Jesus said to her, ‘Don’t hold onto me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ So Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, ‘I have seen the Lord.’
(Jn 20:17-18)
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was convinced it was a big stick floating in the creek bed until it swam into a shaded part of the deep pool my grandma and I were fishing on that hazy July evening. It was a summer tradition for which I’d give anything to travel back in time to relive: Much of my adolescent and teenage days were spent at our family farm, fishing the creek waters of Wetzel County. My Grandma Steele and I would often wade through those waters catching crawdads and hellgrammites—bait that was a sure bet for bass-fishing fun.
That summer day was one that I’ll always remember because it was the biggest bass this scrawny, Italian pre-teen ever pulled out of Fishing Creek. The attached picture is one that I can only describe as big, beautiful, and hard to miss…and I’m not talking about my nose (laugh all you want). At any rate, that bass wouldn’t bite on anything but a softshell crawdad and I recall the lengths my grandma went to nab a crab so that I could bait it up and take a shot at setting the hook.
Like a long-lost lure, the memory is permanently snagged in my mind since it was a picture-perfect day with a woman who was a giant in my life. To this day, I stand on her shoulders and on that day, she stood with pride because I landed the fish (as I write this, I can still hear her laughing with an approving grin). The picture was taken back at camp after we schlepped the fish “over the river and through the woods” in a 5-gallon bucket of water since I was sure no one would believe that I caught a fish that big out of a creek that small. The photo was my attempt to hold onto a milestone moment I didn’t want to let die…even if the fish had to.
While talk of taxidermy swam in my head, my grandma insisted that I couldn’t keep the fish. “Jake, you caught him, but you’ve gotta release him. Who knows? You might…catch…him…again. The picture will remind you he’s still swimming around out there.
It’s arguable that we all—in very Mary Magdalene-like ways—want to keep what we catch. Still today, the temptation is to take our faith and taxidermy it like a fish confined to the walls of our homes for only friends and family to see. But behold the first command of a risen Christ: “Don’t hold onto me.” In other words, “Don’t fasten yourself to what’s familiar since my presence is soon to take on a different form.”
Oh, but it’s much easier to cling to what’s comfortable, to spectate instead of participate. Church pews are cozy places in which to camp…Yet, having the guts to get up and go in His name is what really gives the Lord glory. With that, let me tell you what my grandma told me: the good news is that you caught him; the bad news is that you can’t keep him to yourself! The Christian life is a catch-and-release kind of thing: people only catch the bits of Jesus we decidedly release. So go ahead: Throw out a line, some words that are kind, and be generous with your money and time. You never know who you might catch at just the right time.
