"The Big Catch"

George Drukenmiller was one of Pastor Shulz's best friends, and an old member of Our Redeemer Lutheran Church. It was George's son, Frank, that first got the two of them together, a little less than a year after Pastor Shulz arrived. He asked him if he'd stop by and see the "old man," who was in his mid-nineties and had just been through a bout of surgery for colon cancer. Of course, Pastor Shulz was happy to do so. Like so many old farmers, George was reluctant to talk about his problems. "No use complaining over them," he'd say. "Doesn't change a thing. Just gets you dwelling on things better not thought of." So usually they talked about fishing which, while certainly not the old man's vocation, certainly was his avocation, and he kept telling Pastor Shulz, "One day, I'm going to show you a couple of my favorite holes. I've never shown them to anyone - but I guess they won't get fished out before I die!"

One of his favorite stories was about a big Muskie over on Pine Lake. He, and everyone else in town it seems, had been after that fish for years, but without any luck. A few had hooked it briefly, but it always got away; and each time it did, it's size and the story that accompanied it, both got bigger. George said he'd heard about it first when he was in his thirties and, although it certainly is hard to believe a fish could live that long, it's also true that it takes a considerable time for fact to turn to legend. So Pastor Shulz was sure that, if not entirely true, there certainly must have been some truth to the stories.

George liked to tell Pastor Shulz of his exploits with that fish, and could remember the various baits he used, and the holes where the big fish lurked during different times of the year. He knew him better than most folks know member of their own family. He'd seen him a number of times and, more than once, almost had him landed, . There would be an excitement in his voice as he told the story - years of aging would come off his face, and he'd always end the story with a smile, and licking his lips - like he'd just had him for dinner.

As their visits went on, it started to become apparent that George was not going to survive. No one had told him so, but he knew it, although he went along with the story line. "The doctor says I'm doin' pretty good. Got to go for a couple of more tests next week, though." "Tests" was a euphemism for chemotherapy for tumors that were seeding themselves all through his body. Pastor Shulz watched as the fat and muscle slowly was rendered by the cancer, until there was little left but skin draped over a skeleton. George talked on several occasions about how he loved oyster stew, and Pastor Shulz always bragged that his was the best, so he brought some over, hoping that he could get a bit of nourishment in George. "Looks good!" he said. "Maybe I'll have a bit later on." Of course, what he did was to give it to his daughter when she came over later that evening. "I had a bit of it," he lied - but it was a kind of open lie - they both knew he didn't touch it. "It was really great! Done just the way I like it."

One day, Pastor Shulz came over to see George - George wasn't able to get up any more, but sat in his bed, with an IV in his arm. "Liquid nourishment," he told Pastor Shulz. "Personally, I'd go for something a little more fortified!" As they visited, suddenly George cut the conversation short. "Know why I don't fish any more?" he asked Pastor Shulz, who thought that maybe finally the old man was going to spill the beans about his cancer, and about his fear of dying, or maybe he wanted to discuss his funeral plans with Pastor Shulz. George looked out the window, over Pastor Shulz's shoulder. "I caught him." It took a second for him to reorient himself, but then Pastor Shulz thought about the fish. Maybe the old man was beginning to get delirious, and had caught him in a dream. He remembered a while back, in his first congregation, right before Mrs. Bresler died. He had visited her just a couple of days before, and she told him her husband, who had died over forty-five years earlier, had visited her. "He sat on the edge of my bed," she assured him, "and told me that it would be alright, and not to be afraid." Maybe, Pastor Shulz thought, he had a dream, or maybe a vision. Maybe the fish told him it would be o.k., or that he would soon be frying bigger fish, or something like that.

"It was just before I turned eighty, when I could still get down to my favorite holes, without having to worry about my knees giving out," he reassured the pastor. "It was a cool morning. There were small patches of fog still on the lake. That spring they had just taken the Fry farm, that bordered that side of the lake, and turned it into a park, and said that they were going to put an access in, which they did the next spring. Ruined fishing there. I mean, you put in an access like that, and pretty soon you have all those motor boats, and oil and pollution, and all that noise, and people - just isn't the same any more."

