The sea smoked in the morning light, fish still glinting in the baskets beside the boat as Nathan hauled the final net to shore. The weight of it strained his shoulders—like everything else these days. Not just the nets, but Rome’s taxes, his father’s declining health, and the confusion in his heart. Fishing near Capernaum wasn't what it used to be. Too many boats, too little catch, and now, one more wandering teacher drawing crowds and questions.
Nathan dragged the net across the sand, stones scraping under his sandals. He squatted and began the slow task of sorting. Eel, no good. Crab, not clean. Tilapia, keep. He knew the difference in an instant. The good and the bad—familiar, fast. He’d done it since he was eleven. But people? That was harder. He couldn’t tell anymore.
"Careful, Nathan," his older brother Yoram barked, tossing aside an ugly sea creature with too many legs. "No one wants to eat that. Unclean."
Unclean. The word echoed in him. Was that what he'd become?
Nathan had followed the Teacher once—Jesus, they called him. Just once. Told no one. Watched from the edges as the man spoke of seeds, lamps, soil. Of a Kingdom coming. Nathan didn’t understand it all, but something in the Teacher's voice had cracked open a long-shut door in him.
Until Yoram found out.
“You don’t need mystery,” his brother had sneered. “You need fish. You need Rome off your back, not parables.”
But the stories lingered. Especially one—about a net cast wide, gathering every kind of fish. Good and bad, together, until the end. It unsettled Nathan. It made him wonder which one he was.
That morning, alone after the sorting, Nathan wandered up the beach, watching the waves. His throat ached with the things he couldn’t say—to his brother, to the village elders, even to God.
Someone sat quietly on a rock ahead, hands resting on His knees. The man turned.
It was Him.
Jesus.
Nathan froze. Wind fluttered the Teacher’s robe as gulls circled above. There was no crowd now. Just the two of them—and the sea.
"You're a fisherman," Jesus said gently, not as a question.
Nathan nodded, uneasy.
"You sort the fish when the net is full. You know which ones are good."
"I do," Nathan said hesitantly. "Some... aren’t worth keeping."
Jesus stood and stepped closer. "And when the net gathers people?"
Nathan’s heart slammed in his chest. His voice came low. "Then I don't know. I don't know who’s clean. I don’t even know if I am."
Jesus looked into his eyes, something fierce and kind within Him. "That is not your task, Nathan. The net gathers all. But only My Father separates. Do not be afraid of the sorting. Be faithful in the gathering."
The words settled in him like stones dropped in deep water.
Faithful in the gathering.
When he returned to the boat, Yoram tossed him a crust of bread. "You look different. See a ghost?"
Nathan smiled, wiping sea spray from his face. "No. I saw the one who sees me… and kept me."
The sea smoked in the morning light, fish still glinting in the baskets beside the boat as Nathan hauled the final net to shore. The weight of it strained his shoulders—like everything else these days. Not just the nets, but Rome’s taxes, his father’s declining health, and the confusion in his heart. Fishing near Capernaum wasn't what it used to be. Too many boats, too little catch, and now, one more wandering teacher drawing crowds and questions.
Nathan dragged the net across the sand, stones scraping under his sandals. He squatted and began the slow task of sorting. Eel, no good. Crab, not clean. Tilapia, keep. He knew the difference in an instant. The good and the bad—familiar, fast. He’d done it since he was eleven. But people? That was harder. He couldn’t tell anymore.
"Careful, Nathan," his older brother Yoram barked, tossing aside an ugly sea creature with too many legs. "No one wants to eat that. Unclean."
Unclean. The word echoed in him. Was that what he'd become?
Nathan had followed the Teacher once—Jesus, they called him. Just once. Told no one. Watched from the edges as the man spoke of seeds, lamps, soil. Of a Kingdom coming. Nathan didn’t understand it all, but something in the Teacher's voice had cracked open a long-shut door in him.
Until Yoram found out.
“You don’t need mystery,” his brother had sneered. “You need fish. You need Rome off your back, not parables.”
But the stories lingered. Especially one—about a net cast wide, gathering every kind of fish. Good and bad, together, until the end. It unsettled Nathan. It made him wonder which one he was.
That morning, alone after the sorting, Nathan wandered up the beach, watching the waves. His throat ached with the things he couldn’t say—to his brother, to the village elders, even to God.
Someone sat quietly on a rock ahead, hands resting on His knees. The man turned.
It was Him.
Jesus.
Nathan froze. Wind fluttered the Teacher’s robe as gulls circled above. There was no crowd now. Just the two of them—and the sea.
"You're a fisherman," Jesus said gently, not as a question.
Nathan nodded, uneasy.
"You sort the fish when the net is full. You know which ones are good."
"I do," Nathan said hesitantly. "Some... aren’t worth keeping."
Jesus stood and stepped closer. "And when the net gathers people?"
Nathan’s heart slammed in his chest. His voice came low. "Then I don't know. I don't know who’s clean. I don’t even know if I am."
Jesus looked into his eyes, something fierce and kind within Him. "That is not your task, Nathan. The net gathers all. But only My Father separates. Do not be afraid of the sorting. Be faithful in the gathering."
The words settled in him like stones dropped in deep water.
Faithful in the gathering.
When he returned to the boat, Yoram tossed him a crust of bread. "You look different. See a ghost?"
Nathan smiled, wiping sea spray from his face. "No. I saw the one who sees me… and kept me."
