PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Jesus was walking along the sea of Galilee and saw two fishermen casting their nets out for a catch. He called to them and asked them to leave their nets and follow him and he would make them fishers of men.
What would make two grown men leave their nets and follow a stranger who promised to make them, of all things, fishers of men? What does that mean anyway? The only thing stranger than the invitation was the response of Simon and Andrew: Sure. We’ll leave everything we know to follow someone we don’t to become something we are not sure what it is.
Once, while reflecting with a group on this section of Matthew’s gospel(4,18-22) which is the reading for today (the feast of St. Andrew)someone volunteered that perhaps Andrew was tired of being a fisherman. He was ready to move on to something else.
I know that feeling and suppose it has been the motivation for many people to take a leap into the unkown: The known has become just too painful, depressing, or unproductive to continue. Something else, almost anything else, can appear attractive when one’s life is oppressive. The promise of the unknown is untarnished by its realities.
If Simon and Andrew knew ahead of time what dropping their nets and following Jesus would mean, they might have reconsidered. But they didn’t. Besides, Jesus was a commanding presence.
He must have had overwhelming charisma. I remember hearing Mother Theresa speak and felt the magnetism of holiness as I walked near her in the lobby afterward. People were drawn to her, wanted to touch her clothes, just be close to the Good that emanated from her.
Mother Theresa was holy; Jesus is God. I wonder what being around him, even in the early days of his public life, was like. From the response of Andrew and Simon, I imagine it was overpowering. Jesus’ presence demanded response. Some people moved with him. Others dug in their heels and opposed him.
Sometimes, being faithful to who we are made to be requires courage to leave the familiar behind and embrace the unknown. What makes this possible for me is trust in God-with-Us. I don’t have the grace of having Jesus standing oustide my house calling out directions, but I do have the gift of friends and wise companions who help me discern God’s voice speaking in my heart.
Advent is a time of waiting, of listening, of preparing our hearts to accept the gift of God’s self and what that means in our lives. I may not be as quick as Andrew or Simon to drop my nets, but I pray that I will be as faithful to my new path when I do.
©2010 Mary van Balen
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