The blue lake was simmering in hot spring sun.
A blue so deep as to be almost black.
Yes, the sun shining was a bright whiteness blinding me to sight of His Son.
Once, long ago, some fishermen too were sun-blinded to their lack.
Yet He called and one said: It is the Lord.
And does He call to me from the lake’s blinding light?
Or is it in this gentle shallow stream bubbling gently over stones lit by light’s diffused sword?
From lake’s rim it flows without ceasing to the distant breaking sea day and night.
And does that Figure on the bank lay out a net for my soul to be redeemed.
Would I even leap off the shifting craft of my life to His voice?
For surely then a glorious meal awaits. It lives in this Bread sanctified.
Would I have the courage to say: It is the Lord. We all of us His born choice.
If only we would have that faith, never in our life before or since would there be such a catch.
And open the clasp and the way to eternal life’s latch.