Author: Peter Watkins

Moments Like This One

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20141 Comment

Dear Will:

This world is a big place. Billions and billions of us dot the planet. Where I live, it’s mostly an uninterrupted string of homes and buildings with millions of people inside, lining the hundreds of miles from LA to San Diego. If I lived in a more densely populated city, those buildings would be jammed wall-to-wall and ceiling-to-floor, with too many people crammed into too little space for miles and miles and miles.

As I stare blankly at the math of it all—7.23 billion people in the world, with roughly 189,000 added to the planet today alone—it’s pretty much incomprehensible. I have trouble just understanding the number of folks on the 405 freeway at rush hour. How can I begin to process the thought of 1,087 people per square kilometer in Bangladesh?

In the face of those numbers, it’s easy to convince myself that I’m pretty much nothing—that in the vast scheme of things I am not much more than a microscopic speck in the middle of the vast Sahara. The Psalmist inquired: “What is man, that thou art mindful of him?” (Psalm 8:4)—to which I feel to add: “Yeah. Exactly.”

One time, Moses saw all of this and more within a vision—“And it came to pass that Moses looked, and beheld the world upon which he was created; and Moses beheld the world and the ends thereof, and all the children of men which are, and which were created”—after which he (reasonably) exclaimed: “Now, for this cause I know that man is nothing” (Moses 1:8–10).

And yet there are moments when, almost unawares, I begin to feel like the entire universe is condensing down as if seen through a magnificent zoom lens. Moments when I feel as if the world is little more than the space within the reach of my outstretched arm. Moments like this one—sitting in this chair, at this desk, here in this empty room— when something I’ve just read triggers something I now feel, and I know all over again that God not only knows me but He is aware of my immediate, pressing needs. Moments when I know it as clearly as I know that the sun is hitting my face when I walk outside on a warm spring morning.

I cannot possibly do the math. And yet I know.

PW

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

So What’s Your Point?

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20141 Comment

Dear Will:

Simon was a fisherman. He was in business with a couple of brothers, James and John, somewhere near Capernaum, adjacent to the Sea of Galilee.

At the end of one long, unproductive night on the lake, the three partners toiled at the shoreline, mending and cleaning their nets. One can only imagine the thoughts that went through their heads and the substance of their conversation as they contemplated many hours of hard labor that nevertheless had left them fishless.

Just then, a crowd began to converge on the place. Jesus, a young teacher from nearby Nazareth, had arrived in town, and many had come to hear what he had to say. As the crowd swelled and pressed forward to listen, Jesus climbed into one of Simon’s boats and pushed out a few feet from shore so that everyone could see and hear. No doubt the fishermen set aside their nets and joined the gathering.

We do not know the subject of the lesson that day, but when it ended, Jesus suggested that Simon grab his nets and head back out on the lake to try to catch some fish. Given the previous night’s futility, the suggestion may have seemed a bit imprudent. “Master,” said Simon, “we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.”  And so they headed out, Simon and Jesus in one boat, James and John in another.

At a certain place, Jesus gave the signal and Simon let down his net, which immediately bulged with fish. So great was the catch, in fact, that the net began to tear, and Simon was compelled to call for the assistance of those in the other boat in order to secure the catch.

Happenstance? Clearly not. This day on the lake was unlike any before it. Recognizing the source of his good fortune, Simon became overwhelmed by the implications. Why should this man choose him—this boat, this lake, this hour. What could possibly make him worthy of this great bounty? The thought crumbled Simon, and he fell immediately at Jesus’ feet. “Depart from me,” he pled, “for I am a sinful man.”

To which Jesus might well have responded: “Yes. Yes, you are. So what’s your point?”

That is the point, after all. Paul said: “For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Jesus came for that very reason. His life and ministry were devoted to the sinful.

Of course, you know that Jesus did not depart from Simon, but rather invited him—with all of his so-called unworthiness—to leave his nets and follow him from that day forward. Simon’s life changed that day when he agreed to follow Jesus, even though—and especially because—he was a sinful man.

Do you sometimes feel you have toiled fruitlessly, that in spite of your best efforts your life is little more than a few broken, empty nets? May I suggest that in those moments, you give in to the impulse to set those nets aside and join others who have gathered to hear the words of the Master Teacher, others who, like you, are sinful and unworthy, others who could also use a few more fish in their nets from time to time.

“Come, follow me” said Jesus (Luke 18:22). And when He said it, He was talking to you and me.

PW

No Question

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2014Leave a comment

Dear Will:

A couple or three years ago a friend of mine sent me the following note:

When you are feeling up to the challenge, there is a place, not far from where you live, that feels like a million miles away, that you must experience if you haven’t already.  Yesterday . . . I hiked up to Black Star Falls with some neighbors. It was a very rigorous climb following the stream bed, but once we hit that 40-foot falls, I couldn’t believe I was still in Orange County and only a few miles from home.  A definite must-see.

Black Star Falls

No question.

When I finally decided to go in search of Black Star Falls, I headed off on a whim, with not much more information than the memory of her email. But the road and trailhead were clearly marked, so I assumed it would be easy enough for me to figure it out along the way. Black Star Falls, 4.1 miles, the sign read. How hard could it be?

The beginning of the hike was simple enough as I meandered along the partly shaded dirt road I shared with various other adventurers. And it was lovely. I like this hike already, I thought to myself. Eventually the shade disappeared and the road began to climb. And climb. As it got harder and harder, I found myself alone but for the occasional mountain biker. When I huffed and puffed to the top of one particularly steep hill and saw that the road continued onto another, steeper one, I discovered a sign marking the entrance to the Mariposa Reserve—about five miles from my car. A passing biker paused to comment: “Wow. Did you hike all the way up here?”

Clearly, I had lost my way. Somewhere “back there” I had turned left when I should have gone straight—or something like that. In any case I had expended a whole lot of time and effort getting farther and farther from my desired destination.

As I retraced my steps, down and down the winding dirt trail, I eventually came to a bend in the road where another man stood. He confirmed that I had (at last) arrived at the turn-off I had overlooked several miles of needless detour ago. Worn out but determined, I trudged off along a new sort of trail: A mile-and-a-half up and over boulders taller than I am. A mile-and-a-half of old-man punishment and light-headed humiliation. “Rigorous” does not begin to describe it. But I persevered, knowing that a pair of beautiful waterfalls awaited. Was it easy? No. Was it worth it? Yes. Did I make it harder than it needed to be? Absolutely.

As I think back on that exhausting Saturday morning, I can’t help but ask questions that you have likely asked yourself: Where do I really want to go? What path am I on now, and where is it taking me? Am I making the journey more difficult than it needs to be? Who do I know who might be able to point out a better way? In the end, will it all be worth the effort?

No question.

PW