The Fisherman by Larry Huntsperger Page B

fish during the days. But why couldn’t we fish at night?
    I suggested the idea to the others, and it met with no small resistance. They pointed out that it would be nice to sleep at night, and I pointed out that we had to do something to stay alive, and they pointed out that their needs had been well provided for by the people they met during their trip with Jesus to Judea, and I pointed out that eating a few meals in someone’s house was a long way from providing for an entire household, and they . . . well, you get the idea. In the end they grudgingly acknowledged that some night fishing might become a necessity. Jesus was planning to attend the synagogue in Capernaum the following day. We would join him early, spend the day together, then begin our night job when the Sabbath ended.
    Ruth could tell something was different the moment I walked in the door. Twelve hours earlier she had kissed a grumpy bear good-bye. Now the grumpiness was gone, replaced by an excitement she had not seen for weeks. We talked until late into the night. She understood my anxiety about how I was now going to earn a living given my commitment to the Master, but it didn’t seem to concern her nearly as much as it did me. Her far greater and more immediate concern grew out of her mother’s rapidly failing health. The previous twenty-four hours had been the worst yet. Her mom was now eating nothing at all. The fever raged unbroken. Though none of us dared put it into words, unless there was a dramatic change soon, it was obvious Ruth’s mom would not last more than another day or two at the most.
    â€œSimon, do you think Jesus would help her?”
    Why is it always so much easier to trust the Lord for someone else’s needs than it is to trust him for our own? Perhaps for the same reason it is so much easier to believe he loves the person next to us more than he loves us. We know ourselves too well. We know all the reasons why we are unworthy of his involvement in our lives. It seems reasonable for him to miraculously intervene in the lives of Moses, and Elijah, and King David. But why should we expect him to do the same for us? That very day I had seen the Master heal a dozen helpless people. Yet, when Ruth asked me that question, I didn’t know what to say. Certainly he could help her. But would he? All I could do was promise Ruth I would ask.
    Andrew, James, John, and I left for Capernaum early the following morning. I wanted Ruth to join us, but her mom’s condition made it impossible.
    We joined Jesus just as he was heading into the synagogue. Everyone in the community knew he would be teaching, and the place was packed. He read a passage from the writings of the Prophet Isaiah and was beginning to comment on it when suddenly a man in the middle of the room stood up and let out the most hideous scream I had ever heard. Then he looked right at Jesus, thrust his finger as if he were trying to skewer the Master on the end of it, and cried out, “What business do we have with each other, Jesus, you Nazarene?”
    The venom with which these words were spoken was unlike anything I’d ever heard before. It is true that Nazareth had a reputation in those days for being a rather ignorant, irreverent community, but this man made Jesus’ hometown sound like vile, hideous blasphemy. Then the man’s tone shifted from hatred to terror as he wrapped his arms around his face and whimpered, “Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!”
    That final phrase triggered an instant response from Jesus. “Be quiet! And come out of him!”
    Jesus’ double command brought an immediate reaction. The man suddenly crashed to the floor with such fury it looked almost as if some massive invisible hand had picked him up and smashed him down. His entire body then contracted in a series of violent convulsions, followed by one final terrifying shriek.
    For a few seconds the