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Poppa Zebedee approached his sons one day. He thought it was time to talk to them about joining him in the fishing business. But he knew it wouldn't be easy. Why? Because they hated fishing. They had always hated fishing.

"Poppa, we get seasick," Jim complained.

"And neither of us even likes to eat fish," John chimed in. "So why do you want us to go to work for you on your boat?" Jim queried.

"But you're my sons. Who else will take over the business when I retire?" Poppa Zebedee pleaded. Poppa was right, of course. Who would take over if not his two sons? He had one other child, a daughter, and she certainly couldn't be expected to don a fisherman's outfit and commandeer a boat full of fishermen. Besides all the men Poppa Zebedee knew turned to their sons as heirs apparent of their daddies' fishing businesses. So why shouldn't Poppa Zebedee expect his sons to follow suit?

The sons made one last effort to convince their dad that the fishing life wasn't for them. "Poppa, we'd only get in the way; we don't know one end of a boat from the other. And imagine what the other fishermen would think of us and you!" Jim pleaded.

"Yeah," John added quickly, "I can hear them now! 'There go Zeb's dummies. They can't even haul in a net without losing half the load.' Wouldn't you be embarrassed, Poppa, huh?"

Poppa Zebedee was momentarily caught off guard by the common front his sons presented. But slowly he regained his composure. "Well," he stroked his beard, "well, you'll learn. You'll learn. Just give yourselves some time." Waving his hand he stood up, bringing the discussion to a close. "No more talk about this. I've made up my mind." And there was no more talk. Once Poppa Zebedee had made up his mind, that was it.

So Jim and John joined Poppa on his boat and in the weeks that followed they tried their best to be the kind of fishermen their dad could be proud of. They tried. They really did try; but they never quite seemed to be where they were supposed to be, or do what they were expected to do -- ever. "We've been waiting for you. What's taken you so long?" Poppa Zebedee snapped at his sons almost daily as he and the other fishermen waited impatiently to launch out into the deep. Invariably, Jim and John were the last men on board.

"Poppa, we stopped to tell Mrs. Borowitz how sorry we were that her dad died." And they were sorry.

"Poppa, there was a kid crying on the beach and we thought we'd cheer him up." And they did cheer him up.

"Poppa, poor Mrs. Schnickel didn't have anyone to help her carry her groceries home; so we helped her." Which was true.

Poppa Zebedee shook his head. He wondered how many excuses they'd cook up to avoid the real work of fishing.

And once on the boat? That was something else! "What's the matter with you?" Poppa Zebedee shouted as the full net of fish they had been hauling in all afternoon slipped out of his sons' hands and disappeared in the dark water.

"There's someone drowning out there! We've got to save him," they panicked pointing to an object bobbing up and down in the water about fifty yards away.

"That's just a buoy, you idiots!" Zebedee growled.

"All the more reason to save him, Poppa. He doesn't have the strength of a man to survive the current," Jim shot back.

Zebedee threw up his hands. "I don't mean a boy. I mean a marker, a buoy, telling us where we are."

"Oh!" the brothers responded feebly. Heads downcast they peered into the silent sea and pondered the cost of having tried to save a buoy that wasn't a boy. As for Zebedee, after he simmered down he resolved to chalk up this incident to inexperience. "They'll come around. They'll come around. They just need a little more time," he said half-convincingly to himself. But he couldn't justify to himself or to the hired fishermen his sons' action two days later.

Trolling from one spot to another all morning without success, suddenly they found themselves amid a school of thousands of silver bodies glistening in the water. Poppa Zebedee's eyes widened. "Drop the nets in, drop them in!" he whispered excitedly. "Incredible! Incredible!" He hadn't seen a catch like this in weeks, and could hardly contain himself. He looked out into the distance at the other fishing boats. "If they knew what was going on, they'd all be over here in a minute. But they don't. They...." He had no sooner gotten the words out when the silence was shattered.

"Over here. They're over here. C'mon. Over here!" Horrified, Zebedee saw his sons signaling to the fishermen in the other boats. Oblivious of the storm clouds gathering on their father's face, they continued, "The fish are here. Come and join us." Within seconds, boats barracudaed their way to Zebedee's boat from every direction and dropped their own nets into the teeming waters. There were choruses of "Hallelujah," and "What a great day," and "Thanks for telling us," as the men in all the boats hauled in the fish.

And although Zebedee's boat too pulled in a sizable load that afternoon, this didn't satisfy Zebedee. "How could you ... what possessed you ... what, how ... nincompoops!" Zebedee's eyes bulged and his face reddened with anger as he confronted his sons soon after the last net had been hauled in.

"Poppa, I think I know why you're upset, but we just thought it would be nice to share the good news with the others," Jim ventured cautiously.