"Anyway," he went back to his story, "I'm fishin' there and I got a few nibbles, but nothing much. Jimmy Fry, the grandson, who's now working for the state, comes along and stands there beside me, and we get to talking about things - like his folks, and their folks. I knew them all. I knew his history better than he did! That's the problem with young folks - they don't know their history. They don't know where they came from, so how are they supposed to know where they're goin'?"

By this time, Pastor Shulz was starting to think that they were on a back country road with a lot of interesting little turnoffs, and, with all the side roads they were traveling, it might be dark before they got home again.

Finally, George continued: "Well, we're standin' there, and I get a nibble, so I put up my hand, to let him know I've got something goin' on here. And we both get real quiet, because I can see some big ripples out on the pond. And I'm thinkin' to myself: 'This is it! It's him!' So I let him get a sample of the goods, and play with it a bit, and move it around his mouth to taste it, and I'm so nervous, I'm shaking, and sweating, and shivering, all at the same time. I plant my feet, so he can't take me by surprise, because, like I said, my knees aren't so good any more. And then I feel him draggin' the line, an' ZIP, I hook him!" He almost sprang right out of bed as he told the story, his eyes, which had before been a dull gray, now were a bright sky blue, like a pond on a bright spring morning, the sun glistening off its surface. He spoke with an animation in his voice and body Pastor Shulz hadn't seen for a while, and he began to wonder, "Why now - why had he waited so long to tell this story, which was certainly the highlight of his fishing experiences? Unless, perhaps, he thought it was the end - that perhaps this might be a summary of his life, a life full of striving and hope - that, perhaps, this was its end - a victory, perhaps, or perhaps still a yearning, an unfulfilled hope. He thought, at any rate, that it might be something he might use at the funeral. Pastor's are like that - we use what we can, and we aren't afraid of borrowing other people's stories. We plagiarize if it serves our purposes. Usually, we'll give credit, but not always.

At any rate, George continued, with Pastor Shulz in rapt attention, hoping he'd remember, hoping he'd catch something of the meaning of the man's life, or perhaps even something of the mystery of God in the story, hoping that he'd have another story, another parable to use some Sunday morning when nothing else would come.

"I had him hooked," George went on. "So I played out my line, keeping just enough tension on - bringing him in, letting him out. Oh! (he laughed) He played every trick he had - in and out, up and down. Once he jumped right out of the water! Oh, MAN - he was big! Jimmy just stood there, stunned! It must have been five - ten minutes 'till I played him out. He was too big for my net, so I dragged him up on the shore. Oh, MAN, was he beautiful!"

He stopped for a moment, perhaps in reverence for the fish, or just to again savor the moment. Or, perhaps, his own energy was running low. "I sat there," he finally said, "and I thought to myself, 'Maybe I won't eat him - maybe I'll just mount him.' And I was sittin' there, starin' at this fish, when Jimmy comes up to me and he says, 'Man, it's almost a shame to have to put him back.' And I looked up at him - it took a minute for the words to even sink in. I looked at him, and he must have seen the wonder in my eyes, and he says, 'See the sign over there? This area is catch and release only - they did that when they put in the park.' And then, he says to me, 'Got a camera? I don't think anyone is going to believe this, otherwise!' And when he saw that I didn't, he reaches over, and works the hook out of the fish's mouth, and pushes him back in the water. And I just sat there, stunned." He looked up at Pastor Shulz. "That's the last time I went fishin'. I mean, you wait your whole life for that moment, and it finally comes, and then you have to let it go - it's just time to move on."

About three weeks later, George did die, and Pastor Shulz did tell the story, and a lot of people remembered the big Muskie, and the stories that were told about it, although no one had ever heard that it had ever been landed. Pastor Shulz used the story to tell about how we put so much of our hopes and thoughts and energy and dreams into things and, just when we finally get there, or when we think we are about there, suddenly God calls us in a different direction, and we have to leave it and go. Just as Simon Peter did, on that morning when he caught the catch of his life. And then Jesus said, "O.k., Simon, you caught it, now let it go. We've got bigger fish to fry." And he did. And so did George. Well, actually, he took up carving ducks. But you get the point.

And that's what's happening over at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, a little church not so very far from here, where George Shulz is pastor; a church that doesn't seem like much in the eyes of the world, but which is, oh, so precious in the eyes of God.