Fisherman , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Larry Huntsperger

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

99 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Few New Testament characters are as fascinating as Simon Barjona, the man called Peter-a reluctant disciple who changed the face of Christianity. For more than twenty-five years, author and pastor Larry Huntsperger has spent hundreds of hours studying New Testament documents in preparation for writing this fictional first-person account of the life of this enigmatic disciple. The result is a novel that faithfully follows Scripture while offering a powerful, fresh narration of the story of one of Christianity's greatest men. In the fast-paced chapters of The Fisherman, readers will relive Peter's initial resistance to the pull he feels toward Jesus and his ministry. They'll walk with Peter alongside Jesus through the events of the Gospels and catch intimate glimpses of the disciples' personalities. They'll even "feel" the dust on the roads as familiar stories are transformed into original, spellbinding accounts from Peter's life. This fascinating novel will help readers "to see the Master as a man. For, if we cannot see him correctly as man, we have no hope of understanding him correctly as our God."

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 juin 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441232663
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Start Reading
© 2003 by Larry Huntsperger
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
E-book edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-3266-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
Some quotes are taken or paraphrased from the New American Standard Bible®, copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. www.lockman.org
For my Joni Sue, with Papa love forever.
You sifted through my fumbling efforts to be your father,
chose to embrace only those things that drew you closer to your Lord,
and then, with grace and kindness, set all the rest aside.
Thank you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Epilogue
About the Author
Back Ads
Author’s Note
The book you are about to read is fiction. It is not the fifth Gospel. It is not the Third Epistle of Peter. Apart from a few quotations from Scripture woven into the text, every word from the first to the last is the product of my imagination.
Having said that, however, I need to say more, for although The Fisherman is fiction, it is fiction unlike any you have ever read before. During the writing process, when asked what I was working on, I described the manuscript as historical fiction. I now believe this does not accurately describe the book. Authors of historical fiction weave their own imagined plot against their chosen historical backdrop, allowing the history to provide a frame through which readers can see the plot. I have done exactly the opposite. I have not placed a story into a historical frame; I have created a frame through which I hope you will be able to see history with a new clarity.
The entire plot of this book and the central events of each of the twenty-seven chapters are taken directly from the historical records. I have been careful not to alter nor amplify any of these events for the sake of the story. If I have done my work well, my words will simply enable you to personally enter into these events and the lives of those involved in them.
To the best of my ability, I have followed a chronology that is consistent with the Gospel records. I realize, of course, that scholars differ in their approaches to this chronology. It is my sincere hope that if my understanding of the sequence of events differs at some points from your own, it will not interfere with your enjoyment of the book.
And then just a final word about who the book is written to. Imagine being granted a private audience with the apostle Peter near the end of his life. He has given you permission to ask him anything you want to ask. In response to his offer, you say, “Peter, I want you to tell me what it was really like during those few years you spent with the Master. What was it like to be there? What was it like to be you?” If you can imagine yourself in such a conversation, this book is written to you.
Larry Huntsperger Soldotna, Alaska
Prologue
I have brooded long over what I am about to do. In the end I have chosen to write because so few seem to understand. I am not a writer. Words on paper come hard for me. Even now my mind is filled with a thousand other things I would rather be doing. But if I do not speak, who will? Who knew the Master better then? Who knows him better now?
You see, it was not the way you think it was. There! I have said it. And unless you understand how it was, my friend, you will never be able to understand how it should be now.
I was born Simon Barjona. You know me by a different name—Peter. I am one of the twelve disciples chosen by the Master during his time among us. Several excellent accounts of those remarkable months have been written and widely circulated by others more skilled in such things than I. Those accounts accurately record many of the events we witnessed and shared together. I have nothing to alter or add to those accounts. I write now because so few seem to understand those accounts correctly. So few seem to understand him correctly—the way he was when he was with us and why it changed our lives forever.
Perhaps it would help if I allowed you to see those days through my eyes. I want you to know not just what happened but what it felt like to be there. I want you to know it was real, more real than the hot dust under our feet, more real than the flies buzzing around our sweat-soaked clothing. Somehow I want to help you to see the things I saw and feel the things I felt. I have seen what the enemy has done with the record of those days. I have seen what he has done with people’s perceptions of me. I have seen the way reality has been twisted into ritual and religion. I have seen the way it sucks the life and vitality out of the people of God. When I wrote my second open letter to the family of God, I addressed it “to those who have received a faith of the same kind as ours.” But unless you understand what my faith is like and where it came from, the letter’s assurance will be of little value to you.
And so I write with the hope that I can help you to see the Master as a man. For, if we cannot see him correctly as a man, we have no hope of understanding him correctly as our God.
1

