Breakfast with Jesus
Third Sunday of Easter
In the days following the rollercoaster ride of the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus, the disciples are a little unsure of what to do with themselves. They had just started to figure out the routine of following Jesus (misunderstand his teachings, fumble his instructions when he sent them out, listen to a parable that almost clears up the confusion, rinse, wash, and repeat) and now everything is changed again. Life is like this in the aftermath of a huge event, isn’t it? There is physical exhaustion, a let-down of emotion, and a fuzziness to the new reality. Our previous life is obviously over, but the new one is not coming into focus. What is the structure and framework of our new life? Who are we now? How shall we now live?
In this scene, we see Peter, Didymus (aka Thomas the Twin), Nathanael, the Sons of Zebedee (James and John) along with two others who remain unnamed here. Peter seems to snap out of a reverie or lethargy and announces abruptly, “I am going fishing!” I hear him saying, “I am out of ideas, so I am going back to what I know.” Maybe some part of Peter remembered where Jesus had found him. Maybe he was longing to go back to those halcyon early days with Jesus. Maybe he just wanted a break from all the other disciples nagging him for a new plan. Whatever his reasons, the other disciples jumped at the chance to join Peter for a night of fishing. Maybe Peter would have preferred some “me time” instead.
It was a long, unproductive night. Try as they might, they caught nothing. As the chilly dawn broke, they decided to call it a night and head home. We imagine them cold, wet, and discouraged. Perhaps they were beginning to grumble amongst one another in their frustration and disappointment.
As they approach the beach, there is a man standing, watching them approach. We, the viewers, know it is Jesus in stealth mode again, but the bedraggled fishermen do not recognize him at first. Even when he greets them across the water, calling them “children” they do not realize it is Jesus. Jesus then tells them to try casting their net on the right side of the boat which is pretty amusing advice. I am guessing that the disciples grimaced at each other and muttered about the goofy advice you get sometimes from non-professionals who think they know something about career skills you have spent a lifetime honing. But what did they have to lose? So, they gritted their teeth, smiled politely, and cast their nets on the right side of the boat as this stranger suggested.
The results, a groaning load of fish too big for the nets, are the now recognizable superabundance that is present wherever Jesus shows up. John puts the pieces together first and gasps to Peter, “It is the Lord!” And one more time, after thoughtfully putting on some clothes, Peter leaps impulsively into the sea to get to Jesus first.
Jesus, knowing what kind of night it has been, utters some of the most welcome words known to humanity: “Come and have breakfast.” You can just feel how good it was to hear him say this, can’t you? Jesus has built a fire, grilled some delicious flatbread with garlic and olive oil (ok, that is my own theory, but it is plausible, right?) and adds some of the freshly caught fish. (I am imagining a lovely Spanish mackerel, but maybe that’s just me?)
You can hear the disciples rejoicing: He’s back and everything is back to normal! And for a few minutes, everything is purely wonderful.
And scene. Honestly, this is where we really wish the story could wrap up, with all of them laughing together around the fire, teasing each other, telling stories on each other to Jesus of their terrible night of fishing. We really want to freeze-frame this moment of warmth, love, and belonging.
But no. Nope. A happy, feel-good Hollywood ending is denied.
After they finished eating, Jesus unravels Peter’s three betrayals by asking him three times, “Peter, do you love me?” And just like that, this reassuring, cuddly moment is gone and Peter is returned to that dreadful night, warming himself next to another fire, now grasping the destructive depths of his refusal to acknowledge Jesus as he approached his gruesome death. Peter is surprised and hurt by the first question, but the second and the third questions gut him entirely. Three times asked, “Peter, do you love me?”; three times answered, “You know that I love you.”; three times Jesus replies, “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.” Oh, and by the way, you will die a gruesome death. Then Jesus utters a very familiar command: “Follow me.”
For more than two thousand years the Church has responded with institutional interpretations of Jesus’ commands to Peter. It is pretty safe to assume that we have mostly chosen to misunderstand what Jesus meant. We mostly miss the redemptive work Jesus commands Peter (and by extension, Jesus also commands us) to take on as atonement for our daily, casual denials of Jesus. How does Jesus say that we will glorify God?
What does that look like for today’s disciples who claim to love Jesus?
I hear Jesus saying that lose who love him must submit ourselves to caring for the lambs and sheep of the Church in real ways. We must get to know them by name and learn their inclinations and struggles. With time, the sheep should learn to trust us as we fend off predators, move the flock to greener pastures and to fresh water when necessary. We keep an eye out for the wanderers; we know where they tend to go, and restore them gently and with thanksgiving when they are found. We are called away from the warmth of the breakfast fire. Let us join our brother, Peter, to lay down our lives joyfully and go willingly where we do not wish to go, all for the love of Jesus and for the sake of the sheep.