“You said it was a windstorm?”
The old fisherman lowered the knot he was trying to undo with his teeth and spit the muck of it on the beach.
“I’ve sailed this sea since I was a child. Never seen the like of what hit us that day.”
The fisherman’s companion looked up while his fingers continued to dance around his net, “Why don’t you tell him from the beginning?”
The man who had asked about the windstorm nodded, “Yes, start from the beginning.” He took a seat on a nearby rock, his gaze intent on the two fishermen as the sun began to set behind them.
The old fisherman let out a deep breath. “It was an evening just like this one. There was no sign of a storm, but the sea changes quick. We weren’t far from shore, so we decided to stay out. Get a few more fish.”
“And we were doing alright,” the fisherman’s companion said. “Until the storm.”
“Until the storm,” the old fisherman agreed. “We had our catch in the boat and more in the nets. We were hauling them in when something in the air changed.”
“Some might not have even noticed,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“I noticed,” the old fisherman said. “The faintest change in the wind. The slightest chill. It made the hair on my arms stand on end.”
“Then it got dark.”
“It was the clouds. They rolled in and the sun was gone. Without them, we would’ve had another hour of daylight. I told the kid we needed to get the fish in fast and start rowing.” The old fisherman looked at the man on the rock and hooked his thumb toward his companion, “I’ve never seen him work so fast.”
A handful of sea shells flew at the old fisherman but missed. He chuckled.
“We had gotten the last of it when the waves really got choppy. And they weren’t alone. The wind was with them. I told him to take in the sail, that we needed to row.”
“I got it in just in time.”
“But when that first gust hit, it nearly threw you out of the boat.”
“It about threw you out of the boat.”
The old fisherman laughed. “Fair enough. It almost threw us both out of the boat. And the fish too. They would have been fine. Not us.”
The fisherman’s companion grimaced.
The old fisherman continued, “The wind was pushing us further out to sea. It was no use trying to row against it. I’ve tried that before as a young man and it doesn’t work. The best we could do was cut to the side of it. So we put our backs into it.”
“For a long time,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“But it was hopeless?” the man on the rock asked.
“We didn’t have a chance. We were taking on water.”
“Our load was too heavy to handle a storm like that. So we started to throw the fish back.”
“Tell me more about the storm,” the man said.
“It raged. The waves… Well, you don’t see waves like that except maybe every 50 years.”
“Really?”
“Really.” The old man tapped his head, “I’ve seen storms. They happen often out here. You know this. But they don’t often happen like that, where the wind and the sea seem like they’ve set aside their differences and are working together.”
“Working together against us,” the fisherman’s companion added.
“Did it rain?” The man on the rock asked.
“It would have. The clouds were churning above us—fit to burst. It wouldn’t have mattered to us, we were already soaked to the skin by the waves and the spray off the sea. Not to mention the storm would have had us in the water.”
“Or underwater.”
The man held up his hand, “Wait. What do you mean you think it would have? You think it would have rained?”
“Like I said, I’ve seen storms. We were in the thick of it, and it was only starting. It would only have gotten worse. Gone from a once-in-every-fifty-year storm to once-in-every-hundred-year storm.”
“But you’re saying it didn’t. Did it just blow over?”
The fisherman’s companion scoffed.
The old fisherman frowned. “A storm like that doesn’t just blow over. Not only because of the size of the storm. That wasn’t normal. But neither was what happened afterward. It wasn’t a return to normal. It was something more.”
“Yes, I want to hear about that,” the man on the rock said. “But explain what happened before.”
“Let’s see. Where were we?”
“You started to throw the fish back.”
“Oh yes. Do you know how hard it is to throw away a full day’s work?”
“Hard, I imagine. But probably not has hard as facing your demise.”
The old man looked off into the distance and nodded, his rough fingers slowing their work on the net.
“So there we were, facing our demise as you say. Throwing fish overboard, bailing water, praying to God. It was the distant boom that made me pause. It sounded like thunder but yet not. No, it wasn’t thunder. There was a finality to it. But that’s when I saw the squall coming toward us hard and fast. It flattened the waves before it. The clouds raced away from it. It could only be a wall of wind. I barely had time to give a word of warning before it hit.”
