The Fisherman of Aitape

By Peter Yangum

Before the dawn has kissed the sea,
Before the birds have left the tree,
The fisherman of Aitape wakes
And to the ancient ocean makes

His way with net and canoe carved
From timber that his father starved
And sweated in the forest shade
To find the finest tree God made.

He paddles past the breaking reef,
His prayer as simple as belief:
“Lord, fill my net as once you filled
The nets of Peter, till they spilled

With silver fish upon the shore—
That miracle forevermore
Reminds us: when we trust your word,
Abundance flows from you, O Lord.”

The sun now rises, gold and red,
Painting the Pacific overhead.
He casts his net with practiced hand,
A skill passed down across this land

From father unto son, and son
To grandson, since the world begun.
And in the rhythm of his cast
He feels the ages, present, past—

The same sea that the Savior walked,
The same wind where the Spirit talked,
The same faith in a God unseen
Who makes the barren waters teem.

At noon he turns his canoe home,
His catch enough, no need to roam.
He shares with widow, shares with poor,
The way his parents did before.

For in this simple, honest life,
So far from worldly stress and strife,
The fisherman of Aitape knows
What learned men in cities chose

To seek in books: that God is near
In every wave, in every tear,
In every sunrise, every prayer,
In salt and wind and ocean air.

Dedicated to the fishermen of the Aitape coast, who, like the first Apostles, know the sea and trust the Lord.