There is a moment near the beginning of every great story where a character hears the invitation that changes everything. A knock at the door. A stranger walking into view. A whispered challenge: “Come and see.”
For Simon and Andrew, that moment came while they were doing the most ordinary thing in the world… exactly the thing they had done yesterday… and the day before that. Throwing nets. Pulling in fish. Repairing what was torn. Starting over again.
A workday like any other.
Then Jesus came walking by the water.
He looks at them. Not past them. Not around them. At them. With an intensity that seems to say, “I know exactly who you are… and I know exactly what you could be.”
He doesn’t give them a doctrinal exam. He doesn’t check their spiritual résumé. He doesn’t push a clipboard into their hands and say, “Here’s your ministry, get to work.”
He simply says:
“Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of people.”
There it is. The whole Christian life in one sentence.
Belonging.
Following.
Sharing.
One invitation. Three promises.
He starts with belonging. “Follow Me.”
Then becoming. “I will make you…”
Then purpose. “…fishers of people.”
Somehow the order always matters.
I. BELONGING
Where do I fit? Who claims my heart?
Jesus begins with relationship. Before mission. Before struggle. Before transformation.
He doesn’t say,
“Change, then follow Me.”
He says,
“Follow Me, and you will be changed.”
Most of us have lived long enough to know what it feels like to not belong. When you walk into a room and quickly discover that everyone knows everyone… except you. When you scroll past a hundred highlight reels and quietly wonder why your life feels so ordinary. When you wear the right smile but inside you’re thinking, “Where do I fit in this world exactly?”
Those fishermen knew that feeling well. Rome taxed them. Religious leaders ignored them. Society didn’t ask their opinion on spiritual matters.
Jesus does.
He says, “You matter. To Me. Come belong with Me.”
The first word of the gospel is not “behave.” It is “belong.”
A funny thing happens when people find belonging in Christ. They stop fighting so hard to belong everywhere else. The scrambling and comparing and posturing begins to loosen its grip.
That’s the danger of forgetting where we belong. Someone or something else will always be happy to claim us. A political tribe. A social circle. A personality we attach to. A habit we think we can’t live without.
Paul saw this unfold in Corinth. A church full of believers… who belonged more to their factions than to their Savior.
“I follow Paul!”
“I follow Apollos!”
“I follow Cephas!”
“Well… I follow Christ… so I’m clearly doing it right.”
The problem wasn’t the names. It was the loyalty that replaced Jesus.
They believed in Him.
They just weren’t centered on Him.
They were splitting into groups based on who baptized them, who first preached to them, who impressed them most. Their belonging drifted sideways. And whenever belonging goes wrong, everything goes wrong.
It’s like waking up in a room you don’t recognize. You stumble through the dark assuming every doorway is where it always was. You’re navigating by memory, not reality.
Crash.
Stubbed toe.
Bruised shin.
A slow-motion “Why did I think that was a hallway?”
That’s what spiritual mis-belonging feels like—painful and unnecessary injuries from walking by the wrong light.
Jesus calls us back. “You belong with Me. Walk by My light. I will lead you.”
Belonging leads to…
II. FOLLOWING
Whose voice shapes my choices?
The disciples follow Jesus down dusty roads, through crowds, into storms, into laughter, into uncomfortable dinners with surprising people.
Every day:
Less self-direction.
More Jesus-direction.
They are slowly unlearning the old ways of being themselves.
Following means someone else gets to say:
“This is the way.”
“Let’s head over here.”
“Not that path. This one.”
Which sounds romantic until the moment Jesus says:
“Forgive him.”
“Love her.”
“Serve them.”
“Trust Me.”
Following Jesus is beautifully simple and wildly challenging.
Someone once told you they belonged to Christ but lived as if their primary leader was their fear… or their anger… or their favorite commentator. Maybe that “someone” has been you. At least on a few Tuesdays.
This is why Corinth lost its way. They believed in Jesus, yet they were following their influences.
And the thing about following is…
it only takes one degree of drift to end up lost.
I was talking recently with someone whose father struggles with alcoholism. Hard road. Heavy nights. The kind of story that makes you hold your breath a little.
She told me about her dad’s journey through Alcoholics Anonymous, and the conversation naturally led to the idea at the heart of their program… the Higher Power. That moment when someone realizes:
“I can’t fix me. I need help.”
Then that beautiful surrender:
Let go and let God.
Following isn’t weakness.
It is the discovery of a better strength.
