The Night When They Caught Nothing
Christ’s attendants were hard-working people Some of them, like the sons of Zebedee, might own a little property; and Matthew, as a farmer of revenue, had once the chance of growing rich. But it does not appear that any of them had ever been men of wealth, or in what we should call independent circumstances; and, at the time of this incident, it is likely enough that the dishonesty of their late purse-bearer had swept away their ready money, and reduced them to an unwonted poverty. At all events, when, in obedience to their risen Master’s bidding, they had gone before Him into Galilee, the first time that lie came up with them He found seven of them on the water fishing. It was morning.
and they had been out all night, but they had been utterly unsuccessful. And what does that mean h You angle for amusement, and after a long day, when your friends meet you returning, and ask, “What sport you exhibit your empty basket, and can bear to be bantered for your lucklessness or want of skill. But the poor boatman says, “I go a-fishing,” because there is no food in the house, or because there is an account to pay, and no money to meet it; and when the morning dawns on his empty deck, it is hard to go home weary, and sleepy, and hungry, and know that his own vexation on the deep must be repeated in the disappointment of those who tarry on the land. “We have toiled all night and caught nothing.” There is nothing for Simon’s wife to make ready, — nothing for Simon himself to carry to the market at Capernaum, and convert into pence and shekels; and, after this wakeful night, it cannot be a working day. We hardly re alize the case, but the Lord Jesus understood it well. For years He had mingled with these men, and was thoroughly acquainted with their privations and their hardships, and had
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shared their narrow lodging and their homely fare; and as He now espied the empty vessel making for the shore, He knew that in yonder light boat were heavy hearts, and He prepared for them a wonderful surprise. “Children, have ye anything to eat %” was His inquiry, as He hailed them from the shore. “No,” was the reply — the curt monosyllable of weary and disappointed men; but “Cast the net on the right side of the ship, and ye shall find,” was the answer of One whose kindness is not easily repulsed, and whose precept usually involves a promise: “Cast the net, and this time ye shall find;” and when the sweep was finished, and the seine was drawn to shore, they found that they had made a little fortune. A meal was ready for them on the strand; a hundred and fifty-three *
The fathers and mediaeval writers find in the number of these fishes various mysteries. For example, Theophylact suggests that the Gentiles may stand for a hundred, and the Jews for fifty, whilst the doctrine of the Trinity is obviously indicated by the three. Tovg iOvwv ticarop iiiroiq avp aWa icat ol I<rpa?) ol TrevTrucovra vorj9sLSV‘ ol de rpug rrw ilq tyiv ay lav TpicLda 7 t’kjtlv drjXovaiv. But Augustine great fishes” tumbled and struggled in the straitening net: and to crown their joy and turn their mourning into dancing, there was no need to ask their benefactor and their host, “Who art thou’?” for now that they were beside Him, their eyes confirmed what the wonder hinted: — “It was the Lord,” — it was their Master come again.
And what may be assumed to be the meaning of the miracle h When we think of the timing of it — as one of the final flashes, one of the last forth-lettings of His grace and power before He disappeared from mortal sight — does it not tell us that wherever disciples toil their Lord looks on? Does it not tell us that
is much more ingenious. CPhere are ten precepts in the decalogue, and there are seven operations of the Holy Spirit j these added together are seventeen. But the series, 4, up to 17, is exactly 153: —
“Sic adde, et invenis numerum sacrum fidelium atque sanctorum in coelestibus cum Domino futurorum.” (Sermo ccxlviii. 4, and the same idea is elaborated in several other sermons of the same group.) No wonder that with tart disdain the clear mind of Calvin dismisses all such speculations as child’s play: “Si quis propius expendat, reperietpuerilem esse lusum.”
