The thought of Jesus calling us to be fishers of men, I think, is a bad idea. When I was a boy, I caught my friend Eddy Wilson in the back of the head with a hook and sinker. He was not very happy with me, nor was I happy about catching my friend. Even though I have been a life-long fisherman, the act of fishing has led to some pretty miserable moments.
Fishing and tangled lines go together. I swear any time you put two fishing rods in the back of a car, they become like two children on a long road trip in the back seat of the car; somebody is going to touch the other person and cause a commotion. No matter if you separate those fishing rods between a cooler, they will find a way to get all tangled up. The very word “fishing” should be changed to “untangling.”
When you put a lure, hook, or fly on the end of a fishing rod, it develops a mean personality. Just make a sudden move, and the lure, hook, or fly will do somersaults around the tip of your fishing rod, loopy-looping into a knot no boy scout has ever encountered. The fishing rod does this just to keep you from fishing.
Then there are those tree branches and bushes that appear out of nowhere, attracting your line to their branches so often that fishermen now count it among their catches: non-affectionately named tree bass.
And don’t think you are safe once you cast your line in the water either, for that mean-spirited rod, in cooperation with the diabolical line, finds ways to snag other fishermen’s lines. This brings together two complete strangers, the kind who use colorful language, drink beer, and puff on cigarettes, the very ones your mother warned you to stay away from.
So when the Sunday school teachers and preachers talk about becoming fishers of men with a smile on their faces, you pretty much know they have never been fishing. I can’t imagine Jesus’ disciples being all that enthusiastic either. When we read about them fishing all night and catching nothing, it is not because they did not know where to fish; it is because they spent the night untangling their nets!
Fishing for people is not easy either. I have been praying for my cousin “Donna” to find Jesus for 30 years and have not had a bite. I have waved the gospel in front of her nose many times, and she just ignores it. She is all tangled up in the world. But then there are those occasions when the gospel and a hungry person meet, and there is a wonderful catch. “Butch” was one such case. He didn’t have time for church, but he was okay with his wife and kids going. When I would mention religion to “Butch,” he did not say much; he just gave me that look that I was wasting my time. For decades, he resisted the gospel.
But then I heard “Butch” had fallen on hard times and went to visit him. He sat on his couch, looking like a hot mess, with tears running down his cheeks. I offered the hope of the gospel, and he took it hook, line, and sinker. He came to church the next Sunday, and the worshipers’ jaws dropped like 50 hymnals hitting the hardwood floor at one time. “Butch” was considered a hopeless case by most.
Being a fisher of people takes a lot of patience. But then there are those times when you have the joy of a catch, which makes all the tormenting tangles worth it. So, yeah, think twice before you fish for people but do it.
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