Patterns, His Language

Emma Ventresca, Logos

The language of “setting out into the desert” is frequently associated with Lent, but I would like to call to mind another image of “setting out.” Recall the moment when Jesus asks Simon Peter to “put out into deep water,” when He first calls him and his brother Andrew to be His disciples. After they raise the nets bursting with their catch, Simon Peter falls to his knees and says, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” [1] Fervently convicted of Christ’s identity as savior, Simon Peter embarks upon a life of apostleship as a fisher of men. [2]

Peter’s run-ins with the waters of Galilee are not over; in fact, many of Peter’s most transformative experiences in his journey with Christ happen around water. When Jesus calls Peter to be His apostle, Peter is fishing in the Sea of Galilee. When Jesus teaches Peter trust, Peter steps out onto that same sea. And when Jesus resurrects from the dead and appears to Peter, He once again returns to the same place: The Sea of Tiberius, a Roman name for the Sea of Galilee. 

Imagine what might be racing through Peter’s mind during this moment after the Resurrection: Peter, who abandoned Jesus on the day of His crucifixion, sees a figure on the shore who tells him to cast his net over the other side of the boat. When Peter tries in vain to lift the overflowing net into the boat, he exclaims “It is the Lord.” Instead of rowing the boat back to shore with the others, he jumps out into the ocean and swims one-hundred yards toward Him. As he swims, what is he thinking? Is he nervous about encountering the Lord whom he had abandoned? Is he just so overjoyed that he cannot help but run to Him and fall at His feet? 

Amidst the confusion, excitement, joy, and anxiety, perhaps Peter is most struck in his heart by another realization: that Jesus appeared to Him three years ago on those very shores while he was fishing, calling him to be a fisher of men and follow Him. What does this image stir up in Peter? Does this recollection pierce his heart in a more intimate way than the sight of His Savior alone?

Peter reaches the shore and encounters yet another familiar situation. Jesus asks him three times whether he loves Him, redeeming Peter’s three-fold denial. In this moment, Peter—first a fisherman, then a disciple, later a betrayer, and finally Christ’s successor and a martyr of the faith—experiences a miraculous unity of his experiences by the Sea of Galilee.

The whole of this beautiful arc of encounters taking place on the water is the drama of Christ’s love for Peter, laid out in recognizable patterns but with ever-new encounters. By consistently inviting Peter to a deeper relationship with Him through familiar settings, Jesus in essence calls out to Peter, “Do you not remember when…?” Jesus calls Peter to remember His goodness and His faithfulness while drawing ever closer. The remembrance is not simply done in gratitude; it is done in growth.

I offer that Jesus does the same for us today. God knows us and what catches our attention. As Hans von Balthasar says of man, “He himself is the language that God uses to speak to him; how could he not understand himself better here than anywhere else?” [3] God has condescended to human language in His Word, but perhaps even more stunningly and intimately, to man himself. Each of us possesses a distinct language through which God communicates with us and with those around us. What is man’s own if not the innermost depths of his heart and his mind’s eye which lay out the secret movements of Christ in a manner perceiveable to him?

Perhaps this conception of each of us as God’s unique language is most tangible in how we remember the narrative of our lives. We might ask, which milestones are most important to me, and does each subsequent one resemble any of the former? 

While I meditated on Peter’s story, I thought of a yearly retreat I made with my friends as a part of my language with God. Every year I would return on retreat, I could not help but think of all of the moments of beauty, transformation, and even sadness that I had experienced in the past year. As I spent time in prayer and conversation, I began to see—just within a year—the arc of Jesus’ constant calling to me and my attempts (and failures) to respond. This is not to say that I was not confused or upset about any loose ends; I certainly was, but I could see that I was not alone in the mess. By going back to the place where I had had a transformative experience with Christ, I participated in a small way in Peter’s experience after the Resurrection. I could better hear His voice and see His hand in the wake of my life, even after the times I had turned away from Him.

For Peter, it was the sea. For me, it was a special retreat center. Perhaps for you it is your room at home, a small chapel on your campus, or the outdoors. Maybe it is the very fact we are once again journeying through the Lenten season. A piece of art, a certain phrase, a particular style of architecture, a song, the sunset—whatever those patterns are for you, remember God in them. Thank Him when He places a sight or sound in your path that lifts your mind to Him. 

Notes

[1] Luke 5:8

[2] Matthew 4:19

[3] Hans Urs Von Balthasar, Love Alone Is Credible. Translated by D.C. Schindler (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2004), 145.