edge to meet them.

  IV

  On the shores of the Sea of Galilee

  “How much have you spoken of this to your father and mother?”

  Simeon shrugged.

  “That much, eh?” Peter snorted, giving him a baleful look. They had finished sorting and cleaning the fish. The fish destined for the markets were in buckets of water; the others had been tossed back into the lake. It had been a good night for fishing. There would be money for the two families this day. Peter and Andrew began to spread their nets out to dry in the morning sun.

  “You know my father,” Simeon began. “Believing in Jesus came as easy to him as fishing does to you two.”

  “Yes, it did,” Andrew agreed. “Part of that was because of the experience he had with the shepherds in Bethlehem thirty years ago.”

  “I know,” Simeon said.

  “And part of it,” Peter added, “is that your father just has a believing heart.”

  “Exactly my point,” Simeon answered. “With Mother, it came a little harder, but once she was convinced, there has never been any looking back.”

  Both brothers stopped what they were doing and gave him a pointed look. “Are you looking back, Simeon?” Peter finally asked softly.

  “Oh, no,” he said, surprised that they had taken it that way. “It’s just that—” He sat back on his heels, watching them work as he sought for the right words. He had a lot of confidence in these two men. They had been his father’s partners in business since he was a boy, and they were more like older brothers to him. Peter, the younger of the two, was just a few years older than Simeon, but shoulder-length hair and a thick, luxuriant beard made him look older than that. Peter had a quick sense of humor, a droll way of pricking at you if you got a little too pompous or took yourself too seriously. His eyes were a clear blue with tiny flecks of green.

  The resemblance between him and Andrew was not that strong. Andrew’s hair and beard were darker in color and finer in texture than Peter’s. Andrew was three years older than Peter, which was often reflected in a more thoughtful and deliberate approach to life. Both showed the results of a lifetime of pulling in nets from the sea, with strong, muscular bodies and powerful hands, but Peter was shorter and more stocky and Andrew’s hands were enormous. It always fascinated Simeon how they could be so large and yet as nimble as a woman’s.

  “How long have you two been partners with my father now?” he asked.

  “Seven years and a few months,” Andrew said. “I was eighteen. Peter was fifteen.”

  “So I would have been about eleven then. Which means you’ve known me for a long time.”

  “We knew you even before we became partners,” Andrew noted. “I can remember you when you were still a minnow.”

  Simeon chuckled at that image. “Then you know how deeply ingrained into my system the whole Zealot movement is. From the time I was littl
e, Mother would tell me the story of her family, of the beginnings of the Zealot movement, and how my grandparents died. I don’t ever remember her consciously telling me that I should become a Zealot myself. I don’t even think she asked me to be the one to revenge those terrible evils, but her stories filled me with such anger and indignation that I could hardly stand it.”

  “I remember,” Andrew said somberly. “By the time you were ten, you were determined to overthrow the entire Roman empire by yourself. Your father used to threaten to tie you down when any Romans came to town so you wouldn’t run up and punch one of them in the nose.”

  Simeon smiled. “I remember that, too.”

  “And now that you’ve decided to become a follower of Jesus, you don’t know what to do. Is that it?” Peter said, glancing at the buckets of fish. They would soon have to be off if they were to keep them fresh.

  Nodding, Simeon went on. “Unfortunately, holding on to my temper has never been my strongest attribute. When I see something that I feel is wrong, I feel like I have to be the one to make it right.” He reached up and pulled back his tunic, revealing the long white scar across his chest. “Of course, that’s how I got this.”

  Andrew was somber now. “I remember that day very clearly. Young Joseph came to our house looking for help. Peter and I were among the first ones to find you there in the courtyard.”

  “You’re very lucky to be alive,” Peter murmured, staring at the scar.

  “I know. But that’s what I mean. Since I was a boy, something inside of me just won’t let me leave things alone.”

  A slow grin split Peter’s thick, dark beard. “Your mother told me there were . . . what? sixteen soldiers standing around you that day?” When Simeon nodded, Peter shook his head in disbelief. “I can understand impulsive. I have the same failing myself. But whipping out your dagger and jumping the commanding officer?” The grin broadened. “I’ve caught fish with more brains than that.”

  Simeon laughed in spite of himself. “I come here looking for sympathy, and this is what I get? Thanks, Peter.”

  Andrew was smiling too, but his eyes were probing Simeon’s face. “Is that really why you came?” he asked. “For sympathy?”

  The smile died. “No, not really.”

  “Then what?”

  “I came looking for counsel.”

  “Now, that we give freely,” Peter said.

  “And it’s usually worth exactly what it costs you,” Andrew noted dryly.

  Simeon barely heard him. “Do you remember the day you and I talked, Peter? The day Jesus fed the five thousand?”

  “I do. You looked like you had been struck by lightning.”

  “I may as well have been. I watched five loaves and two fishes go from person to person, from mouth to mouth, never being depleted, and in fact coming back with more than there was to begin with. Being struck by lightning barely describes what I felt that day.”

  “Then I suggested you go to Nazareth and talk to Jesus’ mother,” Peter said.

  “And I did.” He sighed. “And nothing has been the same since.”

  Peter was filled with satisfaction. “It is good to know that occasionally I am in tune with the Spirit of God.”

  “When I left Nazareth, everything had changed. I had changed. I could not disbelieve her. I couldn’t. There was no question about it. That was when I went to Beth Neelah and told Yehuda I could no longer lead them into battle. If Jesus was truly the Son of God, it changed everything for me.”

  “And then came the Joknean Pass,” Peter said quietly, finally understanding why Simeon had come.

