Easter III, 2019
A lot has happened. Jesus was arrested, crucified, buried, but three days after the rushed funeral his tomb is empty. Peter has denied that he even knew who Jesus was, Judas Iscariot has hanged himself out of grief, this band of friends has scattered to the winds for fear that they might be next. Then two disciples are walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus when they are joined by a stranger. He quietly shares a conversation with them before sitting down to some supper at their behest. As he breaks the bread they recognize him to be Jesus, raised from the dead. Then just as quickly as he appeared, he is gone from their sight. After sharing this story with their friends, the remaining group starts to come back together. They lock themselves in a room because they are still afraid of what all this means, when Jesus appears in the midst of them, and quietly offers them Peace, instead of fear. After he leaves again, the group realizes they are one man short. Thomas was off visiting his twin sister perhaps, so when he returns to Jerusalem, Jesus comes again, this time moving the resurrection beyond words, to touch. Showing himself to not be a ghost but sanctifying the human body even with all its wounds and scars. After all, why should it not be holy? The human body was molded by God and made in the image of God. They don’t know how to deal with resurrection. Jesus just keeps showing up, eating some food, and going away again. I’m sure the question crossed their minds, “what do we do now?
A lot has happened and it is a lot to handle. All this ordinary suddenly becoming extraordinary is almost too much to bear. So what do the disciples do? They try to go home again. Well, as anyone who has endured a transformative experience can tell you, you can never really “go home” again. They try to find some sense of what they knew before. They try to “return.” So just as my father and grandfather would do to figure things out, a way to untangle the messy nets of the mind, they put out a boat and decide to go fishing. Night fishing in fact. I don’t know if in their stress they are casting the nets too hard, or they have spooked the fish with all their talk about the last week's events, but for some reason, they don’t catch a thing. The first ribbons of the dawn are peeling over the mountains and they have no fish.
In the haze of morning light, Jesus is standing on the shore. As they are bringing the empty boat back in, he calls out, “Didn’t catch anything, did you?” “Why don’t you try throwing the net on the other side of the boat?” Being raised by avid fishermen, I know exactly how the unwritten reply would have gone. It’s unwritten because John doesn’t know how to translate Aramaic cusses into Greek. I am sure a little grumbling took place under their breaths, “Don’t you think we tried that already?” Nevertheless, they cast their nets one more time. Suddenly the net is bursting and they can hardly pull it into the boat.
This is a bit like the breaking of bread in that roadside tavern. The scene should have been a familiar one to most of those in the boat. But Peter, so deaf to the now after the grief of his denial is a little slow on the upbeat, till one of the others points out to him, “look, its Jesus.”
Suddenly the memories come flooding back in. The scales have fallen from his eyes, his ears are unblocked, and Peter remembers that first day so many years ago. He was in a boat with his brother and partners, possibly this very same boat. They had been out all night fishing and not caught a thing, when this strange guy from Nazareth, a landlocked town, says “try casting the nets on the other side.” It is after this first miraculous catch that Jesus says, “Come follow me, and I will teach you what it means to fish for people.” Being someone who finds comfort in food and cooking, I love these post-resurrection scenes because nearly all of them involve food. The men in the boat have been out all night and not caught a thing, but here is Jesus on the shore, charcoal fire on the beach, with some fish already cleaned and roasting. “Come have some breakfast, and let’s talk.”
They still struggle with what resurrection means. They still have no idea what they are supposed to do next. So Jesus takes them back to where it all began, in an almost Wizard of Oz-like moment, to show them that they knew what to do all along.
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter,
“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”
He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”
A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.”
He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?”
And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.
Here we have another hearkening back. For three times Simon Peter denied that he even knew who Jesus was. Now, three times he makes his contrition, three times he is forgiven, and three times he is told what to do. So now the scene comes to a conclusion, Not with any earthquakes or trumpet blasts, not with any great moment of ethereal enlightenment, but with Jesus and his friends sitting around a campfire, as he whispers those familiar words through the smoke, “Follow me.” Maybe that is where you find yourself. We all still struggle to understand what resurrection means. We forget that we are a resurrection people and we allow ourselves to be bogged down with worry because we have trouble seeing the signs all around us.
Yesterday morning a dear friend, and a beautiful Christian soul left this world. Rachel Held Evans, through her books, her humor, and her personality had such a profound impact on my life, as she did on many that I know. In the first moments after receiving the news, my heart broke. I was stunned, and I didn’t really know what to do next. I needed a trumpet blast to wake me from the fog. I needed an earthquake to shake me back into existence. In the darkness of this news, I needed a little light. So I began looking back to quotes of hers that I had underlined. I began scrolling through pictures my friends had with her and Dan as I read their memories and transformations. I still hadn’t fleshed out this mornings sermon and I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t go fishing, but instead walked inside to the Diocesan Camp Planning meeting I was attending, and I worked with my friends to prepare for the work of the Kingdom.
When I got home last night, I got some food and began re-reading my favorite book by Rachel, Searching For Sunday. It was this book that had helped me through my summer of hospital chaplaincy. It was this book that had confirmed my transformation in God. It was this book that had solidified my calling into ministry through my experiences with God. Still thinking of this morning's Gospel, and recognizing my own struggle with resurrection in the darkness felt at the loss of such a bright and loving light, I read the final page and heard a whisper, “her work may be done, but yours is just beginning.” So I will let her words on the role of this post-resurrection church close us out.
Sunday morning sneaks up on us––like dawn, like resurrection, like the sun that rises a ribbon at a time. We expect a trumpet and a triumphant entry, but as always, God surprises us by showing up in ordinary things: in bread, in wine, in water, in words, in sickness, in healing, in death, in a manger of hay, in a mother’s womb, in an empty tomb. [And I would add, in a campfire and some fish]. Church isn’t some community you join or someplace you arrive. Church is what happens when someone taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, ‘pay attention, this is holy ground; God is here.’
God is truly, and is always here. So let us recognize the holy ground and resurrection. Let’s go fishing. Let’s feed the sheep. Let’s get to work.
AMEN
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