SUNDAY AT THE BEACH

Lots of days here start like this early morning; windless times that fishermen know well--boats glide easily and cleanly out to the banks. There is no rustling from nearly transfixed palm-leaves; water in the bay is glassy, fog-colored and reflecting only the silence. The ocean is moved by smooth, sprayless currents; a day perhaps to go after lenguada, the tongue-shaped flat halibut.

It must have been such a morning at the Sea of Galilee, when Peter and his brother Andrew came ashore to find a stranger waiting for them. It is recorded, “Galilee of the Gentiles—the people living in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.” (Mat. 4:15, 16). The brothers learned they were to be fishers of men, and followed willingly!

Here at the beach it is a Sunday; sea-birds in neat rows natter fitfully like parishioners restively waiting for the service to begin. The hush is almost chapel-like and a prayer rushes forth unbidden: “Dear Lord, let me be caught in the net of men such as those, and lifted up.” Amen.