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Devotional, Series

GOD BEGINNINGS, Part 15: What We Leave on the Shore

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Read Luke 5:1–11

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“If you love your father or mother more than you love me, you are not worthy of being mine; or if you love your son or daughter more than me, you are not worthy of being mine. If you refuse to take up your cross and follow me, you are not worthy of being mine. If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it.” (Matthew 10:37–39 NLT)

A weathered wooden fishing boat rests along a sandy shoreline at sunrise. Nets overflow with a large catch of silver fish in the foreground while three disciples walk away along the water behind Jesus. The abundant catch remains on the shore as the figures move toward the bright horizon.
Image: AI-generated using DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “What We Leave on the Shore” at Life-Giving Water Devotions.

It is funny how easily a single chapter of someone’s life can come to define the whole story.

We meet someone after they have already become who we know them to be, and it can be difficult to imagine them as anything else. The teacher was once a student. The grandparent was once somebody’s child. Even the people closest to us had whole lives unfolding before we ever entered the picture.

Scripture can have the same effect on us.

We know Peter as Peter, the disciple and apostle. James and John become the Sons of Thunder. Matthew becomes the Gospel writer. Thomas becomes the doubter.

But none of them began there.

Before there were disciples, there were fishermen and tax collectors, brothers and sons, husbands and friends. There were families, livelihoods, obligations, loyalties, disappointments, expectations, and histories.

Every disciple had a before. And then Jesus called.

Peter did not meet Jesus while waiting for his real life to begin. He already had one. He had a wife, a mother-in-law Jesus had recently healed, a brother named Andrew, fishing partners, boats, nets, responsibilities, successes, and failures. James and John had their father Zebedee and a family business.

And Peter wasn’t unusual.

Matthew had his tax booth and everything that came with being a tax collector. Simon carried the designation “the Zealot.” Thomas and Bartholomew had stories mostly lost to us. Even Judas Iscariot had a life before his name became forever associated with betrayal.

Every one of them came to Jesus carrying a history.

That is what makes Luke’s final sentence so striking. After the miraculous catch, after the nets begin tearing and the boats nearly sink beneath more fish than these fishermen could have imagined, Luke tells us that they brought the boats to shore, left everything, and followed Jesus.

Everything. Not simply the fish.

Peter leaves the nets and boat, but those belonged to a whole life: a wife, family, livelihood, partners, and responsibilities. James and John were not merely walking away from equipment. Elsewhere in the Gospels, Zebedee is right there when they leave the family business behind.

The call of Jesus reaches into whole lives.

That does not mean Peter suddenly ceases to be a husband. In fact, Paul later refers to Peter’s right to take his wife along with him in ministry. James and John do not stop being Zebedee’s sons. Andrew does not stop being Peter’s brother. Following Jesus does not erase the people we love or make our histories meaningless.

But it does reorder them.

Jesus makes that painfully clear when he tells his followers that anyone who loves father or mother, son or daughter more than him is not worthy of him. Jesus reaches toward some of our deepest and most legitimate attachments and says that even these cannot have the final claim upon where Christ may lead us.

That is what the disciples leave on the shore: the assumption that the life they already understand gets to determine the boundaries of the life Christ is calling them into.

And sometimes that means leaving something painful. But sometimes it means leaving something good.

Peter has just experienced the greatest professional success of his life. By every ordinary measure, this is the moment to stay, expand the business, and build a future around what just happened.

Instead, Peter walks away from the fish.

The miracle is not the destination. It is the threshold.

The miracle revealed something about Jesus and called Peter somewhere he had never been.

Yet Peter does not leave everything about fishing behind. Jesus tells him that from now on he will be fishing for people.

The fisherman comes with him.

Peter’s history is not erased. It is transformed.

That may be one of the hardest parts of following Christ. We understand leaving behind habits, prejudices, fears, sins, and ways of living that destroy us.

But what about the things that were good?

A career that mattered. A relationship that shaped us. A role we once filled. A place where we belonged. A tradition that carried us. A ministry through which God genuinely worked.

Good things can still become anchors when we insist they must remain forever.

Churches struggle with this too. Something worked once, so we assume faithfulness means preserving it. God met us through a particular ministry, building, tradition, structure, or season, so we begin protecting the place where God moved rather than watching for where God is moving.

