"And the serpent said unto the woman, 'Ye shall not surely die: for God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, the your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil." Genesis 3.4-5
All worlds abide by a unique set of values. In our world progress is highly esteemed; but in order for progress to occur, knowledge must be gained. Whether academically, occupationally, or relationally, one must acquire the right kind of knowledge in order to "make the grade," "land the promotion," or "get the girl."
But in God's world, His system of values reigns. Chief among them is the value or necessity of dependence. Dependence requires the individual to live by faith - a condition that demands commitment before knowing. By eating the forbidden fruit, Eve sought to do away with this element. She wanted her rights more than she wanted a relationship; the 'freedom' to know all without realizing that it would cost her all.
Because God wants a relationship with us, He wants us to depend on Him for sustenance, direction, and a sense of worth. We must walk by faith - in obedience - to acquire these things, believing God will provide them even when we lack any scientific proof to assure us that He will.
The accumulation of knowledge is not wrong; it is simply worthless compared to "knowing God and being found" - i.e. finding one's value - "in Him" (Col. 3).
The patriarchs and prophets lived in this way, committing themselves to follow after God, though they did not know where, precisely, He was leading them. "By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called...And he went out, not knowing where he was going" (Hebrews 11.8). Noah spent years building the ark despite a lack of evidence to prove it would rain. Sarah believed she would conceive though she was past the time of childbearing. "By faith Moses, when he was grown, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh's Daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin" (Hebrews 11.25).
We are wise to thank God when we encounter circumstances that require our dependence. "He knows our frame; he is mindful that we are but dust." And he will not fail to lead us in the way everlasting.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Our Dreams; God's Plans
‘Therefore, when I have finished this…I will go on by way of you to Spain. I know that when I come to you, I will come in the fullness of the blessing of Christ.” –Romans 15.28-29
Paul was a man like all men. He was bound by the laws of space and time, subject to physical and emotional frustrations, and plagued by those universal desires – for purpose and meaningful work – which are common to all.
In an attempt to live out his calling to preach the Gospel to the Gentiles, Paul developed a precise set of strategies and goals - hopes, if you will - for his ministry and future.
In his letter to the Romans Paul does not attempt to conceal these hopes but rather shares them openly. Having “fully preached the gospel of Christ…from Jerusalem and round about as far as Illyricum” (15.19), his ultimate desire was to “go to Spain” and “to be helped on [his] way there by [the Romans]” (15.24).
It is conceivable, then, that Paul viewed a potential voyage to Rome as part of his long term vision to preach the Gospel throughout the West.
Paul is not impartial or detached but filled with a relentless sense of urgency to carry out God’s plan as he then understood it. “God is my witness,” he says, “as to how unceasingly I make mention of you, always in my prayers making request, if perhaps now at last by the will of God I may succeed in coming to you”(italics mine, 9-10). Understood thus, it is not surprising that his letter is filled with such ardor, almost like a lover separated from his beloved.
But although his plans to visit the Romans had been thwarted in the past, Paul is insistent about his desire to visit them in the future. His expressions are effusive – “For I long to see you” (vs. 11) - and sincere - “I have often planned to come to you (and have been prevented so far)” (vs. 13).
Moreover, his goals for such a visit are manifold. In addition to “enjoying [their] company for a while” (15.24), Paul hopes to (1) “impart some spiritual gift” (vs. 11); (2) “be encouraged together with [them]…each…by the other’s faith” (vs. 12); (3) “obtain some fruit among [them]” (vs. 13); and (4) “preach the gospel to [them]” (vs. 15).
But Paul’s visions are never realized, at least not as he imagined them. He not only fails to travel to Spain (at least there is no evidence to suggest he did), but he never lives to experience this long-hoped for visit to the Roman church.
What actually happens is far more complicated. During his 3rd missionary journey (while on his way to Rome) Paul is falsely accused and imprisoned, first in Jerusalem, and later Caesarea. After languishing in a Caesarean prison for 2 years, he claims his right as a Roman citizen to be tried in Rome. Traveling by boat he is first shipwrecked on the isle of Malta; and later proceeds to Rome by way of Syracuse. When he does finally arrive, in chains, at the Eternal City, he lives under house arrest for two more years until, in approximately 64 AD, he is brought to trial under the Emperor Nero and executed, it is thought, by beheading, just outside the city's gates.