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in their common calling, however humble, His servants are the objects of a Saviour’s sympathy, and that when they have laboured hard and long without success, He is not indifferent to their disappointment ] And when one effort has failed after another — when they have toiled all night and caught nothing, does it not tell them that they have a Friend who can direct them on what side of the ship to cast the net, so that after many balks and failures, the last throw shall inclose a multitude of fishes
1. The lot of Christ’s disciples is usually a life of toil. In this there is little difference betwixt the Christian and the worldling; if anything, the difference is in the worldling’s favour. The Christian is constrained to keep the king’s highway — the beaten path of industry and straightforward honesty, and cannot shorten the journey by leaping fences, or trying an occasional near-cut through his neighbour’s property. His conscience is a hard task-master, and insists that every penny shall be fairly earned. And the consequence is, that almost all the disciples of the Saviour row on earth are carrying the yoke, and are toil, toil, toiling. By far the greater number are working with their hands. In fields and factories, in workshops and kitchens, in mines and fishing-boats, bending over the forge, feeding the blast-fflrnace, you find #them: rising early, plying their monotonous task, the big drops often trickling down their brow, and youthful energy fast evaporating into a meagre and infirm old* age. And others you will find whose task is partly manual or mechanic, partly or chiefly mental. One teaches the young — hires out his head and heart to enkindle intelligence, or transfuse his own refinement into minds which are often, alas! incapable, for employers who are often, alas! unthankful. Another grapples with disease. Through the bleak December night, with bleared eyes from broken slumber, he goes to throw away his own health in warding off the stroke of death, or mitigating the paroxysms of some excruciating malady. A third fights his country’s battles. Away from wife and children, he marches through the putrid swamp, lodges on the frozen or the flooded field, assoo’ates with comrades rough, reckless, and uncongenial, and, his life in his hand,
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mounts the breach volcanic with destruction and quivering with gory swaths mown down in mortal agony. A fourth is a trader. A solitary adventurer, or a son of Zebedee in partnership with others, his property is afloat, and what with his dependence on others, what with the dangers of the deep and the tempests overhead, what with the fluctuations of the atmosphere, and the fickleness of the cunning prey he longs to capture, perhaps for a continuance his is as toilsome a lot as any, and in the storms which from time to time arise, it is often absolute agony. An omnipotent Master might have made it otherwise. Even on earth He could have emancipated His servants from this drudgery. He might have made His Church a pleasure-garden or a place of elegant and uninvaded repose. But His wisdom — or, what is the same thing, His kindness — has judged that it is not good for man to be idle. And not only is it best to be busy, but a great deal of labour must be irksome. There is much of it that won’t set to music, much of it that won’t make a picture, much of it that won’t tie up in bouquets and posies. There is much of it that, do what you will, is positively disagreeable — not pastime at all, but downright discipline, going quite against the grain, needing self-denial. The boatman may have his moon-lit voyage, and his merry song occasionally; but to toil all night is hard — to wake when others sleep is not so pleasant; noi* is there much pleasure in scaly planks, and slippery ropes, and wet tarpaulings, and an extinguished fire, and leaking timbers, and an unbroken fast, when the morning dawns on empty nets, with comrades cross at their unsuccessful fishery.
2. For, secondly, the toil of the disciple is not always successful. Conceding what we ourselves have often urged — conceding that Christianity is itself an element of success — that by the clearness which simplicity lends to the eye, and the soundness which temperance imparts to the system, that by the elasticity which the good hope infuses into the spirits, and the entanglements from which principle preserves the conscience and the character; conceding that Christianity goes far to promote the lawful ends of the labourer, mental or manual, Christianity is far from
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guaranteeing against all possible failure or defeat. If for probationary purposes Infinite Wisdom lias refused to make the Church on earth a play-ground or pleasure-garden, for the same reason He has refused to make it the infallible avenue to worldly wealth, the sure and certain passport to earthly rank or renown. A ship manned by good Christians, a concern in which none are embarked but disciples, may toil all night and catch nothing. A God-fearing operative may meet with some accident which disables him for life, and which throws him on the kindness of others. A pious servant may lay up a good foundation for old age, and in the sinking of some bank or joint-stock company her frugal savings may be suddenly swallowed up. A Christian hero may have saved an empire, or with the latch of his living arm behind the door may have bolted out the foe, and in the moment when a grateful nation is ready to crown the conqueror, a stray missile may strike the laurel from his brow, and may intercept the hosannah ere it reach his ear. A conscientious trader may have foregone many a self-indulgence, may have cut off the right arm of some ruling passion, or plucked out the right eye of some favourite taste or propensity, in order to owe no man anything, and yet provide things honest in the sight of all men; he may have curtailed his rest, abridged his holiday, and worked his mind till the brain was lire, and every nerve flashed lightning; and when the night was far spent he did inclose a glorious spoil, and felt that he should now be rewarded for his patience and his pains. How the floats dance and quiver with the living load! How all the surface swirls and jabbles with the eddying shoal! How, like subaqueous ingots, they flash their sides of gold and silver! and now that mesh over mesh and coil over coil the hempen snare is coming up, oh! what a haul! what a provision for the loved ones! what a happiness at home! But something has snapped. Is it possible 1 Oh mercy, mercy! the net is broken! To think of it — such a take, and so near the land, and all again scattered in the depths of the sea!
3. How, of this calamity, the Great Eye is witness, and with this bitter grief the Great Heart sympathizes. It is not willingly or wilfully that He sends such an affliction; d 2
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and, as this incident teaches, if we take the Master’s bidding, we shall yet be gainers by this loss — for this delay or disappointment we shall at last be all the richer.
Perhaps it may be made up in some eventual temporal gain. Like the disciples who were rewarded for a night of abortive effort by a marvellous draught at the unlikeliest time, the morning; so, ’ if undisheartened by disappointments you abide in your calling, the Master may at last point out in His providence the side of the ship on which, if you cast the net, you shall inclose a great multitude of fishes. The success is the most precious and permanent which is won after many reverses — the crown which a Bruce obtains after he has been twelve times defeated — the Eddystone pillar which is reared cautiously, skilfully, solidly, after one and another have been swept away, and which holds aloft for a hundred years its towering torch through tempests such as its flimsy predecessors never witnessed. Do not lose heart. There is no special or absolute promise; but there is a great general principle, and an extensive actual experience. On the side of industry, integrity, and perseverance, there are not only the wishes and the prayers of all good men, but there is the course of God’s own providence; and if, with hopefulness and energy, you do not succeed at last, it is only because the problem takes too long for man’s short life and feeble strength to reach in every case the solution.