There is freedom when you finally say,
“I am done steering this ship into every reef I see. Jesus… take the wheel.”
Not as a meme.
As a lifestyle.
Following means I am not who I used to be.
I don’t walk by my old maps.
I am learning to trust a new Navigator.
Jesus never said following Him would be easy.
He did promise it would be worth it.
Which leads to the part we often forget…
Following leads to…
III. SHARING
Who benefits from my life?
Jesus doesn’t just say, “Follow Me.” He says,
“I will make you fishers of people.”
Not fishers of success.
Not fishers of applause.
Not fishers of comfort zones.
Fishers of people.
Our belonging leads to transformation.
Our transformation leads to mission.
Because what Jesus does in us is always meant to flow through us.
Not as a program.
Not as pressure.
Simply as overflow.
When a soul becomes convinced that Jesus actually loves them…
when forgiveness sinks deeper than shame…
when freedom becomes more familiar than fear…
It becomes almost impossible to keep quiet about it.
Most people don’t remember the last religious debate they overheard.
Almost everyone remembers the last person who cared enough to listen.
Fishing for people is not manipulation.
It is invitation.
It is saying:
“You belong with us.
You belong with Him.”
It is giving someone a seat at the fire, even if they smell like fish.
That AA conversation I told you about earlier didn’t come with a script or a plan. It simply came from compassion. One hurting heart telling another where hope was found.
That is evangelism in its purest form.
When Jesus calls us fishers of people, He is also calling us to get close enough to people that we feel their weight… their struggle… their story. You cannot fish from the parking lot. You have to get near the water.
We do this at the grocery store.
At the office.
On the phone with a friend who is barely holding it together.
With the neighbor who pretends they’re fine.
With the family member we’re not quite sure how to help.
We share what we have discovered:
God is real.
God is strong.
God is love.
God is here.
God is for you.
Not because we are spiritual superheroes.
Because we have walked with Jesus, and we have seen what He can do.
There is power in witnessing.
Not because we are persuasive.
Because the gospel is alive.
We often underestimate what God can do through one small invitation.
Andrew didn’t preach.
He didn’t organize a festival.
He simply brought his brother to Jesus.
His brother? Peter.
The one who preached Pentecost.
The one God used to kick open the doors of the early church.
Andrew is the reason Peter met Jesus.
One quiet fisherman who decided:
“I want you to meet the One who changed me.”
That is what it looks like to fish for people.
When churches forget this calling, they begin to sink.
Corinth lost its net.
It became tangled in internal loyalties.
It became noisy where it should have been loving.
It became anxious where it should have been confident.
It became a museum instead of a mission.
Any church can drift that way.
Even good ones.
Even us.
When our belonging shifts to personal preference…
When our following shifts to our favorite personality…
When our sharing shifts into silence…
We begin to feel the slow ache of a net with no fish.
Not because God stepped away.
But because we did.
There is a reason Jesus called fishermen.
Because fishermen know:
You cannot catch anything without putting your net in the water.
The Kingdom grows at the speed of personal invitation.
Not a thousand miles an hour.
One relationship at a time.
One conversation at a time.
One “You should come with me” at a time.
So here is the question that brings it all home:
Who is waiting to be invited into the belonging you’ve already found?
A name probably popped into your mind.
Maybe two.
Maybe someone who annoys you.
Maybe someone who scares you.
Maybe someone who has been quietly circling your life for years, wondering if anyone sees them.
Jesus sees them.
Jesus loves them.
Jesus invites them.
What if He is inviting them through you?
Not because you’re perfect.
Because you said yes.
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>>Conclusion
Belonging.
Following.
Sharing.
This is not a spiritual ladder.
It is a spiritual circle.
I belong to Jesus.
So I follow Jesus.
So I introduce others to Jesus.
So they can belong too.
This is how the world gets changed.
This is how a church stays alive.
This is how disciples multiply.
This is how the nets fill.
Imagine a church where everyone sees themselves as a fisherman.
Imagine a week where every believer has one conversation of hope.
Imagine what God will do through a people who simply say:
“Yes, Jesus. I belong to You. Lead me. Use me.”
Not heroic.
Just available.
Let’s pray.
Prayer
Jesus, thank You for calling us to belong with You, to follow You wherever You lead, and to share Your love with a world You love so much.
Give us courage to walk by Your light, not by old habits.
Give us compassion to notice who’s hurting around us.
Give us joy in fishing for people, knowing You are the One who draws hearts.
Make us a people who hold the net together.
In Your strong name we pray. Amen.
