Walton's Rucksack

Last night I saw Mark Knopfler at the Resorts World Arena (formerly NEC) in Birmingham. He's 69 (many in the audience were older) but, in the words of one of his songs, "the boy can play." Still loving what he's doing, and a whole lot better at it than when he was a young kid just starting out. Many of the best fishermen I've known have been "tapping on a bit." I'm certainly a better angler now than I was when I was 13. Although I had all the enthusiasm back then, I was impatient: I'd move swims too quickly, plumb the depth too hurriedly, race to the first available swim. Time and experience have made me if not a good angler certainly a better one. It should be the same in our Christian journey, too. That as time passes, we grow. That our experiences drawn from Bible reading, church, the wisdom of other Christians and - above all- our lived relationship with Jesus should lead to us becoming more effective as followers and disciples.

I can remember the frustration like it was yesterday, although it was probably nearer to 30 years ago. I was walking alongside a small stream (more of a ditch, really) that joined the River Cam and, as every angler does, my eyes peered through the water's layers as I walked. And then I saw it: a tiny baby pike, no more than 6 inches long. Excited, I pointed it out to my (non-angling) walking companions Graham and Alex. They looked and looked, squinted, screwed up their faces in strange contortions but could see nothing. "Look, it's there, next to that leaf .... it's just moved ... look " I implored, but still they saw no mini pikelet. Their inability to see gave way to banter: "Yea, right, you must think we were born yesterday ... nice try ... like a fish would be in that tiny stream anyway...." But the pike was there. I saw it. It made me think of so many in the crowds who saw Jesus. There in front of them was the Messiah, the Son of God and they d