Reflections
by Renny Gehman
John pulled his line in and reached for another piece of bait. He already had two fish, but they would make a scanty supper. Again. He chuckled to himself. “Not that I need much food at my age, Lord. Your provision is always enough.” He tossed his hook back into the bay. “Still, I will hope for another fish or two. There is always breakfast.”
He leaned back against the rocks. The sun was sinking slowly into the Aegean Sea. Almost John thought he could see the shore of Phrygia and the roofs of Ephesus. “Is Timothy getting his message ready for tomorrow? Tomorrow is Your day, is it not, Lord? I lose track of time here.”
Suddenly there was a tug on his line. With the reflexes of his youth, John set his hook. A good size fish glinted in the late afternoon sun. He glanced heavenward. “Thank you, Jesus. Enough for tonight and tomorrow, too. You are forever filling my nets with fish.”
Slowly, John pulled the fish in until he could capture it with his small net, gathered up his line and catch and made his way up the rocky hillside to his cave. “Fish for supper, Lord. Little did I imagine that I’d be fishing for my dinner in my old age. Didn’t you say, Leave your nets, follow me and I will make you a fisher of men? So now it’s back to fish. You have such a good sense of humor. I remember your laugh so well — so full of joy and delight. You must be laughing when you see me here, fishing for fish again. Not very glamorous for the last apostle, eh?”
John reached the small cave halfway up the cliff that was now his home. A simple pallet, a small fire, a few dishes … “and a beautiful view, Lord. Thank you for lifting my eyes from where I am. Thank you that my eyes can still see the sunset and the endless sea.”
He sighed as he put his burden down. It was a long way up the hill and his legs, though still strong, got tired quickly. “The sea and more fish. I’m so glad you showed me there will be no more sea. Seas separate. Seas isolate. They breed storms. I remember that awful storm you quieted.” John laughed as he took up his knife to clean his catch. “Do you remember how scared we all were when you walked across the water to us? Of course You do. I remember Peter getting out of that boat and walking toward you. I wished I’d had the courage to try it.”
He looked at the horizon again. “Could I walk across the sea to Ephesus, Lord? Of course I could — if You wanted me to. But You want me here, fishing. Back to how I started. Ninety years to come full circle and fish for fish as I did before. But You are here with me, and I am content. Puzzled, but content.”
John turned again to his dinner. He cooked his simple meal, then went back down the hillside to the small stream that gave him water and cleaned up. The sun was almost set; the only sounds were the continuous washing of the waves and the lonely call of the seagulls. John thought about the small settlement the other prisoners had made on the north spit of Patmos.
“I’ll go again tomorrow, Lord, and speak to them of You. I think Gaius is beginning to listen, although he plays the cynic. It’s hard to see love and hope on this pile of rocks. I couldn’t see You here if I didn’t know You.”
John scrubbed his pan with sand and rinsed it in the cold stream. “Gaius reminds me of Peter, Lord. He is so quick to speak and argue. So quick to lose his temper. So rough. I’m glad Peter is with You, Rabbi. But I miss him.” He stood up and shook sand from his robe. Then he turned and climbed back to the cave, alone.
“Helping You rule David’s kingdom, Lord. That’s where Mama thought I’d be now. A prince of the realm, with James on Your other side.” He ducked and entered the hole in the rocky hillside. Striking his flint, he lit the small lamp set on the rocky ledge just inside the door. “No throne here, is there? Wouldn’t James laugh to see me all by myself?” John sniffed. “What am I saying? He’s probably laughing right along with You. Not a throne in sight. Not a person to rule, no servants — not much of a kingdom, is it, Lord?” He chuckled.
“Excuse me, Father. Old men talk to themselves and the older I get the sillier I realize my talk is. I still see Your kingdom as made of rocks and dirt — of the things of this world instead of men’s hearts. Still, it’s a pretty poor kingdom that just has me in it. I wish I were part of that multitude I heard singing, Hallelujah, in heaven. Was James singing too? And Mama?”
John bustled about for a short time, setting his poor belongings in order for the night. He built up the fire across the entry to keep out wandering night creatures — or his fellow exiles. Finally, he sat in silence; just John, the last apostle. “No wonder You didn’t want to tell Peter what was in store for me. You didn’t want me to know I’d end up old and alone, an exile even among Rome’s exiles. I’ll talk to Gaius tomorrow, Jesus. It will be good to tell someone of You again. To tell him that, although he is part of the crowd and I am by myself, he is truly alone without You.”
John turned and rested his head on the rock that served as his pillow. He stared up at the rocky ceiling and the cobwebs that curtained the walls. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the shining golden city the angel had shown him. The problem was that his eyes were open — and there was no way the rocks looked golden. Shadowy and dusty certainly, but not golden.
“Streets of gold. That’s what I thought I’d be walking on by now. Bowing before that rainbow throne. Not lying with my head on a rock, in a cave on a Roman prison. I’m old, Father, what good am I doing here? I think about our home in Galilee, the pretty white stone, our swift ship. I’m old and far from home.”
He shifted on his rough bed; some small pebble had grown into a boulder under his left shoulder blade. A star shone faintly behind the fire in the cave’s mouth. “Golden streets. Were they hard for You to leave, Lord? I never asked You before, before … well You know what I mean. Was it hard for You to walk on our dusty roads? Did You miss Your home? I miss it already, and I was only there for one day — was I there, or was that just a dream? I’ve tried to tell the churches how beautiful it is, but for some things, I just can’t find the words.”
John chuckled to himself again as he closed his eyes. “What am I saying? You are the Word — so the words I use will be just right. I’ll finish up that last part tomorrow. When I’m writing about heaven even this cave seems beautiful.”
John thought more slowly as sleep approached. “Thank You, Lord, for setting me here all alone. For giving me time to fish and think and see.” He yawned. “Thank You, Father, for Patmos — for all the rocks, the sea, the fish, the prisoners. Patmos — island of exile and blessing.” He laughed sleepily. “If only Peter could see me now.” Soon a soft snore broke the silence.
Jesus said, “Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End … I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches.”
— Revelation 22:12-13, 16a (NIV)
About the Author
Renny Gehman graduated at age 67 from the University of North Texas in Creative Writing. She’s been published in three Chicken Soup for the Soul collections, in magazines ranging from Today’s Christian Woman to Bird Watcher’s Digest, online with RisenMotherhood.com and in the devotional, The Upper Room. Renny lives in Gunter, Texas, with her husband, has two married daughters, eight grandchildren, and enjoys gardening, birdwatching, crocheting and playing with Miri, her cat.
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