On a cursory level it may seem that only a cruel God would create Paul with such hopes, and allow Him both to nurture and express them, if such was his end. But then we forget that Paul identifies himself first as a “bond-servant of Christ”– a slave bound to service without temporal wage.
As “an apostle, set apart for the gospel of God” (1.1), Paul was a marked man; and his ultimate goal was not to do his own will but the will of God. This understanding of himself as a slave unto Christ did not inhibit Paul from developing and articulating a set of goals for his ministry; but at no time did he fail to submit these goals to Christ. He set about upon a certain action, upholding it in prayer, and if and when it was not realized, he recognized this not as a failure on his own part but as evidence that it must not have been God’s will.
If we are to learn anything about the true character of God we must look beyond the roughly seventy or so years, at most, that marked Paul’s earthly life. We know Paul’s greatest ambition: “And thus I aspired to preach the gospel, not where Christ was already named, so that I would not build on another man’s foundation; but as it is written, ‘They who had no news of Him shall see, and they who have not heard shall understand’” (15.20-21).
Ironically, we need look no further than the book of Romans to find evidence of its achievement. For while it is true that Paul authored at least twelve New Testament books, Romans is “by common consent his masterpiece…an Alpine peak towering over hills and villages” (N.T. Wright). Coleridge once called it “the most profound work in existence;” and it is, indeed, considered the most theologically important and influential work of the Christian faith.
It was the epistle to the Romans which Augustine, sitting under his pear tree, took and read at random, thus catalyzing his conversion. Martin Luther’s study of the book of Romans fundamentally influenced his development of the 95 theses in 1517 and of it he wrote, "“It is well worth a Christian's while not only to memorize it word for word but also to occupy himself with it daily, as though it were the daily bread of the soul". More than two hundred years later, in 1738, John Wesley, after reading Luther’s introduction to Romans and feeling his heart “strangely warmed,” subsequently became one of the earliest leaders in the Evangelical Awakening; and in 1919, Swiss theologian Karl Barth’s commentary on Romans inspired the beginning of neo-orthodoxy.
In this light it may be concluded without question that God not only granted Paul’s desire to preach the Gospel - both to the Romans and the world at large - but that he did so more powerfully, and to greater profit, than Paul’s poor mind could have ever conceived. That He did so in His way and time, with more pain to Paul, is also true.
God’s activity in Paul's life confirms that He does not vainly or arbitrarily instill us with desires to do this or that, or go here or there. Though we may never know, this side of eternity, precisely why he has made us who and what we are, we can rest assured that He has done so for a purpose. Thus we need never despair as we wrestle with Him over the why nor insist upon our own way. Instead we must rely on Him entirely for the how and when. In His perfect way and time, He will do it.
The Elder Brother
“Look! For so many years I have been serving you and I have never neglected a command of yours…but when this son of yours came, who has devoured your wealth with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him.” – Luke 15.29-30
When it comes to having a relationship with God, we all face different obstacles. Some of us, overwhelmed by our inadequacies, are paralyzed with a sense of need; others of us do not recognize our need at all, and so sit in judgment over those whom we perceive to be our “inferiors.”
Christ addresses these obstacles in the parable which, though it is often referred to as that of the Prodigal Son, is in fact the story of two sons – one younger, one older – both of whom are lost and in need of reconciliation with their father.
Perhaps because we live in a culture which so prizes independence and ‘finding one’s own way,’ more attention has been given to the younger son. He is the quintessential sixties child, a sensualist in every respect, who only learns of his spiritual poverty through experimentation and self-indulgence. But the older son, whose false conception of his own goodness blinds him from the wretchedness of his spiritual condition, is just as guilty as his brother.
Let us, for a moment, imagine the setting in which, according to Luke, the parable is presented. Christ is speaking in some public place, perhaps out of doors, where, we are told, “all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him” (15.1). Observing this, (presumably because they were already present and listening to Jesus), the Pharisees and scribes become disgruntled, saying, “’this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them’” (15.2). Thus Christ’s hearers, and metaphorically all people, may be divided into two, wholly antagonistic groups: the religious and nonreligious; adherers of the law and non-adherers; ‘sinners’ and ‘Pharisees.’
