When Fisherman Don't Fish

Will King asked me to recommend a Max Lucado’s books for him to download and listen to from Audible. I recommended a couple, though my favorite is still In the Grip of Grace. Afterward, I spent a couple of minutes looking back through my collection when I was reminded of my all-time-favorite Lucado story. It comes from In The Eye of the Storm and tells the story of a ill-fated fishing trip Max took with his father and best friend Mark.

We arrived late at night, unfolded the camper, and went to bed dreaming of tomorrow's day in the sun. But during the night, an unseasonably strong norther blew in. It got cold fast! The wind was so strong that we could barely open the camper door the next morning. There was no way we could fish in that weather.

"No problem," we said. "We'll spend the day in the camper. After all, we have Monopoly. We have Reader's Digest. We all know a few jokes. It's not what we came to do, but we'll make the best of it and fish tomorrow."

The hours passed slowly, but they did pass. Night finally came, and we crawled into the sleeping bags dreaming of angling.

Were we in for a surprise. The next morning it wasn't the wind that made the door hard to open, it was the ice!

We tried to be cheerful. "No problem," we mumbled. "We can play Monopoly… again. We can reread Reader's Digest. And surely we know another joke or two."
But as courageous as we tried to be, it was obvious that some of the gray had
left the sky and entered our camper.

I began to notice a few things I hadn't seen before. I noticed that Mark had a few personality flaws. He was a bit too cocky about his opinions. He was easily irritated and constantly edgy. He couldn't take any constructive criticism. Even though his socks did stink, he didn't think it was my business to tell him.

It was a long day. It was a long, cold night. When we awoke the next morning to the sound of sleet slapping the canvas, we didn't even pretend to be cheerful. We were flat-out grumpy. Mark became more of a jerk with each passing moment. Dad couldn't do anything right; I wondered how someone so irritable could have such an even-tempered son. We sat in misery the whole day, our fishing equipment still unpacked. The next day was even colder. "We're going home" were my father's first words. No one objected.

I learned a hard lesson that week. Not about fishing, but about people. When those who are called to fish don't fish, they fight.

Indeed! When fishermen don’t fish, they fight! That has been the problem the church has faced from the first century. When we forget who our enemy really is and get distracted from our task, we turn our sights inward and we fight. That has been true of congregations, religious movements and the history of the church across the ages. If we are not using our hammers to work to build the kingdom of God in the hearts and lives of men and women, then we will use them to attack each other. When fisherman don’t fish, they fight!