“And it knocked us both over,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“The wind?” the man on the rock asked.
The old fisherman shook his head. “No, the stillness. It sat us both down.”
The man on the rock leaned forward. “The stillness? So it wasn’t a squall?”
“It was a squall. Not of wind—but of calm. It was the banishment of the storm.”
The man looked out over the sea. “Your prayers were answered.”
The old fisherman nodded. “It was a miracle, and more... It was shalom.”
“What makes you say that?”
The creases on the old fisherman’s face deepened. After a moment of intent thought, he said, “You don’t realize that all of creation is groaning until it isn’t. The calm was a momentary release from that groaning. Like I said, it wasn’t just a return to this normal,” the old fisherman gestured to the shore and the sea around them. “No, in that moment, it was like unspoiled creation was restored.”
“What was it like?”
“It was like sailing through the sky,” the fisherman’s companion said dreamily.
“The water was smooth as polished bronze,” The old fisherman explained. “The sky was clear and dark above us, and all the stars reflected in the water around us. We couldn’t tell sea from sky. I’ve never seen the sea at such peace.”
“I wish I could have witnessed it,” the man on the rock said. He leaned back and stared into the darkening sky.
Together, the three men let the silence settle around them as they breathed in the night.
Eventually the old man said quietly, “I’ve seen unusual things on the sea all my life, but none as much as when that Jesus of Nazareth walked these shores. Is what they say about him true?”
The man on the rock’s gaze met the old fisherman’s. “It is,” he said.
“Tell us more about him,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“Please,” the old fisherman agreed. “But first, let’s make a fire, and we’ll make a meal of these fish.”
Setting down his net, now ready for the next catch, the old fisherman set to work building a fire while his companion began cleaning the fish.
Looking up over the young flames, the old fisherman addressed the man on the rock, “You said you were a doctor? You think you could take a look at my shoulder?”
The man on the rock smiled, “Happily. And you can call me Luke.”
The old fisherman lowered the knot he was trying to undo with his teeth and spit the muck of it on the beach.
“I’ve sailed this sea since I was a child. Never seen the like of what hit us that day.”
The fisherman’s companion looked up while his fingers continued to dance around his net, “Why don’t you tell him from the beginning?”
The man who had asked about the windstorm nodded, “Yes, start from the beginning.” He took a seat on a nearby rock, his gaze intent on the two fishermen as the sun began to set behind them.
The old fisherman let out a deep breath. “It was an evening just like this one. There was no sign of a storm, but the sea changes quick. We weren’t far from shore, so we decided to stay out. Get a few more fish.”
“And we were doing alright,” the fisherman’s companion said. “Until the storm.”
“Until the storm,” the old fisherman agreed. “We had our catch in the boat and more in the nets. We were hauling them in when something in the air changed.”
“Some might not have even noticed,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“I noticed,” the old fisherman said. “The faintest change in the wind. The slightest chill. It made the hair on my arms stand on end.”
“Then it got dark.”
“It was the clouds. They rolled in and the sun was gone. Without them, we would’ve had another hour of daylight. I told the kid we needed to get the fish in fast and start rowing.” The old fisherman looked at the man on the rock and hooked his thumb toward his companion, “I’ve never seen him work so fast.”
A handful of sea shells flew at the old fisherman but missed. He chuckled.
“We had gotten the last of it when the waves really got choppy. And they weren’t alone. The wind was with them. I told him to take in the sail, that we needed to row.”
“I got it in just in time.”
“But when that first gust hit, it nearly threw you out of the boat.”
“It about threw you out of the boat.”
The old fisherman laughed. “Fair enough. It almost threw us both out of the boat. And the fish too. They would have been fine. Not us.”
The fisherman’s companion grimaced.
The old fisherman continued, “The wind was pushing us further out to sea. It was no use trying to row against it. I’ve tried that before as a young man and it doesn’t work. The best we could do was cut to the side of it. So we put our backs into it.”
