Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  This turn in the conversation had piqued Simeon’s curiosity. He didn’t want to admit it, but Peter was right. The fear of looking foolish was partly what was holding him back. The more he thought about his scheme with the Roman uniforms and the letter from Pilate, the more crazy it seemed. More and more it seemed like desperation was what was driving him. “Like what?” he finally said. “Give me an example.”

  John laughed softly. “We could give you a dozen examples. But here is one I still cringe about every time I remember it.” He looked at David now as well as Simeon. “Do you remember the name that Jesus has given to James and me?”

  Simeon was blank, and David seemed equally puzzled.

  “Boanerges.”

  “Ah,” David said. “That’s right. The Sons of Thunder.”

  Simeon looked puzzled. He had not heard this name before.

  Peter chuckled richly. “It is kind of hard to think of these two being like a clap of thunder, isn’t it. They are so docile. So even-tempered. Nothing fiery or stubborn about them.”

  John eyed Peter sardonically. “Shall we talk about others among us who might be stubborn and impetuous and . . . ”

  “Get on with your story,” Peter growled good-naturedly.

  John turned back to Simeon “I only point out our name so that you will better appreciate what happened on this day. We were on our way to Jerusalem for Passover. Instead of going by way of the Jordan Valley, we took the Way of the Patriarchs, the road that leads right through Samaria to Jerusalem.”

  He shook his head. “That alone is a lesson. Jesus doesn’t seem too concerned about being ‘corrupted’ by contact with the Samaritans, as so many of the rest of us are. So anyway, as we were passing through Samaria, Jesus sent a couple of our group ahead to arrange for food and lodging for the night. They went to the nearest Samaritan village.”

  His eyes took on a distant look. “As you know, it’s not just us Jews who have deep feelings against the Samaritans. The Samaritans have some pretty strong feelings against Jews, too. So when the people there saw we were Galileans and knew we were headed to Jerusalem for Passover, they refused to let us even come into the village, let alone give us food or lodging.” His mouth tightened. “They were not going to let some group of Jews take advantage of them.”

  To Simeon’s surprise, John’s face colored slightly. He also noted that James was staring at the ground, clearly ashamed of what was about to be said. “We were all furious. It would have been affront enough if some of our own people had turned us away. But these were Samaritans! How dare they insult the Son of God?”

  Simeon suppressed a grin. He could see that John was starting to fume all over again with the memory. Son of Thunder was an appropriate name for this man. “So what did you do?” he asked.

  James came in now, his voice low with pain. “Well, Jesus has taught us on several occasions that if we had enough faith we could even move mountains.”

  “Yes.”

  “And one of our favorite stories of faith has always been of the prophet Elijah.”

  As the implication of that sunk in, David nearly choked. “You didn’t?”

  “We did,” John said. “We took him aside. ‘Lord,’ we said, ‘wilt thou have us call down fire from heaven to consume them as Elijah did when he destroyed the priests of Baal?” There was a faint but sad smile. “That seemed like an appropriate punishment for their impertinence.”

  Any humor in the four men was gone. They were all very somber now. Peter was shaking his head. “It may have been these two who said it, but we were all thinking it would be a way to teach these heathens a lesson about whom they had just rejected.”

  “And what did Jesus say?” Simeon asked quietly.

  “Well, he obviously was not pleased,” John said. “But he wasn’t angry, really. It was more like the question had saddened him deeply.”

  James spoke again. “I’ll never forget his eyes when he looked at us. ‘Do you not know what manner of spirit you are of?’ he asked. That question still hurts. Then he added very softly, ‘The Son of Man is not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.’”

  Andrew finished the story. “That was all he said. Jesus had us go to another village and nothing more was said about the incident.”

  “No one likes to look the fool, Simeon,” Peter said, “especially in front of the Master. But you won’t be alone if that’s what happens. And no one in our group will be pointing fingers at you, I can promise you that.”

