“My Best Friend, Jesus” © 2018 Mark H. Massé Case # 1-6279018701 United States Copyright Office
Welcome to SUCH FRIENDS, a new fictional series on my Substack platform, Massé Musings (markhmasse.substack.com). This week’s story (“Out to Sea”) is from my young adult religious collection, “My Best Friend, Jesus.” Hope you enjoy the read.
Chapter 3: Out to Sea
“Be not afraid, Ethan.”
The heat of summer in my 13th year was more brutal than usual, and we young Nazarene men sought comfort in the shade of palm trees, in the rare breeze and even rarer stream on the barren desert landscape. Stream is an exaggeration. We were lucky if we found any water near our village. Then we would rush home to grab our large storage jars to fill. We knew how precious water was during the dry season. Our primary source came from the deep well in the center of our village.
Before we delivered our water jars home, we would try to save a handful or two, to pour on the ground. Then we would fall to our knees and use palm branches to stir the dirt into a slurry. We would scoop handfuls of the cooling mud and cover our faces and the backs of our necks. The adults would laugh at our mud masks, but we knew that they envied our freedom to look so ridiculous and find brief relief from the heat.
Many families traveled to the Sea of Galilee during the summer. Our clan also did because my father’s brother, Mathias, lived near Bethsaida. Mathias was a fisherman and a good man. He had never married nor had children. Our uncle treated my older sister, Hannah, and me as his own.
Before this trip, I asked my parents if Jesus could come with us. They said of course, for they loved him. At first he declined, saying he didn’t want to leave Joseph because of all the carpentry work he had yet to complete. But his mother and father both said he deserved some relaxation and gave him permission to join us.
Riding our donkeys, Jesus and I spoke of the fun that awaited us out on the water. He said he loved the peaceful feeling of the waves lapping against the sides of the fishing boat. I said I loved the cooling spray of the waves as they crashed into our vessel. My father motioned for us to pick up the pace. We were so busy chatting away, we didn’t realize we were lagging behind the caravan.
•••
Later that afternoon the sky grew darker and more ominous as we approached the Sea of Galilee. I asked my uncle if he should cancel our boat ride.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Those aren’t storm clouds. I can always tell when bad weather is coming. We will be fine and have a wonderful time on the water.”
As we were all getting into Mathias’ boat, Jesus looked to the sky. He scanned the clouds in two directions and then said, “We’ll be fine.”
“Hope so,” I said. “Don’t like being out on the water when there are storms.”
“Neither do I,” he said, winking at me.
When we headed out to sea, other fishing boats were coming into port, their nets full of fish. One of these boats was owned by Jonah, the father of Simon and Andrew. Jonah and Mathias had spent years together in Bethsaida.
“Mathias,” Jonah cried out. “I wouldn’t go out if I were you. A storm is coming.”
“Nonsense. You worry like an old woman,” Mathias shouted at Jonah, and then we all laughed.
Mathias was tall and brawny with strong hands and big feet that flopped on the boards of the sailboat as he moved to and fro, steering the vessel. My father was shorter, heavier and seemingly immovable as he manned the rudder. My mother and sister sat together singing songs while Jesus and I peered overboard as the waves crested higher.
“Look,” I shouted, as a wondrous silver fish leapt in the air ahead of our boat. All of us stared at the large sea creature.
“Too bad Jonah turned back,” Mathias said in a booming voice. “He would have loved to haul in that huge fish.”
Jesus studied the beautiful creature and raised his hands. More sleek silver fish now danced before our boat as if they were escorting us farther out to sea.
“That’s a sign,” my father said. “Truly we are blessed by such sights as these.”
My mother and father exchanged glances, looking lovingly at each other. My sister turned and grinned at me.
“I love you, brother,” she said.
“Love you, sister,” I replied. “And you my best friend, Jesus.”
Jesus hugged me and whispered: “Peace be with you, dear Ethan. Be of good faith.”
At first I didn’t understand why Jesus told me to be of good faith. He knew I was devout. He knew I studied the Torah and prayed to Yahweh. Why was he reminding me to be faithful?