But, in any case, the Lord will provide.. Had even that throw of the net brought nothing from the lake, the Master had. a meal prepared already on the land. So take Hi& bidding. Ply your calling, and if that calling fails to yield you food and raiment, you may fearlessly cast yourself on that all-embracing care and kindness by which the ravens are fed and the lilies are clothed.
“Set thou thy trust upon the Lord,
And he thou doing good;
And so thou in the land shalt dwell,
And verily have food.”
In real truth, however, it can never be said of a disciple, in the discharge of his duty, that he toils all night and takes nothing. He may not catch precisely that for which, in. d 3
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the first instance, he sweeps or dredges, but the net never comes up empty. If it does not popple and welter with fishes, it is full of good lessons and instructive experiences; and no disciple will say that the night was a bad one when Christ comes in the morning. “Oh gainful loss! oh wondrous grace!” as good 31 r. Williams of Kidderminster wrote in his diary, after heavy losses in trade, “Oh how wise and gracious is my heavenly Father! How sweetly doth He overrule afflictive providences to my great advantage and comfort? Surely, I find my heart improving and growing hereby in submission to the will of God, delight in God and in duty. For long I have been trying to say, ‘ Thou art my portion, O Lord.’ At last, finding that nothing less would satisfy the desires of my soul, and believing that the Lord himself had stirred up these desires, and therefore, if I were willing, He could not be unwilling, I ventured, though with a trembling heart, to say,
‘ Thou art my portion, 0 Lord.’ Thereupon joy like a tide came rolling in, and got possession of my soul; and I was quickly able, in the confidence of faith, to repeat the aspiration. My mind is full of it, and it puts life and vigour into every grace.”
Should there be present any one suffering from worldly reverses, we venture to say, that there is nothing like confronting the full reality. There are many worse ills than poverty, and not many greater evils than an unblessed prosperity. Let us not be the victims of a senseless fashion, or of our own foolish anxiety to keep up appearances; but, meekly bowing to a stronger and a wiser will, we shall soon learn how to be abased, as well as how to abound. And, what is not a little remarkable, if in the man there is anything really good or great, he will come out grander — he will show more sublimely in the valley of humiliation than on the pinnacle of mere earthly promotion. His heart is likely to be more tender, his walk with God closer, his conscience more scrupulous, his sympathies more lively, his discharge of duty more thorough. Nay, paradoxical as it may seem, with lessened means he may actually do greater good, and with a store sadly diminished, he may have actually less of carefulness or fear for the
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future. And, like one who lias lived all his life in a garden, but who is amazed to find what beautiful flowers bespangle the open heath or the thoroughfare, latent endearments and neglected sources of enjoyment may acquire such new beauty and sweetness, that he shall marvel that he prized them so little before, and paid so dear for very paltry substitutes. Above all, religion may grow more genuine, prayer more earnest, the souks interests more urgent, the Saviour more precious; and, although the toil may be severe, and the fare may be homely — though, after hard labour in the open air and on the hungry lake, you come home, to find nothing but “a fire of coals and fish laid thereon, and bread” — when you think who provided the repast, and who presides at the board, it will taste like angels’ food. The words of J esus, u Come and dine,” will make it a miraculous feast, and you will not grudge the hours of toil which end as you wish the toilsome night of life itself to end — in the society of the Saviour, and where, instead of the question often so trying, so tantalizing, w Children, have you any meat?” you shall find, yourself sitting down at the table which He himself has prepared.
More especially does this miracle carry a message to the “fishers of men.”
Full many a dreary anxious hour,
We watch our nets alone,
In drenching spray, and driving shower,
And hear the night-bird’s moan.
“At morn we look, and nought is there;
Sad dawn of cheerless day!
Who then from pining and despair,
The sickening heart can stay?” *
But be not discouraged, thou faithful preacher — thou patient, persevering missionary. The coyest fish may be caught at last,+
* Keble.
t “An old man in Watton, whom Mr. Thornton had in vain urged to come to church, was taken ill and confined to his bed. Mr. Thornton went to the cottage, and asked to see him. The old man, hearing his voice below, answered, in no very courteous tone* “I don’t want you here; you may go away.” The following day the curate was again at the foot of the stairs. “Well, my friend, may I come up to-day and sit beside you?” Again he received the same reply — “I don’t want you here.” Twenty -one days succesand the net. which has been let down a hundred times in vain may at last surround a multitude. Even at this moment, when you are ready to abandon the work in despair, le who has all the time been a witness of your toil may be sending to the right side of the ship a shoal unseen by you, but on whom He keeps His eye, — a people at last made “willing in His day of power,” — and at whose accession your mouth will be filled with laughter and your tongue with melody.
sively Mr. T. paid his visit to the cottage, and on the twenty-second his perseverance was rewarded. He was permitted to enter the room of the aged sufferer, to read the Bible, and pray by his bedside. The poor man recovered, and became one of the most regular attendants at the house of God.” — Rev. W. R. Fremantle’s Memoirs of Rev. Spencer Thornton. Second edition, p. 84.