Peter could have built a shrine around those fish. Instead, he followed Jesus.

Following Christ does not require having no past. It requires refusing to let the past determine where Christ may lead us next.

So perhaps the deeper question is this: What still has such a claim on me that I would refuse to follow Christ without it?

The shore will look different for each of us. But eventually, every disciple has to decide what gets the final word: the life we already know, or the Christ who says, Follow me.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Following Christ does not erase our past, but it does reorder what gets the final claim on our future.

PRAYER
Jesus, thank you for all that has shaped my life. Give me wisdom to know what to carry, courage to release what I cannot keep, and trust to follow wherever you lead. Amen.

Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).

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From the Archives: SEVEN LOADED LETTERS, Part 6: The Church that Played Dead

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Read Revelation 3:1–6

ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“These people say they are mine. They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” (Isaiah 29:13 NLT)

The Book of Revelation opens not not with beasts or bowls, but with a voice—a call that echoes through time and space to a Church both ancient and present. These seven letters, delivered to communities scattered across Asia Minor, are more than historical artifacts. They are loaded with truth, urgency, and love. They speak to us, challenge us, and strip away illusions. In every age, Christ’s words to the Church still ask us to listen—and respond.

Image: AI-generated using OpenAI’s DALL·E and customized by the author. Used with the devotional “The Church That Played Dead” at Life-Giving Water Devotion

Part 6: The Church That Played Dead. They had a name for being alive. People looked at them and saw success. Momentum. Activity. A solid reputation. And yet, Jesus—who sees beyond appearances—spoke a truth that silenced the room: “You are dead.”

Sardis wasn’t being persecuted. They weren’t being tested. They weren’t in crisis. That might have been the problem. They were comfortable, confident, and coasting on yesterday’s faith. The form remained. But the fire had gone out.

This wasn’t a church that failed to perform—it was a church that learned how to perform too well. And that’s what makes Sardis feel so familiar today.

We see it in churches built like brands—polished, televised, franchised. Places where celebrity pastors replace shepherds, and worship feels more like spectacle than surrender. We see it in the rise of prosperity preaching, partisan pulpits, and marketing strategies baptized as mission. These churches are full. Loud. Impressive. But Jesus isn’t impressed. He never was.

But it’s not just in megachurches.

We see it in denominational dashboards, where vitality gets reduced to numbers: attendance, professions of faith, giving units, mission hours logged. Boxes get checked. Goals get met. Reports get filed. But hearts remain unchanged.

Jesus was never about numbers. He was about relationships.

His movement went from one, to three, to twelve, to thousands, and back again to twelve, then three at the cross. His mission wasn’t built on crowd retention—it was built on deep, costly, unshakable love.

Not image. Not metrics. But faithfulness.

When Jesus says to Sardis, “Wake up. Strengthen what remains and is about to die,” it’s not a rejection—it’s a rescue.

He doesn’t say it’s too late. He says there’s still something left. But it won’t survive on autopilot. It won’t be saved by better branding or busier programming. It has to return to the source. To Him.

“These people say they are mine. They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.” (Isaiah 29:13 NLT)

And then there’s this, from Jesus himself:

“You are like whitewashed tombs—beautiful on the outside, but filled with dead bones and all sorts of impurity.” (Matthew 23:27 NLT)

This is the danger of playing dead: you forget you’re supposed to be alive.

But resurrection is still on offer.

Jesus says, “If you do not wake up, I will come like a thief.” The language is sharp because the stakes are real. A church can do all the “right” things, and still lose the thread. Still fall asleep at the altar. Still drift into a coma of respectability.

But not everyone in Sardis gave up.

“Yet you have a few people… who have not soiled their clothes. They will walk with me, dressed in white, for they are worthy.” (Revelation 3:4 NLT)

To those few, Jesus doesn’t say, “Start a rebellion.” He says, “Hold on.”

Stay awake. Stay faithful. Stay close.

This isn’t about recapturing success. It’s about reclaiming life. The Church doesn’t need to prove it’s alive. It needs to return to the One who is.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY
You can’t build resurrection on reputation. Only Jesus gives life that lasts.

PRAYER
Wake us up, Lord. Strip away the illusions we’ve built. Forgive us for confusing noise with life, numbers with faithfulness, and performance with presence. Strengthen what remains. Help us return to you—not for appearances, but for love. Amen.