A fishing-friend of mine recently loaned me a slim volume entitled, Fishin' Jimmy, written in 1889.
It's about a man who lived in Franconia-that little valley in New Hampshire made famous by Hawthorne's, The Great Stone Face. He was an angler who fly-fished the streams and ponds of that region for a half-century or more.
I was immediately intrigued because some years ago Carolyn and I camped in Franconia Notch and I myself have fished those very streams.
Fishin' Jimmy was a simple man with a profound faith who walked with God in the quietness of his own heart and loved on everyone he met. He was an authentically Christian man
But one thing troubled Jimmy. He wanted above all else to become a "fisher of men." That was what the Great Teacher had promised those first fishermen who left their boats to follow him. "I allers try to think that `t was me in that boat when he come along." he muses. "I'd make b'l'eve that it was out on Streeter's Pond, an' I was settin' in the boat, fixin' my lan'in' net, when I see him on the shore. I think mebbe I'm that James-for that's my given name, ye know, though they allers call me Jimmy-an' then I hear him callin' me' `James, James.' I can hear him jest plain sometimes, when the wind's blowin' in the trees, an' I jest ache to up an' foller him. But says he, `I'll make ye a fisher o' men,' an' he aint done it. I'm waitin'; mebbe he'll larn me some day."
What Fishin' Jimmy did not realize is that the Great Teacher had already "larned" him. Jimmy had walked a long time with Jesus and his Lord's gracious ways had rubbed off on him. Unwittingly Fishin' Jimmy had become a center of peace, a man who touched lives profoundly wherever he went, who left behind the unforgettable fragrance of Christ.
David, in one of his poems, speaks of those like Jimmy who "live quietly" and yet deeply (Psalms 35:20). In every age God has his men and women who have retired from life's noise and confusion-have withdrawn from its ambitions and jealousies and have entered into the secret of a life that is hidden in God. These are the "quiet ones" who show poise under pressure, who are unshaken by life's alarms, who radiate peace wherever they go.
Ordinary men and women, unfamiliar with the hidden depths of God, necessarily live busy, fussy, ambitious, care-ridden lives. They're always fretful, always restless, always looking for that illusive "something more." But the person who has learned to turn his or her energies inward toward God can be calm and quiet in the hustle and bustle of the marketplace as well as the tedium and weariness of the commonplace.
F. B. Meyer says that most of us are like folks living in a one-room house located too close to the street. There's no way to get away from the noise and commotion outside. But we can build a little sound-proof room within and make it our dwelling place-a secret chamber to ponder God's word and talk things over with him.
"We fill our little space," Meyer says, "we get our daily bread and are content; we enjoy natural and simple pleasures; we do not strive, nor cry, nor cause our voice to be heard in the street; we pass through the world, with noise-less tread, dropping a blessing on all we meet."
It's in that quiet place that we ourselves learn peace and bring that peace out to others. George MacDonald, the wise, old Scot, put it this way: "There is a chamber-a chamber in God himself which none can enter but the one, the individual, the particular man. Out of which chamber that man has to bring revelation and strength for his brethren. This is that for which he was made-to reveal the secret things of the Father."
We can learn to be quiet. We can take our anxious worry and nervous energy to Jesus. When people disappoint us we can confide in him. When storms sweep over us we can hide ourselves in him. When people jostle one another and jockey for position, when they compete for fame and fortune and their passions begin to infect us we can run into that little chamber, shut the door and quiet our hearts again. We can be "calm and strong...
Firm in the right; mild to the wrong;
Our heart, in every raging throng
A chamber shut for prayer and song.--author unknown
DHR
11/13/96