I Never Was Much of a Fisherman

The earliest fish I remember catching was when my older brother and I were probably 7 and 6, respectively. We were living in Belgrade, Montana at the time. Our house was on the outskirts of town (truth is, at that time, if you were more than three blocks off the main street of town, you were in the outskirts). In the fields behind our house, I remember there was a small irrigation/drainage ditch, in which we caught a fairly large sucker about 10 inches long. We carried it home triumphantly, and put it in water inside our mother’s trusty galvanized wash tub.

I remember fishing at a county park a few years later, in Washington State. My brother and I were on a dock that went out into the lake, and we had our new fishing poles. We didn’t know much about fishing, but we could see some fishermen out in boats near the lily pads, casting their bait towards the pads. Figuring that was how you fished, we’d lay out our lines with bait on the dock behind us, and whip our poles over our heads, trying to get the hook out as far as we could. We never did catch any fish, although once my brother did catch our grandmother who was standing behind us.

When I was twelve, we were visiting relatives in Monte Vista, Colorado, and stumbled into a fishing derby at the town’s new fishing pond. We caught a couple of small fish there, but nothing else. A few days later, we went up to a private lake near the summit of Wolf Creek Pass, and I caught two fish, one a ten-inch trout.

The only other fish I remember catching was maybe two years later. My brother and I had gone to visit our mother’s parents, who were living in the small town of Marblemount, Washington. This town was a wide spot in the road surrounded mostly by secondary growth forest. Some distance out behind the trailer court our grandparents lived in was an abandoned railroad bed. We hiked it a number of times.

Toward the end of our stay, we looked down from a bridge that crossed a small stream, and saw a fish almost three feet long. We quickly got down to the stream and caught it with our bare hands. I don’t remember where we got it from, but we came up with some fishing line, and hung the fish from a pole between the two of us. We returned to the trailer court in triumph, only to learn about the condition of salmon that have already spawned. The flesh was unfit to eat, unless you were a bear.

To the best of my remembrance, that is my fishing experience. About like Matthew, the tax collector, I suspect. Now, Peter, there was a fisherman. For him and his brother Andrew and the other brothers, James and John, fishing was a way to make a living. When Christ called them, they were fishing. And after the resurrection, Peter talked several of them to return to fishing. Christ had told them that they would become fishers of men, but it seems like they kept returning to the fish. Finally, after all this, Christ told Peter to feed His lambs. "Stop fishing. Feed my lambs. I know you love me, feed my sheep. Take care of my flock." I don’t recall any mention of Peter ever going back to the boat after that.

Teaching in a public school has its limitations when it comes to witnessing for the Lord. We certainly can not be involved in fishing for men (children). But, I’m convinced, our words and actions, our kind attention and smiles can certainly feed the lambs. And I think He expects us to.

And we don’t even have to deal with smelly worms or other types of bait!

Dr. G