“For a long time,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“But it was hopeless?” the man on the rock asked.
“We didn’t have a chance. We were taking on water.”
“Our load was too heavy to handle a storm like that. So we started to throw the fish back.”
“Tell me more about the storm,” the man said.
“It raged. The waves… Well, you don’t see waves like that except maybe every 50 years.”
“Really?”
“Really.” The old man tapped his head, “I’ve seen storms. They happen often out here. You know this. But they don’t often happen like that, where the wind and the sea seem like they’ve set aside their differences and are working together.”
“Working together against us,” the fisherman’s companion added.
“Did it rain?” The man on the rock asked.
“It would have. The clouds were churning above us—fit to burst. It wouldn’t have mattered to us, we were already soaked to the skin by the waves and the spray off the sea. Not to mention the storm would have had us in the water.”
“Or underwater.”
The man held up his hand, “Wait. What do you mean you think it would have? You think it would have rained?”
“Like I said, I’ve seen storms. We were in the thick of it, and it was only starting. It would only have gotten worse. Gone from a once-in-every-fifty-year storm to once-in-every-hundred-year storm.”
“But you’re saying it didn’t. Did it just blow over?”
The fisherman’s companion scoffed.
The old fisherman frowned. “A storm like that doesn’t just blow over. Not only because of the size of the storm. That wasn’t normal. But neither was what happened afterward. It wasn’t a return to normal. It was something more.”
“Yes, I want to hear about that,” the man on the rock said. “But explain what happened before.”
“Let’s see. Where were we?”
“You started to throw the fish back.”
“Oh yes. Do you know how hard it is to throw away a full day’s work?”
“Hard, I imagine. But probably not has hard as facing your demise.”
The old man looked off into the distance and nodded, his rough fingers slowing their work on the net.
“So there we were, facing our demise as you say. Throwing fish overboard, bailing water, praying to God. It was the distant boom that made me pause. It sounded like thunder but yet not. No, it wasn’t thunder. There was a finality to it. But that’s when I saw the squall coming toward us hard and fast. It flattened the waves before it. The clouds raced away from it. It could only be a wall of wind. I barely had time to give a word of warning before it hit.”
“And it knocked us both over,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“The wind?” the man on the rock asked.
The old fisherman shook his head. “No, the stillness. It sat us both down.”
The man on the rock leaned forward. “The stillness? So it wasn’t a squall?”
“It was a squall. Not of wind—but of calm. It was the banishment of the storm.”
The man looked out over the sea. “Your prayers were answered.”
The old fisherman nodded. “It was a miracle, and more... It was shalom.”
“What makes you say that?”
The creases on the old fisherman’s face deepened. After a moment of intent thought, he said, “You don’t realize that all of creation is groaning until it isn’t. The calm was a momentary release from that groaning. Like I said, it wasn’t just a return to this normal,” the old fisherman gestured to the shore and the sea around them. “No, in that moment, it was like unspoiled creation was restored.”
“What was it like?”
“It was like sailing through the sky,” the fisherman’s companion said dreamily.
“The water was smooth as polished bronze,” The old fisherman explained. “The sky was clear and dark above us, and all the stars reflected in the water around us. We couldn’t tell sea from sky. I’ve never seen the sea at such peace.”
“I wish I could have witnessed it,” the man on the rock said. He leaned back and stared into the darkening sky.
Together, the three men let the silence settle around them as they breathed in the night.
Eventually the old man said quietly, “I’ve seen unusual things on the sea all my life, but none as much as when that Jesus of Nazareth walked these shores. Is what they say about him true?”
The man on the rock’s gaze met the old fisherman’s. “It is,” he said.
“Tell us more about him,” the fisherman’s companion said.
“Please,” the old fisherman agreed. “But first, let’s make a fire, and we’ll make a meal of these fish.”
Setting down his net, now ready for the next catch, the old fisherman set to work building a fire while his companion began cleaning the fish.
Looking up over the young flames, the old fisherman addressed the man on the rock, “You said you were a doctor? You think you could take a look at my shoulder?”
The man on the rock smiled, “Happily. And you can call me Luke.”