Christ undoubtedly sees all this and yet – notice how He responds. He does not become impatient or angry. Neither does he overtly accuse the sinners (of rebellion and profligacy) or the Pharisees (of hypocrisy and self-righteousness). Instead, he tells them all a story which dramatizes their behavior and thereby grants each group opportunity for self-revelation and growth.
And so the parable begins: “A man had two sons” (15.11).
If we look at the events of the story from the older brother’s perspective, it is fair to argue that he had a ‘right’ to be angry. First, his younger brother not only has the audacity to ask for his share of his inheritance while his father is still alive, but his father actually grants his son’s request and divides his property between them (15.12). Once he is in receipt of his wealth (a fact which no doubt requires him to sell off a substantial portion of the family land), the younger brother quickly abdicates his responsibilities as a son, and leaves his older brother to labor in the field, while he “squander[s] his estate with loose living” (15.13).
As far as the older brother can discern, his brother is not driven home by conscience, but necessity for “when he had spent everything a severe famine occurred in that country, and he began to be impoverished…so he got up and came to his father” (15.14, 20).
Moreover, in violation of all the laws of justice and decorum, it is the father who initiates the moment of reconciliation: For seeing his son from “a long way off” the father “ran and embraced him and kissed him” (15.20) – before his son had uttered a word of apology! When he does express remorse, his father makes no acknowledgment of it. Instead he orders the servants to fetch the finest robe, a ring and sandals; and then demands that the fattened calf – undoubtedly a prized possession during time of famine – be killed so that the household may give way to feasting.
Worst of all, perhaps, is the fact that all of this occurs while the older brother is working in the field; no one bothers to inform him of what has transpired; neither is he included in the festivities! Instead, he must make his own inquiries, by summoning a servant, after he returns to the house and hears the sound of celebration. Imagine, first, his heartache – then his shame and outrage!
Despite his father’s pleadings, he will not go into the party.
Was he not right to cast a critical eye toward his father and brother? Wasn’t his father acting just as foolishly now, by pardoning his son, as he had before? And how could he be sure that his brother hadn’t simply come home to take what he could and squander all the rest?
So the older brother grumbles, just as the Pharisees grumbled to Christ: “Look! You never gave me a goat nor let me celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property wiht prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”
But rather than affirming his son in his grievance, the father attempts to re-orient his perspective by guiding his focus elsewhere - toward what he has been given. He reminds him that he is the privileged of the two. He has always been able to enjoy his father’s presence; and now he has all his wealth besides.
His father’s statement, “...all that is mine is yours” (15.31), is not merely a gesture of goodwill but a statement of fact: for whatever wealth now remains belongs to the older son. Thus the fate of the family lies in his hands: he must decide whether to accept his father’s pardon and be reconciled to his brother or reject them both.
Christ leaves us in suspense as to how the older son responds. One thing remains clear, however: everything depends upon how he comes to view himself. If as a victim, then he will seek vindication; but if a sinner, having been shown mercy, he will be merciful.
When it comes to having a relationship with God, we all face different obstacles. Some of us, overwhelmed by our inadequacies, are paralyzed with a sense of need; others of us do not recognize our need at all, and so sit in judgment over those whom we perceive to be our “inferiors.”
Christ addresses these obstacles in the parable which, though it is often referred to as that of the Prodigal Son, is in fact the story of two sons – one younger, one older – both of whom are lost and in need of reconciliation with their father.
Perhaps because we live in a culture which so prizes independence and ‘finding one’s own way,’ more attention has been given to the younger son. He is the quintessential sixties child, a sensualist in every respect, who only learns of his spiritual poverty through experimentation and self-indulgence. But the older son, whose false conception of his own goodness blinds him from the wretchedness of his spiritual condition, is just as guilty as his brother.
Let us, for a moment, imagine the setting in which, according to Luke, the parable is presented. Christ is speaking in some public place, perhaps out of doors, where, we are told, “all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him” (15.1). Observing this, (presumably because they were already present and listening to Jesus), the Pharisees and scribes become disgruntled, saying, “’this fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them’” (15.2). Thus Christ’s hearers, and metaphorically all people, may be divided into two, wholly antagonistic groups: the religious and nonreligious; adherers of the law and non-adherers; ‘sinners’ and ‘Pharisees.’
