Third Sunday of Easter Sermon
At the hospital where I work, the chaplain’s last name is Han. His first name is Solomon. Since it is a military hospital, many official documents place the last name first, then the first name follows. Thus the chaplain goes by Han Solo – he fully embraces this appellation, signing off prayers on the overhead announcing system with, “May the Force be with you.” Our formidable charge nurse, being a good Lutheran, immediately responds with, “And also with you.” So with today being the 4th day of May and Star Wars fans everywhere greeting each other with “May the 4th be with you,” the opportunity to speak on intergalactic religious allegory teased my imagination. If Eric could deliver a sermon based on the Barbie movie a couple of years ago, perhaps I could deliver Star Wars themed remarks? But then I looked at today’s readings, and any parallels between Saul on the road to Damascus and Han Solo on the journey to Jabba the Hut’s palace seemed rather strained beyond allusions to temporary blindness. So – no Jedi spirituality today.
I love today’s gospel reading. The conversations feel so plausible and real, not far removed from what most of us can imagine or experience. Not so much the solemnity and mystery of the Lord’s Supper with impending suffering; more of comforting Easter Brunch on the beach with Jesus.
Peter declares to the other disciples, “I’m going fishing” – this is what he knows, it is comfortable & familiar, and it provides for his needs. It’s a practical response to his situation: he’s hungry, he’s tired, he’s confused, and all of this very weird stuff has been happening in the last few weeks. He has no idea what’s next or what his role is in any of it. Seven of the 11 remaining disciples are present and tell Peter, “We will go with you.” Thomas is there – this gospel reading comes just after the “doubting Thomas” passage, so evidently he’s now back with the rest of the group – at least he’s up for this fishing outing. His doubting and questioning have not excluded him from the next revelatory experience of faith. This fishing trip does not start out as a holy mission, per se. Perhaps the disciples are just eager to do SOMETHING rather than sit around waiting for Jesus to show up again on a decidedly uncertain timetable. But their own efforts don’t yield much return.
The story focuses on these guys who were lifelong fishing experts and had worked all night. Now they were tired, cold, and wet, and still hungry. Probably demoralized. And then, what? Unsolicited advice from some random guy on the beach? Who does NOT choose to walk on water to meet them where they are. Who simply asks of them this one relatively small act of faith and obedience – cast your net on the other side of the boat. The disciples had a choice. They could have said no. It must have seemed that a productive outcome was highly unlikely given what they had been doing all night long. They could have made a weak declaration of faith saying, “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” and then done nothing different, letting the advice giver on the beach go his own way while they continued along in their boat. But instead they demonstrated faith in action. They actually did this seemingly preposterous thing. The point is that Jesus met their act of faith with results far beyond what they could have imagined. And THEN they understood who this person on the beach must be. Peter had a somewhat impulsive and impractical response in his excitement and enthusiasm – he puts on clothes to swim to shore. Now perhaps that choice demonstrated respect and formality, but it sure didn’t make his aquatics task any easier. This story is not the first or last Biblical story where our human sense of what is practical gets thrown overboard.
This gospel story is a second miracle of loaves and fishes. 153 fish. Why the detail? I don’t think there is any special significance to the number, any more than there is special significance to the number of the 6000 camels Job receives when he completes his journey of suffering with a declaration of faith and humility. It’s simply a whole lot of fish. This is a story of abundance – God’s love is a story of abundance – of provision for all of our needs. And it is an opportunity to consider what we should do next when blessed with this abundance.
It is at this intermediate stage of “come and have breakfast” that I find myself on my journey of faith. And to be clear – I don’t think that God’s abundance focuses on a literal material abundance. I’m not sure what I would do with 153 fish, and I certainly would have problems with my homeowners association if I suddenly acquired 6000 camels, but breakfast on the beach with Jesus – that’s a really nice invitation. A pleasant place to hang out. It’s understandable to want to remain ensconced in the comfort of sitting around the fire together. But I note that it’s still Jesus serving the disciples here rather than the other way around. Brunch on the beach with Jesus is a rest stop on our spiritual journey, not a home. We need such moments of refuge and restoration in our lives, and God knows this about us. But it’s not a place where we can remain forever. Perhaps it’s what I want right now, but not what I most need. And God knows that too.
