Monday meditation: We know what to expect, and that’s a problem

It’s so easy to become accustomed to the ordinary.

Life keeps happening, pretty much as expected, and we learn to just keep going. Taxes and prices go up. Cars break down. A task we’ve tackled a dozen times before goes wrong: The roast burns. The paint doesn’t cover. The tomato plants produce no fruit.

We fish all night in waters usually abundant, but we can’t catch “even a minnow.”

Politicians disappoint, and sometimes so do people much closer: pastors, friends, siblings, sons and daughters. We sign pages-long contracts for even the simplest of transactions because people expect not to trust each other.

We’ve learned to be wary when something seems too good to be true. It usually isn’t. But once in a while, something—or someone—surprises us. The roast is perfect. One coat of paint is beautiful on the bedroom wall. We have enough tomatoes to feed the neighborhood.

And an intriguing new teacher comes along, asking us to fish again even though we’ve worked all night with nets that came up empty.

In the case of the story we’re reading today, the result was clearly miraculous. The haul was so large it took four or more fishermen in two boats to bring it all in. They’d never seen anything like it. They’d never encountered any one like this guy, who seemed to control the water’s depths.

Flabbergasted, Peter fell down before him. Afraid, he begged Jesus to leave. 

Any of us, when confronted with what’s holy, might react in the same way. What seems too good to be true surely isn’t. In the case of a righteous person, we search for something to criticize. We look for dirt. And if we don’t find it, all we can remember is the problems they’d discover if they examined us so closely. First we’re doubtful. And then we’re afraid. The purity of the person before us intimidates us. Like Simon, we think, “I can’t handle this holiness.”

Or when confronted with a solution that seems to come from God, we tremble. Who are we to presume that the all-knowing Almighty would stoop to handle our little problem?

It's so easy to become accustomed to the ordinary.

We pray, and nothing happens. We weep alone, but the tears don’t wash away the problem. It only persists, and then it gets worse.

But sometimes something—or someone—surprises.

A pure-hearted pal stops by with a boost to help us face a new day.
A friend steps in to accomplish for us what we couldn’t do alone.
A letter reminds us others are praying, too.
The doctor’s office, booked for months ahead, calls to say, “Can you come in tomorrow?”
A helper volunteers before we realized we needed her.
A pleasant experience with the afflicted person in our household feels almost like old times.

It seems too good to be true. But it isn’t.

And when God intervenes, it’s fine if we’re driven to our knees in worship. But we don’t need to be afraid. We just need to remember that with him we’ll discover there’s nothing we could ever call ordinary.

Read: Luke 5:1-11, The Message

Pray: Help us, Lord, to see the holiness happening all around us. And calm us, Lord, so we don’t become afraid.


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Stanley Tucci, Italian cooking, cancer, and the meaning of life