Christ undoubtedly sees all this and yet – notice how He responds. He does not become impatient or angry. Neither does he overtly accuse the sinners (of rebellion and profligacy) or the Pharisees (of hypocrisy and self-righteousness). Instead, he tells them all a story which dramatizes their behavior and thereby grants each group opportunity for self-revelation and growth.
And so the parable begins: “A man had two sons” (15.11).
If we look at the events of the story from the older brother’s perspective, it is fair to argue that he had a ‘right’ to be angry. First, his younger brother not only has the audacity to ask for his share of his inheritance while his father is still alive, but his father actually grants his son’s request and divides his property between them (15.12). Once he is in receipt of his wealth (a fact which no doubt requires him to sell off a substantial portion of the family land), the younger brother quickly abdicates his responsibilities as a son, and leaves his older brother to labor in the field, while he “squander[s] his estate with loose living” (15.13).
As far as the older brother can discern, his brother is not driven home by conscience, but necessity for “when he had spent everything a severe famine occurred in that country, and he began to be impoverished…so he got up and came to his father” (15.14, 20).
Moreover, in violation of all the laws of justice and decorum, it is the father who initiates the moment of reconciliation: For seeing his son from “a long way off” the father “ran and embraced him and kissed him” (15.20) – before his son had uttered a word of apology! When he does express remorse, his father makes no acknowledgment of it. Instead he orders the servants to fetch the finest robe, a ring and sandals; and then demands that the fattened calf – undoubtedly a prized possession during time of famine – be killed so that the household may give way to feasting.
Worst of all, perhaps, is the fact that all of this occurs while the older brother is working in the field; no one bothers to inform him of what has transpired; neither is he included in the festivities! Instead, he must make his own inquiries, by summoning a servant, after he returns to the house and hears the sound of celebration. Imagine, first, his heartache – then his shame and outrage!
Despite his father’s pleadings, he will not go into the party.
Was he not right to cast a critical eye toward his father and brother? Wasn’t his father acting just as foolishly now, by pardoning his son, as he had before? And how could he be sure that his brother hadn’t simply come home to take what he could and squander all the rest?
So the older brother grumbles, just as the Pharisees grumbled to Christ: “Look! You never gave me a goat nor let me celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property wiht prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!”
But rather than affirming his son in his grievance, the father attempts to re-orient his perspective by guiding his focus elsewhere - toward what he has been given. He reminds him that he is the privileged of the two. He has always been able to enjoy his father’s presence; and now he has all his wealth besides.
His father’s statement, “...all that is mine is yours” (15.31), is not merely a gesture of goodwill but a statement of fact: for whatever wealth now remains belongs to the older son. Thus the fate of the family lies in his hands: he must decide whether to accept his father’s pardon and be reconciled to his brother or reject them both.
Christ leaves us in suspense as to how the older son responds. One thing remains clear, however: everything depends upon how he comes to view himself. If as a victim, then he will seek vindication; but if a sinner, having been shown mercy, he will be merciful.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Abigail's Cross Become Crown
“Now the name of the man was Nabel, and the name of his wife was Abigail. The woman was discerning and beautiful, but the man was harsh and badly behaved.” – 1 Samuel 25.3
Scores of books have been written on marriage. Some, like Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, painstakingly chronicle its deterioration following the devastations of infidelity. Others, like Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, are satirical in tone, and with wit and humor highlight the inherent differences between the sexes and our consequent tendency to misunderstand one another.
But perhaps the most difficult – nay, terrifying – fact about marriage is the unpredictability of its members. “Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance,” says Jane Austen. In this, she is indeed right for if ‘happiness’ may be defined as that sate of flourishing which is the natural byproduct of two people seeking each other’s best, then there is no telling whether husband and wife will prove themselves faithful over the course of a lifetime.
Success or 'happiness' in marriage is unpredictable because people are unpredictable. I can make reasonable estimations based on the history, temperament, and present behavior of my spouse as to whether or not he will faithfully abide by the promises he made on our wedding day. But because I cannot know the future I cannot unequivocally predict his or my reaction to it. Goethe says that “But for the slightest change in my character there is not I crime I would not be capable of committing.” If I am of sound mind, such knowledge should inspire fear -- fear not only of myself but of the human heart itself. For I am presumptuous if I think that, apart from the fear of God and an unwavering devotion to His Word, I am not in danger of becoming a most heinous version of myself, seeking my pleasure wherever I may find it, at whatever cost to those I hold most dear.
