The Shoreline

I have always been captivated by the shoreline. Standing at the edge of land where it meets the unending waves. It’s a juxtaposition of ending and beginning. It is no surprise that Jesus uses this geography to teach, perform miracles, and call his disciples.

Moonlight paves a path of light across the Sea of Galilee. Peter, Andrew, James, and John drop heavy nets and pull them up. With each cast, they hope to bring in fish. They work all night to no avail. The sun ushers in a new day. Weary, they call it a night. The fish go deeper when the sunlight dapples the water.  The men return to the shore and clean their nets of tangled lines of seaweed. Waves lap against the empty boats, accentuating the emptiness. Fishing isn’t just a hobby. It is the way they provide for their families.

A crowd of people press in to hear the words of Jesus. They inch forward to hear ideas they have never heard before. Jesus gets into Peter’s boat, sits down, and asks him to push out from the shore. The acoustics from the water will allow the crowd to hear him with more clarity.  When he is finished teaching, he tells Peter to go deeper and lower the nets for a catch. It’s the first invitation of many to go into deep waters, away from the familiarity and safety of the shore.

Peter doesn’t hide that they have toiled all night and caught nothing. Peter obeys. It is a choice we all face. [Tweet “Am I going to base my actions on my experience or on the Word of God?”] Do I see my empty nets and say no, or do I look to Christ and say yes? Are there days you feel like you are casting your nets and your effort is meaningless?  Maybe when we bring in nothing, it’s not because we fail to do it correctly. Maybe it’s because God is about to do a new thing.

Nets are pulled up. Fish are flapping everywhere, and their scales sparkle with glorious light. Peter and Andrew cannot even get all the fish.  James and John come and fill their boat as well.  Imagine how many fish it would take to start sinking two fishing boats. They have abundantly more than they could ever ask or imagine.

But it isn’t about the miracle of the fish. The real story is how Jesus hooks the hearts of his first four disciples.

In the midst of the extravagant number is a revelation.  When Peter sees the provision, he falls at the knees of the provider. In the unveiling is who is in front of him—the Lord—and who he is—a sinful man. The miracle is a window to not just what Jesus can do, but who he is: Emmanuel, the love of God incarnate. Jesus threw out a net that day as well and captured men.

For three and a half years, Christ models how to be fishers of men through his teaching, healing, and unconditional love. He casts nets to the crowds and the individual, to the popular and the outcast, to the one who has done everything right and the ones who have done everything wrong.

Now their leader, their Lord has been crucified and resurrected. He has appeared to the disciples twice.  Their heads swirl. What does this mean?

Seven of the disciples are together. Peter announces he is going fishing and six others chime in, Me too. The band of seven cast their nets all night long to no avail.

Then an unknown man on the shore instructs them to cast the nets on their right side. There they will find fish. I imagine Jesus can’t withhold his smile as he watches the scene with great joy. We have a God who delights in us.

At his suggestion, at his word, they cast their nets. In the miraculous provision is the realization of who is by the fire. Back on the shore, they receive neither condemnation nor a lecture. They receive nourishment and warmth. They gather in community around a fire and share a meal.

Jesus and Peter walk along the shore, where there are more endings and beginnings. It is the end of self-condemnation and the beginning of forgiveness. It is the end of guilt and the embodiment of grace. It is the end shame and the restoration of dignity. It is the end of the weight of Peter’s betrayal and the confession of his love for Christ. It is the end of his fear and the beginning of his boldness.

We all have shorelines we have walked with Christ. What do some of yours look like?

Terri Fullerton is a wife, mother, empty nester, and perpetual dog owner. She enjoys writing, reading, photography, hiking, traveling and collecting fossils. She values reflective questions and a dry sense of humor. She blogs at terrifullerton.com.