The Fisherman

by Larry Huntsperger

  You see, Jesus wasn’t behaving correctly from my perspective. He wasn’t doing the things I knew he should be doing. I know now why he concluded that hideous day following the great feeding by asking me that question, “You don’t want to go away too, do you?” He knew the power of speaking the truth, the tremendous value of forming it into words and articulating it to others. He knew I needed to face the next few months having reaffirmed to myself and to my world the only truth about him that I was certain of. Even if he did it all wrong from my perspective, even if I could not understand what he was doing or why he was doing it, even if I knew in my heart that his way would lead us to disaster, still there was no place else to go, there were no other answers. Either there was Jesus or there was nothing.

  Having watched the Master turn his back on what at the time I believed to be our greatest open door to success, rather than regrouping our forces and rebuilding our power base, he then chose to invest huge blocks of time with individuals and groups who were powerless to help him reestablish the throne of David and the righteous, sovereign rule of Israel. Timing was crucial. Momentum was essential. And yet Jesus seemed to be either blind or ignorant of the strategies that were so obvious to me. There were days during that period when I wanted to grab him and shake him and scream, “What are you doing with our lives? What are you doing with your own? We are not where we should be, and we won’t get there heading the way you’re taking us!”

  Accounts of Jesus’ most recent miraculous works traveled throughout the nation more quickly than I would have believed possible, each new account inciting our political leaders to more intense resistance against him. With his name now firmly established at the top of their “Most Hated” list, Jesus remained in the north, well away from the national power center in Jerusalem. That much of his strategy, at least, I agreed with. He was certainly not in hiding, but neither was he ready for direct confrontation in what our nation’s leaders believed to be their home territory. At the time I assumed he simply wanted a few more months in order to regain our momentum and rebuild our forces. I now know the truth. He did need more time. But it had nothing to do with rallying the masses. It had everything do with the things he still needed to accomplish, both in us, his “little flock,” and in those who were bent on destroying him.

  A few days following Jesus’ rejection of the mob’s offer to crown him king, another delegation of Pharisees and scribes arrived from Jerusalem. By now all pretense of politeness was gone. The Pharisees pounced on any apparent offense they could find that might help discredit the Master in the eyes of his followers. This time they lunged at him for not adhering to the proper form of ritualistic purification. Our traditions held to rigid divisions between places, people, and things we considered to be “clean” and those we considered to be “unclean.” Following even casual contact with anything on the “unclean” list, it was necessary for a person to adhere to a clearly established pattern of ritualistic cleansing in order to restore proper personal purification. Some of the Pharisees caught us ignoring this purification ritual and accused Jesus of failing to follow and teach the highest standards of our people.

  Their words were barely out of their mouths when Jesus responded with the most direct and unqualified condemnation I’d heard him deliver up to that point. His words carried a ring of unquestioned and uncompromising authority. “You hypocrites! Rightly did Isaiah prophesy of you: ‘This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far away from me. They worship me in vain, teaching as doctrines the precepts of men.’”

  Using the words of Isaiah as an attack weapon against them enraged this self-righteous flock of Pharisees. Their entire lives were based on creating the appearance of absolute adherence to the writings of Moses and the prophets. Nor did it help when he equated their attitude toward him with their attitude toward God himself. A few seconds of stunned silence followed his rebuke. He then added a few more words of direct condemnation for their behavior before turning his attention to the onlookers observing this heated exchange, warning them about the dangers of the hypocritical teachings flowing from the mouths of the Pharisees. Nothing could have more completely or more quickly alienated these Jerusalem visitors. Not only did Jesus not honor them for their piety, he actually held them up as the worst possible examples of true righteousness, men whose approach to God was to be avoided at all costs.

  The crowd loved it, but the tension and hostility between us and the Jerusalem leadership surged to new heights. The following day Jesus took us out of town for a while—way out of town. We headed north to the shores of the Mediterranean Sea and the Gentile regions of Tyre and Sidon.

  At the time I felt as though Jesus was running away. Except for the obvious advantage of keeping us out of Jerusalem’s reach, our journey north was a puzzle to all of us. With his own people so close to crowning him king, why turn now to the Gentile world? An occasional gesture of kindness to a Samaritan or prominent Gentile leader was fine. But why suddenly fling wide the offer of his love and kindness to those who had no claim to it? There were so many things I did not understand at the time. How could I, with my narrow, selfish little goals? Most of all I did not understand the absolute perfection with which Jesus was orchestrating not only his own actions but also the actions of all those who were to play a part in this supreme drama scripted by God himself from before the foundation of the world.

  Each step of the way he told us what he was doing, but we did not have ears to hear. He told us why he was taking us north. “I have other sheep, which are not of this fold; I must bring them also, and they will hear my voice; and they will become one flock with one shepherd.” Most would not respond to his voice until after the resurrection, but at least he wanted a few of them to hear it and to taste just a little of the sweetness of his love.