  Simeon sighed. He knew they were right, but he was still torn. If he stepped away from his plan, what did that mean for Yehuda and Barak and Samuel? Somehow, he instinctively knew that Jesus wasn’t going to solve this for him. He could get counsel, perhaps, but not a step-by-step plan.

  “Do you know what it really comes down to?” Andrew asked, and Simeon saw that he was speaking directly to him. He shook his head.

  “Do you remember the day when he gave that sermon on the hillside above Tabgha?”

  Simeon nodded. It was the day he had stomped away in a huff because of Jesus’ teachings about love and forgiveness. It was not one of his finer moments.

  “You had left by then, but Jesus said something that sums it all up. He said, ‘Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is perfect.’ That’s what he’s about, Simeon. He’s trying to teach us what that means. He’s trying to help us become more like him and the Father. Isn’t that what being a disciple really means?”

  Simeon began to nod. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  “Then if this plan of yours is not in harmony with God’s will, wouldn’t it be best to know that as soon as possible?”

  Simeon didn’t answer, and Peter finally nudged him. “He’s got you, Simeon, and you know it. It’s all right to say, ‘You are right, Andrew.’”

  Simeon smiled then, ruefully and sheepishly, but it was genuine. “You are right, Andrew. Let’s go speak with Jesus.”

  John clapped him on the shoulder and turned him so that they faced the crowd some distance away. “Just remember, it couldn’t be any worse than wanting to call down fire from heaven to wipe out a whole village.”

  Just then, someone behind them called out Peter’s name. They all turned. An older man in long, ornate robes was coming at a swift walk, waving one arm. “Peter! Peter, son of Jonas.”

  David frowned. It was Absalom the publican, one of Capernaum’s leading tax collectors. Capernaum sat astride a major Roman road between the coast and Damascus, so it had its share of levy stations and tax collectors. The myriad of assessments fell into two categories— customs, or a tax on merchandise, and tribute, or taxes on persons and property. With the natural encouragement for corruption built into the Roman system of publicani, or local tax collectors, the publicans in Capernaum were all wealthy and powerful men. Absalom was one of those who had most profited from his position, alienating many of his countrymen in the process. His elaborately embroidered robes and expensive sandals testified to the extent of his extortion. It had been Absalom who had assessed the exorbitant charges on David’s household the previous fall, which had brought the Romans to the home of David ben Joseph and nearly led to Simeon’s death and the capture of Deborah and Leah. The thought of that day still left David cold. He and Absalom had not spoken since.

  The publican saw who was with Peter and glowered briefly at David. Then, with a toss of his head, he ignored the rest of them. “Peter, I have a question for you.”

  Peter had also sobered at the sight of this man. “Yes? What is it?”

  “Does not your master pay the tribute money?”

  Peter’s eyes registered surprise. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have no record that he has paid.” It was said with a triumphant sneer. Obviously Absalom did not like Jesus and his rising popularity.

  Peter was taken aback, as were the others. Absalom was not talking about Roman taxes here. The “tribute money” had reference to the half-shekel tax expected of every
adult male in Israel. The tax went to support the maintenance of the temple in Jerusalem. It wasn’t much on an individual basis—about the equivalent of a day’s wages for a laboring man—but it brought enormous revenues into the temple coffers. That was one of the reasons the Sadducees in Jerusalem contracted with local publicans to make sure all eligible males paid the tax. It was the base of the Sadducees’ enormous wealth and influence.

  By law, the tribute money was due prior to Passover in the month of Adar, which covered parts of the Roman months of March and April. Since it was now June, that meant the payment was three months late. If Jesus had truly not paid it by now, then he was liable to a fine or even arrest. Simeon could almost see that thought flit across Peter’s face.

  “Well?” Absalom demanded. “Is he going to pay or not?”

  “Yes,” Peter said, turning away. “Of course.”

  John stepped forward to stand beside his fellow apostle and long-time fishing partner. He turned his back to shut out the publican. “Peter,” he said in a low voice. “You cannot speak for the Master in these matters.”