All life is risk-taking; and to marry is to take a calculated risk based on limited information and imperfect knowledge.
How did Abigail – a woman of purported discernment – wind up married to a foolish man like Nabel? Most probably he was chosen by her parents or clan and she had little if any control in the decision that ultimately formed the substance of her daily life. We may look at her circumstances and deem them tragic because she was doomed to come of age in a time when women had so little freedom. And yet, surveying our own culture, one could draw the same conclusion. How is it that Western women, in an age of robust freedom and privilege, remain so untutored in the school of character that they make such poor decisions, resulting in so many broken marriages, broken homes, and broken-hearted children?
Whatever your culture or circumstance, there are no guarantees. You can take the safest, most calculated risk in existence and it remains possible that you could one day wind up in Abigail’s position.
What hope, you may ask, remains, if such is our state? Our Hope is a Person. For God, “…has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you” (1 Peter 1.3-5). We are right to look upon ourselves with fear and mistrust; but we must remember that our security rests absolutely on the solid rock of Christ, not the fluctuating currents of our own, or other's, hearts.
We do not determine what evolutions will give shape to our temporal circumstances; but we can, through faith in Christ and good stewardship, determine the ambiance of our eternity. A wise man once told me, “No one can destroy your life but you.” The Bible is filled with many holy and upright men and women who achieved greatness, not because they had perfect marriages, but in spite of the fact that their marriages were imperfect.
Abigail’s tale may begin a tragedy but it ends in triumph. She hoped in and feared God, and willingly took grave risks in order to protect her household. It is beyond debate that her character impacted the landscape of her future. But her faithfulness is mirrored and outshone by the faithfulness of a God who moves her from being the wife of a fool to the wife of a king. He breaks through her shattered circumstances and uses her faithfulnesses to turn her mourning into gladness, her angst to joy. In the end she is no longer the object of pity, but the recipient of praise: “Blessed be your discretion and blessed be you,” says David, “Go up in peace to your house. See, I have obeyed your voice, and I have granted your petition” (1 Samuel 26.32, 35).
Monday, March 3, 2008
Beginnings
"In my end is my beginning...in my beginning is my end." - T.S. Eliot, The Four Quartets
These words remain etched in my mind because they describe something which is at the heart of human experience. By that I mean: change, cycles, seasons. It is a paradox: beginnings give way to endings which are in themselves beginnings.
Ironically, there is no state closer to oldest age than earliest infancy when the baby is most helpless and the world most hostile. When my daughter was first born - toothless, with shriveled skin, wrinkled brow, and a pursed and frowning mouth - I couldn't help but call her 'my old woman.' In her beginning I could faintly perceive her end.
One most memorable beginning in my life occurred in 2003 when, exactly one year after our marriage, my husband and I moved to the desert of Arizona, to Tucson, where circumstances had made us desperate enough to accept a job.
To my inexperienced young mind I thought this an ending.
I am not one of those 'desert dwellers;' I have never been naturally drawn toward the rugged, barren beauty that has captivated the imaginations of some. Having grown up in the verdant, misty Northwest, I am most at home indoors, rain streaking the window pane, with a strong cup of coffee and an absorbing book. The desert, to me, meant death, isolation, and of course stifling heat. In five years I have not gotten over how blindingly, paralyzingly hot it is when the desert warms up.And so, at first, I felt as though I had been cast out of civilization, as both an exile and prisoner.
I wasn't all wrong. There was truth in what the writer of Lamentations says for: "I was walled in on every side so that I could not get out" (3.7). Bu what I didn't realize was that my story was not unique: it was also the story of Joseph, Moses, Abraham, even Christ Himself.
And so I came to understand that death is not the end; nor is the death of a hope. In fact, it is and was only a beginning, a giving way to something better if infinitely more mysterious...
My purpose in keeping this blog is to chronicle what became, and continues to be, a journey toward Hope in Jesus Christ.
May it bring nourishment to your soul,
H.M. Baker
"Passing through the Valley of Baca [Wilderness] they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with blessings." - Psalm 84.6
These words remain etched in my mind because they describe something which is at the heart of human experience. By that I mean: change, cycles, seasons. It is a paradox: beginnings give way to endings which are in themselves beginnings.
