Shovel (Easter - Day 19)

(Based on Luke 5:1-11)

There's this story about a fisherman named Simon Peter. Him and his brother Andrew are lending their boat to Jesus to use as a pulpit because the crowds have grown so big on the shoreline that Jesus has to get out on the water. We don't know what Jesus teaches about while he's on the boat, but when he's done he gets the fishing bug. He tells Simon to let his nets out to catch some fish. Evidently, Simon and his brother have just spent all night fishing, and didn't catch a minnow. But, Simon reluctantly takes Jesus' advice and lets the nets down. Within minutes, the boat starts leaning to one side. "OMG!," yells Simon. The nets get so heavy with fish that Simon has to call over some other guys to help him pull them up.

They can't see fully how many fish they have because they have to drag the net back to shore while it's still submerged. They can feel the weight though. When they finally get to shore and pull the nets up, they can't believe their eyes. Simon looks at Jesus, then at the fish, and says, "Can you leave me alone for a minute? I need to breathe. I'm a sinner and I can't be around this holiness right now."

Simon realizes how big God is and how small he is in this moment. The fishermen around him are equally amazed.

Jesus tells them, "For now on, you're gonna be fishers of men. Why don't ya'll come follow me?"

The guys pull the boats up onto the dock, tie the nets up, and leave everything that has to do with fishing there on the shoreline. They are convinced that there's something about this guy Jesus that makes leaving their livelihood worth it. They have just witnessed something that not only blows them away, but leaves them wanting more. They follow him.

There was a religious system around when this story happened. There were synagogues, preachers, governments, and there was marriage between the religious system and the government. But, the first instance of someone deciding to follow Jesus didn't happen in a church building or at a big tent revival. It happened on a smelly shoreline. There's a fishing village in Carbonera Mexico that I've been to several times. It rests on the east coast of Mexico, and you can look out in the ocean for miles from the shoreline. Along the shoreline, the whole length of the village, you know what the industry is. The smell of rotten fish pervades the senses. Boats big and small with their nets and owners line the beach. It's dirty. It's smelly. It's not pleasing to the eye. This is where Jesus finds his first disciples.

There are moments when heaven touches earth, or when divinity intersects with our humanity. For me, it seems to always happen out "on the shoreline." Very rarely does the voice of Jesus saying, "Follow me," happen while I'm sitting in a church building or listening to a sermon on podcast. It happens while I'm doing what I'm normally doing.

There are moments when I realize how big God is and how small I am. My dad, my brother, and I were out in Big Bend National Park three summers ago were traveling across the desert in a Jeep we had rented. We got to a part of the trail where there was a good spot to go mudding. It happened to be right beside the Rio Grande. We had seen one vehicle all day traveling this trail.

I got behind the wheel and slammed the gas, turning the wheel, and trying to shoot up as much mud as I could to cover the jeep. My heart was beating really fast because I knew I was flirting with disaster being only a few yards away from the river. I managed to keep us out of the water, but I didn't manage to keep us unstuck. Five minutes into spinning and throwing mud up into the sky, I rested the vehicle on its axles. The wheels had dug themselves so far into the sand that they were suspended in the air with no traction to dig down on. Did I mention we had seen one car that day, and this was in the middle of nowhere, 120 degree temperature, and no shovel?

I immediately go into Bear Grylls mode and begin gathering anything I can find to put under the tires. After tirelessly gathering wood, and making a track starting underneath the tires all the way to level ground, I start the Jeep. Come on, come on. The wheels don't catch. My next idea is to start digging, but all I have is a hand shovel that was supposed to be used for burying our poop. My brother and I dig, and dig, and dig. Nothing works.

My brother is throwing up from exhaustion, and I'm going crazy trying to dig a Jeep that's rested on its axles out of the sand with a hand shovel. After about two hours of digging, I stand up take a break. I look through the passenger and driver windows, and there's a Suburban! Did I mention that we had seen one vehicle this whole day, out in the 120 degree desert, and had no cell phone service?

Two Hispanic guys happen to be in the right place at the right time, and they have a tow strap. What would have taken about two days with my little hand shovel takes thirty seconds with the suburban. In this moment, I couldn't help but think how small I was, and how big God was.

There are times when we sense that there is something much, much bigger than us going on. We find all sorts of names to call it, but it's undoubtedly there. It creates this feeling of smallness in the overwhelming mystery of some divine bigness. When these moments happen, we crave more. And, it's usually out in nature when this happens, right? We'll be hiking or camping, or working, or sipping coffee at Starbucks, and we get overwhelmed and have this sense that there's something more than meets the eye here. It's on the fringes between the water of doubt and the shoreline of possibility that Jesus meets the disciples and blows their minds to the point that they think it's worth it to leave everything and follow him. They want to see more. They want to do whatever it takes to experience this overwhelming sensation again. The follow him.

These points in which the heavens touch earth, or the divine touches humanity, or largeness intersects smallness happen all the time. I really believe that in each of our lives, these intersections are happening one after another, day after day, year after year, moment after moment. Do we notice them? The hardest part is keeping my eyes open for the intersection of the divine with my humanity. I get so honed in on the task at hand, just like I was with the hand shovel, that I can't possibly think that the divine would choose to intersect right now. And, I drift through the day, oblivious to nature's bigness. I want more intersections of the divine. I want more overwhelming sensations of "this is bigger than me." I'm hungry to find more of this.

Today's Action: Keep our eyes open today, our senses engaged. Look for one thing today that connects us with the sense that "there's more than meets the eye here." Follow its lead and see what happens!