  “It’s the law,” Peter retorted, still smarting from Absalom’s insolent manner.

  John’s voice lowered even further. “Jesus has no money of his own. You know that. He owns nothing but the clothes he wears. We carry the only money we have.”

  “We’ll take it out of the bag if we have to,” Peter said back.

  Simeon’s father had told the family that the Twelve kept a leather purse, which they called “the bag,” in which they kept their funds. They used those funds to buy bread or fill their other needs while out preaching in the villages. Though his father had never spoken of it, Simeon suspected that he contributed to “the bag” from time to time.

  Simeon moved forward a little. “Peter. We can help.”

  Absalom heard that and shook his finger at them. “This is supposed to come from each individual. Yes, you can satisfy his obligation, but it says a lot about your Master if he refuses to pay the tax himself.”

  Peter turned slowly, his face darkening. “This conversation is between us, Absalom. As long as you get your money, it is not your affair.”

  The publican stepped back in the face of Peter’s glowering look. “That is true.” He smiled maliciously. “But I shall be happy to spread the word that Jesus won’t pay the temple tax.”

  Without further consultation with his brethren, Peter said, “I will speak with Jesus and bring the money to you.”

  “I shall expect it before the end of the day,” came the cold reply. Absalom turned sharply, his long robes billowing, and stalked away.

  David was thoughtful. “As Simeon says, Peter, we will gladly help. But I will be surprised if Jesus has not paid it, perhaps while you were in Jerusalem for Passover.”

  Peter didn’t look so sure. He moved forward, and the others fell in behind him. “Make way please,” Peter called as they approached the assembled throngs. “We have a matter to bring before the Master.”

  Deborah and the rest of the family had seen them coming and moved over to join David and Simeon. The crowd pulled back, and Peter stepped forward to face Jesus. Jesus acknowledged him with a nod, then smiled at David. “Shalom, David ben Joseph.”

  “And peace to you, Master.”

  Now the gentle eyes came to rest on Simeon. There seemed to be a touch of surprise in seeing him. “Shalom to you, Simeon ben David.”

  “Shalom, Jesus,” Simeon said gravely.

  “I was told you were away—” there was a moment’s pause—“on business.”

  Startled, Simeon nodded. “I was. I returned just yesterday.”

  “And things are well with you?”

  There was something in his eyes that made Simeon look away. “In most respects, yes,” he mumbled. “Thank you.”

  Jesus nodded briefly, then looked at Peter. “Yes,” he said. “What is it, Peter?”

  “Absalom the Publican just accosted us, Master.”

  “Oh?”

  “He said you had not paid the tribute money this year. He asked if you were going to.”

  There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd. Jesus seemed not to notice. His eyes were fixed on Peter. “And what did you answer him?”

  Peter’s face flushed as he realized that perhaps he had acted too hastily. “I—I told him that you would, if you had not already.”

  For several seconds, Jesus looked calmly on the fisherman, making Peter’s color only deepen. Then he spoke. “I would ask you a question, Simon Peter.”

  “Say on, Master.”

  “Of whom do the kings of the earth take tribute? Of strangers or of their own children?”

  Clearly puzzled by the odd question, Peter hesitated. But it was not a difficult problem. “Of strangers, Lord.”

  “Then are not the children free?”

  “Yes.”

  Simeon found himself nodding too. It would be a strange thing for a king to levy a tax on his own family. But what did this have to do with—. He straightened as the answer came with the clarity of a flash of lightning. Mary, the mother of Jesus, had told Simeon that Jesus was the Son of God, not the son of her husband, Joseph. The implications of that simple statement still left Simeon a little breathless. Now the impact of what Jesus was saying took on new meaning. He was the Son. He was the child of the greatest King of all!