Back to the fish – sure it’s a metaphor for abundance, but at the time it must have also been a serious logistics issue, especially prior to the availability of refrigeration technology in the toasty backdrop of the Middle East. The disciples really had only three options regarding what to do next: first, to leave the fish there in a rotting heap, which seems wasteful and ungrateful. Second, to sell the fish and use the proceeds for some purpose (political or economic capital, perhaps). Or third, to share the fish – which is a callback to the previous miracle of loaves and fishes – a call to share this abundance with God’s people.
This story is in the final chapter of the Gospel of John. It’s the crux of how we, God’s people, are sent forth by Jesus into the world. It’s a story that provides an answer to that deep post-Resurrection question for the Disciples: “Now, what?” The literal next chapter is the ACTS of the Apostles. It’s not titled the Beliefs of the Apostles or The Apostles Sitting Around Discussing Doctrine. It’s the story of faith in action, the doing, the living out of the Word of God. This is the hard part for many of us, especially when answering this call seems more uncertain, scary, uncomfortable, or demanding than we think we can handle, or at least more than we would like to handle. It feels risky, and it is, and so sometimes we choose to be avoidant. But God invites us anyway.
Perhaps reassuringly for us, God seems to start with smaller asks of faith. To the Disciples: cast your net on the other side of the boat. To Saul: get up and enter the city. To Ananias: lay your hands on this man. And Ananias has an initial response that says, essentially, “Uh, this guy? No disrespect intended, but this is probably an exceptionally bad idea.” And God answers something to the effect of “Your opinion is noted. I have my reasons. Get on with it.” God has big plans for them, but not it’s not asking everything everywhere all at once. So maybe we too can take some further small steps on our own journeys of faith. The important thing is to listen, to answer, to keep going.
In this gospel story, Jesus concludes by revealing to Peter a troubling picture of Peter’s future and presaging Peter’s own martyrdom. Jesus has given Peter three opportunities to declare his love for Jesus, perhaps a redemptive counterweight to Peter’s three denials of knowing Jesus on the night of the crucifixion. Jesus makes two brief requests: “Feed my sheep” and “Follow me.” These are the answers to “Now, what?” They are not just what Jesus calls Peter to do – they are what Jesus calls us to do.
And, oh, the objections and excuses we could muster! It’s not practical. It’s too hard! Not now. I don’t have the skills for this. I don’t have the time for this. But maybe our most visceral and honest response is, “I’m afraid.” I’m afraid of what God will ask of me. I’m afraid it will be too hard. I’m afraid of suffering. I’m afraid of failing. I’m afraid of doing it alone.
I have been thinking a lot about the nature of fear recently. We are living in times when many of us are afraid, and with good cause. Our fears might reasonably be economic, political, policy-based, pathogen-based, or worry that our families, friends, and neighbors are not aligned with our emotions or values on any of those topics. Fear is a wedge that drives us apart from each other, the antithesis of the wholeness and unity of God. Fear is a scarcity mindset, which runs counter to the abundance of God.
But as I have meditated on fear, I have conceptualized fear less as a path followed than as an intersection, a decision node where choice is possible. I have thought of fear more as a flashing light signaling, “especially now, this is a time and place to invite God in,” a place where Peter, Saul, and Ananias responded, “Here I am, Lord.” A place where prayer and seemingly impractical obedience hold the answers I seek. A place where I can ask for the strength in faith to do the hard things. A place to recall that God’s power holds not just the hope, but the assurance of long-term triumph of the Logos, God’s Word from the beginning. Where God’s love will heal all suffering. And where I am assuredly not alone.
We don’t get to hear Peter’s verbal response to Jesus, but we do know that he answered this call to faith in action for the rest of his life and in the manner of his death. God issues a call that is more invitation to us than commandment, and then awaits our human response. That’s extraordinary. And perhaps we shouldn’t make it more complicated than it needs to be: Share the fish. Feed my sheep. Follow me. May we respond with enthusiasm, joy, and gratitude as we are called to God’s abundance.