The Catch of Fish

It was
a strange time.
A sort of
nothing time.
All in the space of
a few days
Jesus
had been taken
from us,
had come back
to us,
and now
seemed to have gone again.
He was around
somewhere
but what mattered
was that
He wasn’t with us.
We were
leaderless,
lost,
and I didn’t like it.
I liked to know
where I was going;
what I was going to do.
I liked purpose,
action,
not all this
‘nothingness’.
So,
I decided to go fishing.
It was what I did best.
I was comfortable
with boats,
and nets,
and fish.
I knew where I stood.
I was in charge;
in charge
of my own destiny
again.
But
it wasn’t the same.
I,
we,
went through the motions.
We took the right actions,
but
something was missing.
Maybe
our hearts weren’t in it.

By morning
I was tired;
fed up;
disillusioned.
As we sailed the boats
back to the shore
it hit me;
hit me so hard
that it was like a physical blow.
I remembered
as clearly as if
it had been yesterday,
the last time
I had been in this position;
the last time
I had fished all night
and caught nothing.
And what had happened?
Jesus
had got into the boat and everything
had changed.
We had caught
so many fish
that we had needed help
to bring them in.
Jesus,
He was the One
who made
all the difference.
With Him
we could do anything.
Without Him
we,
I,
was lost.

Someone
was calling
from the shore
telling us
to try again;
encouraging us
not to give up;
giving us
orders.
A few years ago
I would have argued
but now…


I think
I knew.
Even before
John said it,
I knew.
Who else
could it be?

I must
climb out
of the boat.

I must
go
to Him.


© Kathleen Wilks