Within minutes I had my answer. Out of the east a strong wind now blew our boat off course. My uncle and father were straining to keep the vessel from overturning. My mother and sister hugged each other and began chanting prayers for our safety. I gripped the side of the boat so hard, I thought I would surely have splinters in my hands. But while I sought to secure my position, Jesus calmly walked forward.
“Jesus, please sit down,” Mathias said. “The wind is too severe. I’m afraid you could slip and fall into the sea.”
Jesus touched the side of my uncle’s wide bearded face with his right hand as the wind grew even stronger, and a cluster of dark clouds now raced overhead. The waves splashed into our boat, drenching us. No one spoke. We knew what awaited us if the storm intensified. I joined my mother and sister in praying to God for deliverance. I hoped no one would see the depth of my fear.
At 13 I was considered a man. But I felt like a scared little boy in that boat out on the Sea of Galilee that day. Why wasn’t Jesus afraid? What gave him such courage to be standing with my uncle with just one hand on the mast. Surely he would fall overboard if the boat suddenly shifted course. Yet he had such a calm expression.
“Jesus, please come back and stay with me,” I shouted.
“Be not afraid, Ethan. I am always with you.”
Again I was confused by Jesus’ words. How could he be with me always? What did he mean?
My hands were tired, but I dared not release my grip for fear of falling into the roiling sea. Then the boat made a terrible lurch, and my mother, sister and I all tumbled onto the floorboards, where we lay stunned as huge waves soaked us.
When I looked up, Jesus was gone. Only my uncle was at the front of the boat, and he was hugging the mast in desperation. What about my father? I turned and saw that no one was holding the rudder. Where was my dad? Had he too fallen overboard? Was he and Jesus both gone? Both drowned in this awful dark water that tormented us?
•••
“Be not afraid, Ethan. Peace be with you,” Jesus was speaking to me. But he wasn’t in the boat. Where was he? How could he be speaking if I couldn’t see him?
I raised my head, hoping to see my father and Jesus reappear. But they were both gone. As I began to weep, I saw a beautiful silver fish rise from the water just inches from our boat. It leapt into the air and seemed to pause for a few seconds. It was bigger than any I had ever seen. Its body was covered in shimmering scales. As I watched the creature hover in the air, I was mesmerized, having never seen anything so breathtaking. Instead of fear, I now felt such awe and gratitude to God for creating such a fascinating creature and for enabling me to see such a vision.
I knelt in the center of the boat, praying for the safety of my family and for my best friend, Jesus.
“Dear God, please calm the sea and sky. Please return my beloved father and friend to us. I know that is within your power. I know, and I believe.”
I bowed my head and closed my eyes as the wind howled, and waves tore at our boat, sending a chilling spray over us. My mother and sister clung to me as I stretched out my arms to comfort them.
“Protect us, Ethan,” Hannah shouted.
“He will,” my mother said. “For He is my beloved son. Trust in Him.”
I thought it was my mother’s voice, but the words came not from my mom, who was weeping beside me. The voice came from above. From the heavens.
“For He is my beloved son. Trust in Him.”
I stared into the darkened sky and smiled. Moments later, the wind paused, the sky brightened, and the sea became calm.
“Thanks be to God,” Mathias said, releasing his hold of the mast and steadying the sails.
The sea once again sparkled as sunlight broke through the clouds. I helped my mother and sister up, and we hugged one another. I went to the front of the boat to stand with my uncle. We both searched the water around us for any sign of my father and Jesus. Mathias had tears in his eyes, and he shook his head dejectedly. But I kept looking, refusing to give up hope. Minutes passed, and then I heard my father’s cheerful voice behind us: “Give us a hand, will you, Ethan?”
I rushed to the back of the boat, and there my dad and Jesus were bobbing in the water. They had one hand around each other’s waist, and their other hand was outstretched toward me. Mathias and I helped bring both of them into the boat. They were drenched but unhurt.
“I was drowning, but Jesus appeared and saved me,” my father shouted.
“How could you save him?” Mathias asked. “No man could have survived being in the sea during that storm, much less save another drowning man.”
“It is a miracle. God be praised,” my mother said.
“God be praised,” my sister echoed.
Jesus nodded at me, and I nodded back as a most stunning sunset appeared on the horizon.
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© 2023 Mark H. Massé
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