Chapter 8

There was no mistaking that voice! For there was no other voice like it in the world—or ever had been!

‘Coming!’ shouted Simon, hoarse with excitement. His throat was dry and his big hands trembled as he vaulted over the rail and dropped into a rocking dory. He was an experienced oarsman, but no one observing would have thought so from the awkwardness of his nervous flailings and splashings. It seemed a long voyage, but eventually he arrived, very much out of breath, and dragged the dory up on the sand.

Limp with emotion, his face twitching, he found himself staring mystifiedly into the calm, friendly eyes of Jesus. He dropped to his knees. He felt the wonder-working hands on his bent shoulders and experienced the same sensation that had thrilled him when their bare arms had touched—at Hammath.

Now Jesus was speaking, quietly but insistently.

‘Simon, son of Jonas, I have need of you.’

‘But I am a very sinful man, Master,’ confessed Simon thickly.

‘I have come to save sinners, my son,’ said Jesus.

‘How can I help you, Master? I am only a fisherman.’ Simon’s voice was barely audible now, for his pent-up emotion was choking him.

‘You are to remain a fisherman always, Simon,’ said Jesus. ‘But—from this day forward you will fish for men!’

Humbly and penitently, Simon bowed himself far forward, his eyes overflowing. Now the invigorating hands were laid gently upon his shaggy head. It gave him a strange feeling of exultation.

‘Come!’ said Jesus softly. ‘Arise, Simon, and follow me!’

And Simon arose—and followed Jesus.

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