The Fisher and the Fish

“Bring some of the fish you just caught.” John 21:10

Nope. I’m not launching a career in ichthyology. Neither do I currently work in the Bureau of Fisheries. Fish recipe preparation remains tedious to me, not to mention that they are still reeky to my smell after all these

That the grillers might have their fill

Credit: Flicker

years. Yes, it’s been a long partnership of going to the wet market, taking back the damped change from the vendor, scaling off the fish, removing the gill, and cooking it while the smell sticks on the hanged clothes.

Maybe, it’s the fossilized nutrients in my body and brain tugging me over and over to this primal feature of evolution. I grew up in a lake with friends, missionaries, and my father. The lake that became a dating place, a caper, and a spot of silent wonder with friends. The lake that rocked our motorboat, triggering some fears in us, as we head to its other side for a missionary stint. The lake that bonded me with my father during those early morning fishing hours, handing us with a meager catch enough for one break of the fast. We can only bring some that we caught, like manna consumable only for a day. Yet, there was no prohibition whatsoever from coming back. Those lake dwellers were simply there, mindless of their mini-crucifixion. It was the lake’s silent, no-gripe generosity and abundance. Its generosity is running through my blood; it must run through my blood despite the impurity of hoarding that the Fisher hinted at his disciples during one crisp, Galilean morning:“Bring some of the fish…” He may have said:“Let go of the rest,” or “distribute the rest to the villagers.” One thing is certain – it was a command to only grill what they needed that worn-out morning. Another thing is certain – “some of the fish” was a stark reminder that the Fisher has humbled himself into a fish. The disciples had their burping fill, enough to thank Him. It was a eucharistic morning, reminding me of the many ‘thank you’s” after a fish-flavored breakfast with my family. Fishes have so much to teach. So are the lakes of God’s generosity.


2 thoughts on “The Fisher and the Fish

  1. What is it about a fishing between father and son that bonds them for life? It probably echoes the tradition and rite of passage long handed down from the past that even the Great Fisher’s of Men participated in it himself. While reading through this post, my memories of chilly mornings, wild geese flying overhead and a light tugging at the end of my line–FISH!–came flooding back. Thanks.

    It was not easy groping in the early morning dark, almost zigzagging my way as a sleepy brat, then soak in the cold of the lake water. But what appeared penitential to a whining boy was a propitious deposit of a ritualized bonding.

  2. Pingback: Places that form our persons… « DesertFishing…

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