Letting go with the Fishermen

Mark’s account of the life of Jesus is the most caffeinated version. It’s worth slowing down the moment when he invited fishermen to let go even though it was against all of their training. 

His only job is to hold on.

To hold on as the seas try to wrestle

his hands away from his daily bread.

To hold on through the storm
they never saw coming

or leaving.

To hold on as his sea legs

remember they were made for land.

To hold on so tight

it’s as if the nets are holding him.

He holds on even as he sleeps,

until the waves swallow the nets

and he wakes

to his empty hands

racing heart

and he remembers,

the nets are still his

for another day.

His hands were made by a line of fathers

whose hands held on too.

Who drew the catch of the day

out of the water and into the fire,

into the bellies of those they love,

into the markets of their neighbors,

into the blood and bones of their city,

so the sea sloshed around and in them

from the nets he held.

He held the nets

like he might someday hold a child

like he had once held

the hand of his mother

and of his first love

with a gentleness

disguised as strength.

His whole life was in this holding.

His grip formed from the past,

his way to the future.

Ever present.

“Hold on.”

His whole life in his own hands.

“Hold on against the pull

of wild waters you can’t control.”

Until the voice invites him

 To

 Let

 go.

And his hands loosen

And the nets drop.

He tries for the rest of his days

to wrap his hands around

the voice,

some days as close and clear as his own

some days as far and mysterious

as the other side of the sea.

Always moving, never caught.