I was a fisherman before I met him. My brother, Andrew, and I fished together. I loved fishing. I loved everything about it. I loved the smell of the sea. I loved the look of the nets neatly folded on the deck of our boat. I loved that incredible sense of freedom I always experienced the instant we pushed away from the land and the world began to roll under my feet. I loved the creak of the wood and the feel of the sun on my back. I loved knowing I answered to no man, that I held my future firmly in my own hands. I loved those days when the catch was good and my wife, Ruth, and I could put a little extra income toward our dreams. I even loved those days when the catch was poor. Even if I brought home only a handful of fish, I knew at least I could always provide food for my family.
Andrew and I did most of our fishing with Zebedee’s two boys, James and John. We grew up together—Andrew, James, John, and myself. John could run circles around me in a battle of wits, but the size of both my mouth and my muscles left little dispute about my position as unofficial head of our tiny fishing fleet.
I wish you could have known me back then, before he entered my world. I wish you could have known how . . . well, how common, how normal, how like everyone else I was. I wish you could have heard me blast poor Andrew when a fish or two slipped out of the net. I wish you could have seen me stomp out of the house in a huff when Ruth and I disagreed about something and I knew she was right. I wish you could have sat with the four of us after our nets were put away for the evening and listened to me babble on. I wish you could have known the smallness of my dreams.
“Someday I’m going to have two boats all my own. And I’m going to build a bigger house up there on that little hill overlooking the bay. Someday I’m going to be the most successful fisherman this town has ever seen.”
You see, if my words to you now are to be of any value, this one thing you must understand—there was nothing in me or about me that made me any different from yourself. Before he entered my world, my life was an unbroken stream of work and family and eating and sleeping and selfish little hopes and dreams and plans for the future. I was a fisherman. That is all I was. That is all I knew how to be.
I attended meetings on the Sabbath in our synagogue as often as most men. But, to be honest, much of what happened there bored me to death. I knew the history of our people. I followed the feast days and the celebrations. But my mind was more often on the festival food than on the great historical significance of the events we were celebrating. I knew some of the young men who held aspirations for leadership in our Jewish community. Sometimes I listened to their endless debates over intricate and obscure passages in the law and the writings of the prophets. I saw their glow of satisfaction when they contributed some comment or insight the others considered significant. I sensed the urgency with which they approached their world of ideas. But it seemed like a waste of time to me. In the end it changed nothing, and it certainly didn’t feed my family.
Does it surprise you to hear me speak this way? You call me the apostle Peter. My two letters written to my fellow Christians are read as words inspired by God himself. My presence in the church commands immediate respect and attention. This is as it should be, because it served God’s purposes to place me in this role. But do not misunderstand—I do not hold this position because I now know things, because I have accumulated a great wealth of knowledge and insight that qualifies me for such authority. I am no more skilled in the ways of books and learning now than I was as a youth. Even now, when I read some of the letters written by my brother Paul, I find things difficult to understand. No, I do not hold my position of leadership because I know things. I hold it because I know him, and because he has chosen to use that knowledge of him in this way. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

How is it possible for two brothers to be so different? Andrew’s restless spirit and hunger for truth never ceased to amaze me. He would spend hours, even days, churning over questions I never even th