Today’s featured article is by Richard D. Stafford, Ph.D.
The old man was of Spanish ancestry: white hair, weathered skin, stained fingernails and a heart which longed to catch the biggest fish in the sea. He had spent many years fishing in his small Cuban skiff, catching only enough fish for himself, a young boy who helped him, and leaving the rest to be sold for a few pesos each week. His fingers and palms were swollen and scarred from cotton fishing line pulled through his hands ten or more hours each day. Even though the dark headed youngster helped in the boat, most of the difficult tasks of fishing fell on the old man. The boy was a companion, a dream of his own past, a friend to pass the hours of drifting on the deep azure water.
The old man had hoped that one day, before he passed away, to catch a truly big fish, one as long as his skiff; one that would cause the town folks to gather at the dock and marvel at a great gift from the sea. It would be enough fish to feed the village, he thought. Today, the boy could not come along, it was after all, Christmas Eve, Nochebuena. The old man thought about staying home and listening to a baseball game being broadcast from somewhere in America. But there was no game broadcast on this day, so to the sea he went.
Late in the day, after catching smaller mullets for bait, a hard tug came on the line. The old man had been sleeping and the tug awakened him with a startle. Again the line pulled, stronger this time, and line began flying through his fingers. He pulled back on the line to set the hook and to slow the fish from speeding away. But this was a big fish and soon, the strong fish was pulling the whole boat backwards, creating golden waves as the sun’s rays from the west glistened across the water.
The struggle lasted for several hours, it became almost dark, and soon the big fish tired. The old man pulled the exhausted fish alongside his boat. He knew it was big, but never imagined it would be longer than his skiff, but it was. The man had wished the boy had been there to help catch the fish they had both dreamed of landing. The old man tied the big fish to the port side, his hands bleeding from the long struggle, and began to head home. It took hours to row toward the lights of Havana, twinkling in the black of night. As he reached the dock the boy, who had worried for him was waiting, as well as a few other men who had noticed the old man’s boat missing at sunset. Unfortunately, the meat of the fish had been stripped by other fish as the old man rowed up to the docks in the small fishing village. Only a bony Skelton remained. But it was indeed proof of his catching the biggest fish many had ever seen. The old man would never forget the giant smile across the face of the boy who greeted him.
The above story was paraphrased from Ernest Hemingway’s’ Old Man and the Sea, without using his actual words. His original words are far more engaging and beautiful than my interpretation, but the images are hopefully accurate. What a wonderful heart the old man has, full of hope and sacrifice. His desire to catch a truly big fish and share with the village reminds me of Jesus Christ as a gift to humanity. Those who carry his message – in action to others – are sometimes bruised and even bleeding from their journey. Other times they are full of smiles. We hope to share the gift of Christ with the whole village. We want to see really big things happen in life. This Nochebuena, I hope you and your family catch the biggest gift of all: the love of Jesus Christ…and share it with the whole village.
-Richard D. Stafford, Ph.D.