  Then Simeon had a second thought. He remembered Miriam had told them about the day Jesus had driven the moneychangers from the temple. “You have made my Father’s house a den of thieves.” My Father’s house! The temple was God’s house, his palace, his castle. And Jesus was the Son. He owed no tribute money. It was such a remarkable thought that for a moment Simeon was unaware of what was going on around him.

  Jesus was waiting, but Peter no longer looked at him. He had dropped his head, clearly chagrined for speaking in behalf of the Master without his authorization. A soft smile stole across the face of Jesus. He reached out and laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder, finally bringing Peter’s head up. “Notwithstanding all of that, Peter, lest we should offend them, go get one of your fishing lines. Cast a hook into the sea and take the first fish that comes out.”

  Peter just stared blankly at the Master. Jesus wanted him to go fishing?

  “Yes, Peter.” The gentle smile deepened. “Open its mouth and there you shall find a piece of money—a stater.”

  Simeon heard himself gasp. A stater was a coin equivalent to four denarii, or one full shekel, exactly twice the amount needed for the tribute money. In a fish’s mouth?

  “Take that,” Jesus went on calmly, “and give unto the assessors for me and thee.”

  Peter was speechless. He was a fisherman. Over a lifetime, he had caught thousands upon thousands of fish. How could such a thing be?

  Jesus nodded, watching his disciple with gentle patience. Then he motioned with one hand in the direction of the lake. “Go and see.”

  IV

  On the shores of the Sea of Galilee, near Capernaum

  “Easy! Easy!” John was on his knees on the dock, peering down into the water where the fishing line disappeared. It was taut as a bowstring. “Don’t let him get away.”

  “Thank you, John,” Peter grunted. “Being as new at this fishing business as I am, I appreciate your help.”

  Andrew, who carried a long pole with a net on one end, stood over John, poised for action. The others on the dock—a small crowd had gathered in addition to James, David, and Simeon—pressed forward, anxious to see as well. Peter’s brow was wrinkled in concentration. He held a short length of stick in one hand and guided the line with the other. His body bobbed and weaved as he played the fish carefully, pulling back to draw the fish in, then rapidly winding the line as he leaned forward and let the line go momentarily slack. This was not taking a lot of strength on Peter’s part. The fish was not a big one. Judging from the tension on the line, it was probably not much more than a handspan—not a major battle, but in light of their expectations, one
that Peter had never fought more carefully.

  “There it is,” Andrew cried. “Steady!” He bent over, shoving the net into the water. Everyone leaned forward as well, as if controlled by the same mind. Then a cry of triumph went up as Andrew jerked back. “Got him!”

  He swung around, lifting the net to show the fish flapping violently inside it.

  “You did it,” someone behind Simeon cried, but he barely heard. He and his father were standing just behind Peter and quickly moved forward as Peter, Andrew, James, and John all surrounded the net.

  By mutual consent, the others let Peter take the lead now. He laid the stick and the line down, then reached inside the net. The fish was still flipping and jerking violently. After two tries, Peter got both hands around the squirming wet body. He pulled the fish clear, and Andrew let the net fall to the dock.

  There was a collective moment where everyone drew in a breath; then, with a deft movement, Peter pried the fish’s mouth open, ignoring the line that protruded from it. There was a sharp gasp. A flash of gold gleamed in the sunlight.

  Eyes wide and filled with wonder, Peter held up one hand. Between his fingers was a single gold stater, as shining and new as if it had come from the mold just moments before. Then he dropped the coin into a fold of his tunic, carefully removed the hook from the mouth of the fish and tossed the fish back into the water. He looked around at the astonished crowd. “Come,” he said, his voice still filled with awe. “I need to visit Absalom the Publican.”

  Chapter Notes

  Though we are not told specifically why Jesus called James and John Boanerges, or the Sons of Thunder (see Mark 3:17), most scholars assume it was because they were dynamic and bold in their approach to life. The experience with the Samaritan village seems to bear out that characterization (see Luke 9:51–56). We are told that it was James and John specifically who asked if they might call down the fire and who received the rebuke from Jesus.