The Fisherman by Larry Huntsperger

Such pride!
    And through it all he loved me, encouraged me, and fed me just as much truth as he knew I was able to swallow. My ignorance didn’t bother him; he expected nothing else. My blindness didn’t discourage him; he knew that only the Spirit could give me eyes to see. And my flesh-based approach to life didn’t defeat him in the least, because he knew the only solution to the flesh was death—both his death, and the death of my confidence in the flesh. But those deaths were still several years away, and there was a great deal to be accomplished by him and in me before either of us was ready for that.

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    Though I could not see it at the time, the beginning of that second year brought with it the initiation of a radical new direction in the Master’s strategy. I continued to cling to the hope that he would seek to build bridges of reconciliation with our nation’s leadership. He and they, on the other hand, knew all too well that no such bridges could ever be built. They feared him as they had never feared anything or anyone else in their lives. He was truth clothed in power and compassion, and it terrified them. They had worked hard to build their power structure, dancing their intricate dance of corruption and compromise. They knew it was a dance he would not share. There was no place for him in their world. One way or another he would have to be removed.
    And so began phase two of the Master’s plan. Though he continued his public teaching and healing work among the multitudes in the rural areas, his primary point of focus was quickly redirected to those whom he once referred to affectionately as his “little flock.” I think even then each of us knew who we were. Certainly he knew. We were the ones who had given ourselves to him. That doesn’t say it well, but I don’t know how else to put it. We were the ones who were drawn to him not because of what he said or because of what we got from him but simply because of who he was. We did not understand him, but we knew, too, that we could not live without him.
    The Master’s new strategy became evident to us all the day he designated the Twelve. I wonder if I can help you understand what that day was like.
    It began, as most days did, with a group of us congregating at the house where Jesus was staying early in the morning. He was not there when we arrived, but we had grown accustomed to him slipping out before the sun was up to find a secluded place to talk with his heavenly Father. I found out later that this particular time he had been out all night.
    By the time he arrived home, a sizable crowd was waiting for him. Many of the faces in the group were well known to me. Andrew, James, and John were there, of course, as were Philip and Nathanael, who preferred to be called by his family name, Bartholomew. There were a number of recent additions in the crowd as well, like Matthew. Until just a few days earlier he had been the collector of Roman taxes in the region. It seemed strange to see him there, standing off to the side by himself. I had spent most of my adult life hating the man for his shameless sellout to the Roman Empire for the sake of increasing the bulge in his wallet. But I was also standing next to the Master the week before, when Jesus stepped inside Matthew’s office, looked into his eyes, and asked Matthew to follow him. I saw first the fear, then the shame, then the amazement and hope that passed over Matthew’s face in his encounter with the Master. I had experienced this inner pilgrimage myself and had to admit Matthew might now be one of us.
    As Andrew, James, John, Philip, Nathanael, and I stood there in our little group, waiting, watching for the Master’s arrival, we had no way of knowing the significance of what was about to take place. The words spoken by the Master this day would alter the course of our lives, our nation, and eventually our world forever.
    Jesus’ appearance