  “Yes, and then came the Joknean Pass.” He began to rub at his eyes. “So much for all my determination to change. It was the same old me up there. I thought I was trying to do what Jesus would have me do, but I went charging off, sure I could be a disciple of Jesus and save the world.”

  “You may not have saved the world,” Andrew said slowly, “but you saved many lives that night, Simeon. What you did was right.”

  “Was it? Then why is Daniel dead? And why are Yehuda and Samuel and Barak in prison awaiting crucifixion. If I was so right, why did everything turn out so wrong?” He looked at the two brothers in turn, the anguish twisting his face.

  Peter had finished with the net now. He watched Simeon closely, his eyes thoughtful. “Is that the real question you want to ask, Simeon? Do you really want to know why things happened as they did, or are you here to see if we can help you decide what to do now?”

  Simeon slowly nodded. Peter might be just a few years older than Simeon, and he might be impulsive and playful and quick of wit, but something had happened to him since he had started developing into the Lord’s chief apostle. He was more thoughtful, more pensive, more . . . Simeon sought for the right word. More wise.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “I guess it is. Three of my friends are in prison awaiting execution because of me. Do I just turn my back on them? Is that what Jesus would expect of me? Or do I revert to my old ways? The old Simeon wouldn’t be sitting here agonizing about it. He’d be out doing something by now. Mount an attack on Caesarea. Batter down the walls and free them all. Or maybe I would kidnap some prominent Roman and trade him for the three prisoners. Instead, I sit here like a bird hopping back and forth on a branch, too timid to fly but knowing I can’t just sit there either.”

  Peter was suddenly determined. “Come. This is not a question we can answer for you. Come to my house and you can ask Jesus for yourself.”

  V

  Capernaum

  By the time they took the buckets of fish to the waiting fishmongers, the sun was well up in the sky. Jesus had long since gone from Peter’s house when they arrived. Anna told them that he had wanted some time to himself and was going up into the hills above Capernaum. The disappointment left a sharp taste in Simeon’s mouth. But Peter only smiled and patted his shoulder. “Come, come,” he said. “Jesus rarely gets away by himself. Someone always sees him and that’s that. I’ll wager my best fishing net that we’ll find him either still in town or not far away.”

  He was right. They found Jesus on the north side of the main synagogue of Capernaum, standing in the shade provided by the building. There wasn’t a large crowd yet, but more people were coming even as Peter and Simeon approached. Simeon wasn’t surprised to see some of his family there as well. His mother was there with Leah, his sister who was almost sixteen, and Rachel, Ephraim’s wife and Simeon’s sister-in-law. Rachel had her two children, Esther and Boaz, with her. The five of them were just beyond Jesus. They waved when they saw Simeon with Peter. Simeon smiled back at them, but made no move to go to them. Instead, he and Peter moved over to join others of the Twelve— James and John, Nathanael, Matthew the publican, Bartholomew.

  “What’s happening?” Peter asked John in a whisper as they came up.

  John shrugged. “Jesus is mostly asking and answering questions.” He looked at Simeon. “Your uncle was here a little while ago.”

  “Uncle Aaron?”

  “Yes. He and Amram and several other Pharisees were challenging Jesus about his unwillingness to keep all the rules of the Sabbath.”

  “Did my mother see him?” Simeon wondered.

  “Yes.” It was Bartholomew who answered now. “But Aaron would barely speak to her. It was almost like he was embarrassed to be seen with her.”

  “That’s my Uncle Aaron,” Simeon said grimly. “Since the family was baptized, he’s been convinced they’ve ransomed their souls to the devil.”

  But he didn’t really want to think about Uncle Aaron. Moving slightly so he had a clear line of sight to where the Master was standing, Simeon tried to gauge if he might be able to get the Master apart for a few moments. It didn’t look very promising, and he wasn’t going to ask his questions with everyone looking on. He turned to Peter. “This isn’t the time to ask him anything.”

  But Peter was not about to let him get away with that. “Come with me,” he said, grabbing Simeon’s wrist. “
This is important.”

  “Not with all these people around,” Simeon demurred. “Maybe later.”

  Peter looked at him sharply. “A while ago, you seemed very anxious for an answer.”

  “I was, but—”

  “Then let’s go.” When Simeon still held back, Peter turned and called in a loud voice, “Master?”

  The group immediately went quiet, and those in closest stepped back to see who had spoken. The Master’s eyes fell on Peter, and Jesus gave him a brief smile. “Boker tov, Peter. And how was the catch last night?”

  “Very good, Master. Thank you.” He glanced at Simeon. “There is a question here.”

  “Peter!” Simeon hissed. “Not now.”

  “Yes?” Jesus said.

  Peter smiled triumphantly, stepping back as he gestured for Simeon to proceed. Simeon stepped forward, his face burning. Everyone was watching him now. He especially noted his mother’s quizzical look. He had no desire to try to explain everything, so he decided to couch his question in a more general way. “Master, living the life of a disciple raises many questions about practical matters. How does one do this or how does one do that and still act in compliance with what you have taught us? Obviously, you cannot address every possible variation, but do you have some general counsel on what it means to follow you?”

  The Lord’s expression was thoughtful. “Were you perchance with us out in the fields on the day that I spoke of the Bread of Life?”

  Simeon hesitated. That didn’t sound familiar. Then Peter answered for him. “No, Lord. Simeon was at the Joknean Pass that day.”

  Jesus nodded. “On that day I spoke somewhat of how one comes to truly know me and become my disciple. Perhaps Peter can share that with you some time. But you should know that when I finished that day, there were many who had said that they were my disciples who were offended and went back. They have walked no more with me from that time on.”

  Simeon’s face flamed. Did Jesus think that he was asking these questions because he, too, doubted? “I would not go away, Lord. I wish only to better understand what it means to be a true disciple.”