"That's right, Poppa. The others haven't been doing so well ... so, what's a few fish among friends?" John innocently proposed. "A few fish among friends?" Poppa irrupted. "A few fish among friends? Is every fisherman in Galilee your friend?"

"We could aim for that, couldn't we?" John answered amiably.

"Ohhh!" Zebedee groaned as he hit his head with the palm of his hand. He wanted to write off this incident as inexperience too, but all he could do was shake his head in disbelief. "But they are my sons. They are my sons," he muttered, trying to prevent himself from disinheriting them then and there. "And they will be fishermen. They will be fishermen," he kept reassuring himself. "They just have to get their priorities straight!"

However, his reassurances grew harder to muster in the weeks ahead. Why were they engaging the fish in conversation? Were they apologizing for having imprisoned them in their nets? And why were chats with the hired fishermen consuming so much of their time? They seemed to spend more time spilling their guts to his sons than doing the work for which they were hired! But it wasn't until Zebedee came to board his boat one morning that he finally realized that his dream of having fishermen sons would never be.

Zebedee's boat was missing from the shore. And so were his sons. What had happened? As they waited one, then two hours, Zebedee imagined all kinds of things. Were they having an extended conversation with the fish? Were they trying to save someone? Another buoy? Were they stranded somewhere? Shipwrecked? Lost at sea? As he considered the different possibilities, one of the fishermen ran up to Zebedee and pointed to the little boat on the horizon. Zebedee's anxiety was so great he waded into the water straining to see if the boat were his. It was his all right. And as it neared the shore, Zebedee was stunned. His fishing boat was festooned from stem to stern with streamers and balloons of every color. Old men and women, street people, little kids, and an odd assortment of cats and dogs were crowded aboard. As it neared the shore, they all waved joyously to anyone in sight. "What, what is this all about?" Zebedee sputtered as the boat came to rest on the sandy beach.

"Sorry we're late, Poppa. Just thought it would be nice to give them all a ride! We had a great time!" Jim smiled proudly.

"You had a great time! You had a great time? You're not fishermen. I don't know what you are. But you're not fishermen. And you never will be." By this time a crowd of people had gathered around as Zebedee shook his finger violently at his sons. "No, all you can do is give free rides to people who can't pay, try to make friends with everybody in the country, and talk to fish about how sorry you are to catch them! So what good are you? So who needs you? Who? Anybody here?" Zebedee was almost hysterical as he swung around to the gathering crowd. "You see. No one...." He was about to say no one wanted them when a voice interrupted.

"I want them. They'll make great fishers of men." Zebedee peered into the crowd and a young man stepped forward. He had a broad smile and he looked directly at the brothers. "C'mon. Follow me. We have work to do. Much work." The man beckoned Jim and John to follow him. The brothers looked at their father and then at one another. And as if father and sons had practiced the one line they could all agree on, they sighed in unison, "Phewww! Thank God it's over!"

"No, it's just beginning," the man added quietly.

And the brothers abandoned their father Zebedee and went off in the company of the man called Jesus.


Reflection


If a stranger came along, spoke to our son or daughter about joining him as he roamed the countryside and preached God's love, how would we feel? Would we be understanding, sympathetic? Wouldn't we be concerned, upset, and worried the stranger was a cult figure mesmerizing and abducting our child?

The call stories in the gospel present Jesus as the one whose invitation, "Come follow me," evokes an immediate response as the future disciples drop whatever they're doing and follow him. Seems like another cult story, doesn't it? What makes Jesus different from the charismatic but dangerous Jim Jones or Sun Young Moon? Of course we needn't accept these call stories as literal renditions of what happened. But granting the possibility the disciples had a little more time to ponder the invitation than is recorded in the Gospels, the question remains. What is there in Jesus and his message which prompted them to respond so readily and what makes Jesus different from cult leaders?

The first question can't be answered unless we also consider what was happening in the lives of these men which disposed them to follow him. "Fishers" gives a clue. People who are already fishers of men, i.e., compassionate, understanding, etc., resonate with Jesus' call before he even appears on the scene. What Jesus provides when he enters their lives is a clarification of and direction for their aspirations and sentiments. In other words, what they find is a home for their longing in Jesus' vision of the Kingdom. Life on the sea was never their true home, and this dissatisfaction plus the appeal of Jesus' vision quickens them to follow him.

What makes Jesus different from the cult figures is Jesus isn't forming an elite corps of persons who define themselves by what they have and others lack. Rather, Jesus calls people who in turn call out to others to recognize a shared humanity whose origin is the God whom Jesus called Abba. Better still, Jesus calls disciples to invite others whose aspirations and longing find their "fit" in his proclamation of the Kingdom. And for Jesus those aspirations are present in everybody.

Jesus' call and the disciples' immediate response can be understood, then, as the immediate fit between his vision and their aspirations whether we conceive of this recognition taking place over a day, a week, or a year.