  Even in this Gentile region, Jesus’ reputation preceded him. A few healings, a few acts of deliverance, and the Gentiles followed him with the same fervor and devotion as did many of the Jews. In fact, in some respects the Gentiles’ response surpassed that of their Jewish counterparts because the Gentiles brought no rigid religious standard with which to measure the Master. It wasn’t long before his Gentile followers gave him their own special title. To them he was “the man who does all things well.”

  We spent several weeks in that Gentile world with Jesus’ popularity growing daily in numbers and intensity. They knew nothing of a promised Messiah. When Paul wrote that letter to the Ephesian Christians, nearly all of whom came to Christ from the Gentile world, he described their condition well when he reminded them that prior to their submission to Christ, they were separate from Christ, excluded from the Commonwealth of Israel, strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. That says so well what we saw in the lives of those we encountered throughout our northern journey. And yet they were hungry, desperately hungry for hope, for him.

  I must admit that throughout the entire trip I fluctuated back and forth between resentment and envy. I resented their intrusion into our lives, seeking a claim in the riches flowing from our prophet, our messiah, the hope for our nation. And yet I envied them as well. I envied the simplicity and purity of their devotion to the Master. They brought no tub full of intellectual questions, no troublesome passages from ancient writings. They brought no intricate religious agenda with which to test the Master. And because they brought no agenda, their spirits were freed to drink of his kindness and his love in great, greedy, guilt-free gulps. It was a tiny glimpse into what we now see in such vast numbers throughout the Gentile world. At the time, however, we could only assume Jesus was laying the groundwork for good relations with those who would border him on the north when he finally established his kingdom in Israel. No other explanation made sense to us.

  By the time we turned back toward Israel, our tiny band had once again grown into a massive throng. Thousands of Gentile followers refused to let Jesus out of their sight. Many wanted healing, of course, but most just wanted t
o listen to him talk. This man understood life. He wasn’t pushing some new religious fad. He didn’t want them to join anything. He wasn’t after their money. He simply wanted to love them, to touch their lives, to meet their needs. Jesus fed their spirits and gave them hope.

  The size of the group forced us to spend our final few days out in the uninhabited regions of the Decapolis, along the eastern coast of the Sea of Galilee, miles from any cities or towns. The Gentile tour culminated with a mass meeting in which Jesus taught all afternoon. There were about four thousand men with at least twice that many women and children. Many had been with us for several days.

  When Jesus finished his teaching, he asked the Twelve of us to join him at the front. He told us he didn’t want to send the people away hungry and asked what food we had with us. Our own supply was down to nearly nothing—just a few small loaves and fish.

  I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking we’d been here before, and surely we’d get it right this time. I’ll admit the thought crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to speak up, nor did any of the others. You see, in our minds the situation was not at all the same. These were not Israelites. These were pagans, Gentiles with no right to his gifts. Surely he would not feed them. Even our presence with them made us unclean. And then, too, we remembered vividly what happened the last time someone asked Jesus to do a repeat of his magic food trick. That was the day his refusal made everyone so mad they turned away from him. No, it was better to say nothing and let the Master do whatever he was going to do.

  It could not have been a more glorious conclusion to our Gentile tour. For a second time we watched as he took our few loaves and fish and fed us all—not just a bite or two but heaps and piles of food from which we all ate until everyone was stuffed. The crowd’s response was understandable. With their minds filled with truth, their spirits filled with hope, and their tummies filled with fish and bread, “the man who does all things well” could not be allowed to leave. Jesus made it clear his visit was now over, but in the end we found it necessary to recruit the help of a sympathetic fisherman who provided us with his boat and an escape route across the Sea of Galilee. As we set sail for home, I hoped things had settled down in our absence and that we would be able once again to get the movement moving forward.

  Looking back, I can’t help but wonder how many spies Jerusalem had scattered throughout Galilee in those days, watching for Jesus’ return. Rather than sailing back to Capernaum, we put in at Magadan, a tiny fishing village on the coast of the Sea of Galilee a few miles south of Jesus’ hometown. Under normal circumstances it would have been the last place we would have encountered a group of big-city religious leaders. But our world was not operating under normal circumstances. There was a war raging in our little nation. On the surface it was a war between Jerusalem and Jesus. But that was only the stage, the external facade. Just under the surface a much greater war was raging, a war involving the supreme forces of good and evil, a war with eternal consequences for both the victor and the vanquished.

  We were still standing on the beach, securing our boat, when the delegation arrived. Jesus faced them, waiting silently for their attack. I stood beside him, my heart pounding with anticipation. How could we ever hope to regain our following when our every move was watched and our every conversation was dominated by these men?

  The attack took a different bent this time. The leader of the pack demanded that Jesus show them a sign.

  Show them a sign! I couldn’t believe it. For nearly three years Jesus’ life had been one endless stream of signs and wonders and miraculous works. And now these men came pretending to be, what? Earnest seekers? Confused followers? Troubled disciples? Perhaps they had some trap in mind, or more likely they just wanted to control the conversation. They wanted to control him. What their arrogance would not allow them to accept, and what my ignorance at the time would not then allow me to see, was the absurdity of any human being ever seeking to control the one who by his very nature possessed absolute control over all that is.