Ironically, there is no state closer to oldest age than earliest infancy when the baby is most helpless and the world most hostile. When my daughter was first born - toothless, with shriveled skin, wrinkled brow, and a pursed and frowning mouth - I couldn't help but call her 'my old woman.' In her beginning I could faintly perceive her end.
One most memorable beginning in my life occurred in 2003 when, exactly one year after our marriage, my husband and I moved to the desert of Arizona, to Tucson, where circumstances had made us desperate enough to accept a job.
To my inexperienced young mind I thought this an ending.
I am not one of those 'desert dwellers;' I have never been naturally drawn toward the rugged, barren beauty that has captivated the imaginations of some. Having grown up in the verdant, misty Northwest, I am most at home indoors, rain streaking the window pane, with a strong cup of coffee and an absorbing book. The desert, to me, meant death, isolation, and of course stifling heat. In five years I have not gotten over how blindingly, paralyzingly hot it is when the desert warms up.And so, at first, I felt as though I had been cast out of civilization, as both an exile and prisoner.
I wasn't all wrong. There was truth in what the writer of Lamentations says for: "I was walled in on every side so that I could not get out" (3.7). Bu what I didn't realize was that my story was not unique: it was also the story of Joseph, Moses, Abraham, even Christ Himself.
And so I came to understand that death is not the end; nor is the death of a hope. In fact, it is and was only a beginning, a giving way to something better if infinitely more mysterious...
My purpose in keeping this blog is to chronicle what became, and continues to be, a journey toward Hope in Jesus Christ.
May it bring nourishment to your soul,
H.M. Baker
"Passing through the Valley of Baca [Wilderness] they make it a place of springs; the early rain also covers it with blessings." - Psalm 84.6
The Call of Peter
“And He got into one of the boats which was Simon’s, and He asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the people from the boat. And when He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.’ And Simon answered, ‘Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.’ And when they had done this, they enclosed a large number of fish, and their nets were breaking. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’s knees, saying, ‘Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.’” – Luke 5.3-9
Though he didn’t realize it, washing his net rather fiercely - as I imagine him - by the side of Lake Gennesaret, Simon was perfectly positioned to be used of Christ for the furthering of His ministry. So often we assume that we are in control of our lives; and if we are in control, we are therefore responsible to “make things happen” – whether in terms of our ministry or the meeting of our monetary needs.
Christ’s calling of Peter proves that neither assumption is accurate. The truth is that God is in control of our circumstances; and because He is in control, He is also responsible for the meeting of our needs.
Christ’s command presumably ran counter both to Peter’s intuition and experience; nonetheless he obeys, acknowledging Christ's authority by calling Him “Master.” Peter does not attempt to mask his feelings from God but says very openly, possibly even with a tinge of bitterness, “we toiled all night and took nothing!” But still he acts according to Christ’s bidding rather than his own understanding.
It is no accident that Christ’s first encounter with Peter occurs at the hour of his deepest need. We know from Peter’s own admission that his inability to catch any fish was not due to lack of effort or industry. In spite of the commotion and the crowds caused by Christ’s teaching Peter had not stopped working! Yet Peter’s illusions about himself had all been shattered. He was a broken man, beaten down by one failure after another. And it is precisely this moment which Christ seizes to call Peter to Himself, giving him a new name and a new vocation.
Peter's posture of brokenness demonstrates that God fulfills His purposes in our lives in spite of us, not because of us. His call is a call to obedience over understanding; brokenness versus self-sufficiency; process above productivity. Until Christ stepped into Simon Peter’s boat, he caught nothing. But this does not mean that the time before Christ appeared was wasted. Not at all! Yes, he was forced to wait on God through a wilderness of seeming stagnation and failure. But it was then that Peter learned he could not, in his own strength, fill his own net. It was then that he came to see himself as he really was: a sinner in need of grace.
And so we too act out the motions like characters in a play. We let down our nets and cast our bread upon the waters, feigning surprise, after a time, to find them always coming up empty. But we can rejoice, even in such moments, for we know that through them we are not only learning the truth about ourselves but of God: He controls our circumstances; He will be faithful to appear; and His goodness is proved not just because He brings the fish, but because he brings us to our knees. It is the one place where we can rest assured we are seeing reality as it truly is.
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