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The fisherman perched on the edge of a pond, gazing at its opaque surface, wondering what secrets lay below. It was cold. He scrunched into an oversized navy sweatshirt. Wind blew curly brown tendrils of hair that refused to be corraled by a gray stocking cap.
The red-and-white bobber 10 feet offshore plunked beneath the surface, then popped up at the insistent pull of an unseen catfish. Languidly, the fisherman pulled it in and extracted the hook from its mouth, grimacing at the fishy odor. Then he tossed it back, threaded another nightcrawler on the hook, and made another cast.
From a nearby dock, schoolgirls giggled and snapped pictures of the "hunky guy" fishing, oblivious to their attention. His mind was casting its own bait into dark ponds of memory, pulling back pungent visions -- a failed marriage, the 18-year-old daughter he hardly knew, the woman he loves languishing in a psychiatric hospital. Wasted years swam just beneath the surface, beckoning with mysterious ripples.
His name was Mark. It hadn't been that long ago that he, too, had been swimming in the murky underbelly of the world, one more homeless man who bobbed to the surface long enough to catch a meal, then vanished into the woods as polite society breathed a sigh of relief.
Mark had been caught in a wide net cast by fishers of men. And God had said, "This one's a keeper."
Now, here he was on the shore, not quite comfortable breathing the air of freedom, but just a little bit terrified of the water.
As storm clouds started to gather, Mark picked up his fishing gear and tramped back to the house where he was staying.
That night, he dreamed that a huge catfish pulled itself out of the pond and came looking for him. It dragged itself up the street and into the house, intentions unknown. Mark awakened with a start, wondering what it meant.
Memories of sin and doubt, shame and anger, hatred and lust are constantly swimming in our ponds, just below the surface. They come boiling up, at opportune times, in hopes they may drag us back into the mire.
But God has a greater hope. He wants us to reach out in His strength, grab hold of each slimy inhabitant of our private hell, and hold it up to His light, where it will be refined and purified, sanctified and redeemed.
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