A Crazy Calling?


The years and years we laboured
To give our girl a start,
Before the burly fisherman
Arrived to steal her heart,
Come to me now and will not give me rest.

Capernaum is stirring,
A prophet is in town;
And one whose deeds and novel creeds
Are gaining much renown;
But this one may disturb my daughter’s nest!

For, Simon he has beckoned
To study at his feet,
To bless the poor and hurting ones
Found daily in the street;
And Simon says he will rise to the test.

So seemingly uncaring
For comforts fought and won?
With muscle, wit and honest grit,
Dear fisherman, dear son?
Will you abandon all? Why, you’re possessed!

This feverish discomfort
Which, sadly now I bear,
Because I fear your future, dears;
Because I truly care;
Is more than just a mother sore depressed.

“And would you bring the prophet
To see me in this way?
Whatever will I offer?
Whatever will I say?
Now really, Simon Peter, I’m half-dressed!”

“Why…Jesus, you’re most welcome;
The pleasure is all mine;
But that you’d found me stronger,
But that you’d come to dine.
But come now, enter, sit down, take your rest.”

And now his hand extended,
His manly gaze serene,
His gentle touch is helping much;
His likes I’ve never seen.
Oh Jesus, rabbi, healer, I’ve been blessed!

There really must be something,
Unworthy as I am,
That I might do to bless him too,
To thank this princely man.
No wonder that the others are impressed.

“Lord, would you take my family
To labour at your call,
To render trade and house and heart,
To volunteer their all?
It must be such a future holds the best.”

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