Easter 3c 2025; 4 May
John 21:1-19; Jack Hardaway
FISH FIRE FEED FOLLOW
There are stories that are hard to tell, hard to speak.
My great uncle came home from WW2, from prison camp, captured during the Battle of the Bulge.
He came home, gathered the family together, and said, “I’m only going to tell this once.” And he told the story of the war that he had lived through, but so many friends did not.
Then there was my uncle receiving a heart transplant, unable to speak the relief and grief over being chosen, and not someone else.
Then the person confiding infidelity, unable to swallow the perpetual lump in their throat.
Or when one of my children attempted to speak of having to put one of their pets down.
Some stories are hard to tell, hard to breathe and speak.
Grief, shame, relief, astonishment, agony, fear.
The words fail.
I love the gospel lesson for today.
I have a hard time speaking it, I keep pausing and sinking into the depths and losing my place.
The disciples go into the water and the darkness, a long empty night.
It is like they have died and are crossing over the river of death.
And in the early mists of morning they find Jesus waiting for them on the shore with breakfast cooking, ready for their arrival.
Then there are the fish, a sudden miraculous abundance, and it is then that they know it is Jesus.
Because when Jesus is present suddenly there is more, much more, an overflowing interruption filling their emptiness.
It makes no sense, but there it is.
These were not prayerful men, there was no theology, there was no spirituality.
They listened to Jesus teaching, witnessed his miracles, but rarely really getting the point, but they didn’t care.
They just wanted to be with Jesus, because everything was different when he was around, everything was better, the best was brought out in people, and even the bad people had to pause and reconsider.
Life was simply more with Jesus. They were themselves when he was there. They loved him. They missed and grieved for their friend.
It was all about a deep loving relationship, not about understanding, or ideas or philosophy.
Things held together and came together when Jesus was there.
And out of that unspeakable absence that Jesus left behind, the disciples wandered lost in the darkness on the waters.
And then there was that encounter.
Breakfast on the beach, sharing bread and fish together again.
And that conversation with Peter.
About loving Jesus and feeding and tending Jesus’ flock.
Follow Jesus and keep feeding the hungry.
That simple way to live, to love Jesus is to feed the hungry.
And Jesus presence is found in living that way.
Life comes together in that way of living, that way of loving, that way of following.
Loving and serving like Jesus loved and served.
It isn’t an arbitrary reading of scripture.
It is God’s way, it is God’s judgment, it is the cross to carry.
Don’t let this love be dismissed or derided by the wicked and cruel.
This love is clearly modeled in Jesus washing the disciples feet, in meeting them in their darkness and cooking and sharing a meal.
Love doesn’t have a definition, only an example to follow, a witness to bear, a person to know, a relationship to cherish.
Love is a story that is breathless, hard to speak, the first light of the new day.
Follow this fire out of the night.
Break this bread.
Share this catch.
Love. Love. Love.