  The guarded roar in the Lion of Judah’s reply was evident to all. “When it’s evening, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red.’ And in the morning, ‘There will be a storm today, for the sky is red and threatening.’ Do you know how to discern the appearance of the sky, but cannot discern the signs of the times? An evil and adulterous generation seeks after a sign; and a sign will not be given it, except the sign of Jonah.”

  The sign of Jonah (a lone prophet calling to repentance a nation steeped in wickedness) was not the sign these men sought. But this day it was the only sign they would be given. The interview ended as abruptly as it had begun. The Master turned and boarded the boat once again, and we went away.

  Following the attack at Magadan, we returned to Bethsaida, where Jesus limited his ministry to quiet interactions with specific individuals. He continued to heal those who came to him in private, but when they left, he consistently asked them not to tell anyone what he had done for them. Though the forces in Jerusalem might have allowed themselves to believe they were now gaining control, driving the Master into hiding, in truth they controlled nothing whatsoever. Jesus alone controlled his own agenda and did it with absolute precision. It served his purposes better at this point in his ministry to become less visible to the masses. When he knew the time was right, he would initiate the final campaign that would culminate in the supreme event of human history. But there were several intricate threads still to be woven into his tapestry, a process that would require a little more time and a few more carefully controlled confrontations with his Jerusalem adversaries.

  We spent the next several days at my home in Bethsaida. Then, just prior to the Feast of Tabernacles, we all returned to Jesus’ mother’s house in Capernaum. Mary was there, as were several of his younger brothers. It was an awkward time in his relationship with his family. The Jewish leaders had been working hard throughout our absence to discredit the Master, and their efforts were bringing results. Prior to his resurrection, his mother was the only one in his immediate family, apart from James and Thaddaeus, of course, who recognized him as the promised Messiah.

  Jesus’ family was leaving the following morning for Jerusalem, where they would celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles. It was the most popular national holiday of the year for our people. The Feast came immediately following the fall harvest, intended in part as a celebration of God’s bountiful provision for our physical needs. But it was far more than just that. The Feast had its roots in the events surrounding the nation’s great exodus from Egypt and return to the land of Israel. The celebration lasted a full week, and each family was required to live the entire week in a makeshift temporary dwelling, or “tabernacle,” made from branches and leaves. It was to be furnished with just the bare essentials. Part of the dwelling had to be open to the sky so that those within could see the sun, the clouds, and the moon and stars at night. These dwellings were intended to remind our people of God’s deliverance from their houses of bondage in Egypt and of his fatherly care throughout the journey in the wilderness.

  People from throughout the nation flocked to Jerusalem for the celebration. For those involved in agriculture, it provided a week of rest and enjoyment in the big city following the intense labor of the harvest. The adults loved the opportunity to reunite with family and friends, and the children delighted in the fun of having the whole family crammed into the little stick structures, with Mom cooking over an open fire and Dad forever fussing and fumbling with his crumbling construction. It was a powerful and treasured annual tool for building a strong sense of family unity.

  This year, however, in at least one Galilean family, the Feast of Tabernacles was having the opposite effect. As Mary and her children prepared for the trip south, Jesus’ brothers began goading him about his plans for the Feast. “Aren’t you coming down with us, Jesus? What’s the matter? Are you suddenly afraid to be seen in public? Surely you want your disciples to see the works you’re doing. No one
does things in secret when he wants to be known publicly. Why don’t you come on down to Jerusalem with us and show yourself to the world?”

  They knew all too well the level of tension that now existed between Jesus and the Jewish leaders. I think they just wanted to see what would happen if Jesus made a grand public entrance into the city.

  I wonder if perhaps one of the most painful aspects of Jesus’ time on this earth was his knowing that no one understood him and his plan, and there was no way they could understand prior to his resurrection. In response to his brothers’ continued harassment, Jesus said, “My time is not yet at hand, but your time is always opportune. The world cannot hate you; but it hates me because I testify its deeds are evil. Go up to the feast yourselves; I don’t go up to this feast because my time has not yet fully come.” Then, having said these things to them, he stayed in Galilee until after the family departed. We, of course, stayed with him.

  “My time has not yet fully come.” He knew his own plan. He knew his own time. He knew his own future. And he knew there was no way any of us could understand until it was all over.

  Two days following his family’s departure, when those traveling to the Feast were well on their way and the roads were once again quiet, Jesus told us we would now go to Jerusalem. He knew it was necessary to intensify his adversaries’ feelings of hostility and desperation. Only through cultivating in them a sense of helpless rage would they be fully prepared for the role assigned to them. But his purposes could best be accomplished at this point not through a grand public spectacle but rather through several carefully controlled, more private confrontations.

  His first such confrontation came in the form of a sudden powerful presentation of himself in the temple, proclaiming that his teaching was not from himself but from God and that if anyone truly had a desire to do the will of God, that person would know that his teaching was from God.