Third Sunday of Easter Sermon

I wonder what it was like for the disciples those first few days after Jesus had risen from the dead. Mary saw him that morning. The rest of the disciples saw him later that same night. A week later they saw him again.

But what next? What should they do?

They’d been with him for three years, going wherever he went, doing whatever he said to do. And now he’s gone. If he had just died and that was that, they could have made up their mind of what to do next and gotten on with it. But he wasn’t exactly “gone-gone” – like “dead-gone.” They’d seen him twice since then. He was just “missing-gone.” Who knows? He could show up at any minute. What should they do in the meantime?

I don’t think they knew. I’m sure they wanted to be faithful to him. But what does that mean? What does it mean to be faithful when your leader, the guy you’ve been following, has just risen from the dead, but only shows up sporadically?

Finally, Peter says, “Well I’m going fishing” and all the rest of them jump up and say, “Great! So are we!” like they were just waiting for someone to take the lead and suggest something. Doesn’t matter what. Just give us something to do. So they all go fishing. All night. But they don’t catch a thing.

Just after dawn, after a lousy night of fishing, they’re close to the shore and they see some guy call out, “Hey! How’re they biting? Not so good, huh? Too bad. Listen! Looks like there’s a whole lotta fish on the other side of the boat. Try that.” Which they do. And they catch so many fish in their net that it’s too heavy to haul into the boat.

Well, around this point, John cops on, and stands up and shouts, “Sweet Jesus!” And all pandemonium breaks out and Peter, all excited, throws on his robe because, apparently, he likes to fish naked, and dives in the water and goes swimming after him. And I’m sure the rest of the disciples were just as excited to see Jesus. But neither were they willing to let go of their net. It was a good catch, after all.

So they row the boat ashore, dragging the net after them. And when they get there, they see Jesus has built a fire and is already cooking breakfast for them. “Oh, hey guys” he says. “Why don’t you bring some of those fish over here? The coals are good and hot.” “Uh, okay” they say. Who knew the risen Lord of the universe was going to get all Betty Crocker on them? So Peter goes to help, and they bring some fish over and they eat breakfast together. Do you know why I trust this story? Because it’s so unlikely! If someone were conjuring up some story to make you believe that Jesus had died and risen again as the savior of the world, who would write a story like this? of Jesus giving fishing advice and cooking breakfast on the beach? But, actually, it’s the mundaneness of it all that I find so believable. What strikes me first is that the disciples, not knowing what to do, go back to doing what they knew to do before they ever met Jesus. They go back to fishing. Now, they might not feel so great about this decision. After all, they’ve heard Jesus’ teaching; they’ve had experience casting out demons and healing the sick; they’ve seen him risen from the dead. Maybe the more righteous thing to do would have been to go out and carry on with what they’d been doing when following Jesus. Go preach and heal and announce that Jesus is risen. But they chose fishing instead. And then Jesus shows up and catches them in the act. Now, he could have stood there on the shore, hands on his hips, and said, “Are you kidding me? I get crucified, descend to hell to conquer Satan and all death, then come back to the living, and find you back to doing the same thing you were doing before I even met you?” But no. He says, “Hey guys, I think there’s more fish on the other side of the boat.” I heard someone telling a story once about her childhood: This girl and her friends had climbed way too high up a tree – so high that, if they had fallen, they’d be dead, for sure. And her mom comes in the yard and sees them way up there and the girl thinks to herself, “Oh man. I’m busted.” And the mom looks up into the branches, kinda squinting her eyes at the sun and says, “Wow, that’s really high. How’d you get so far up there? That’s incredible!” And the woman telling the story said, “That’s when I knew I had the coolest mom in the neighborhood.” “Wow, that’s a lot of fish,” Jesus says. “That’s incredible.” That’s when the disciples knew they had the coolest God in the neighborhood. He’s not mad. They weren’t busted. Yes: he died their death and went to hell and back and they’re in trouble for being confused and not knowing what to do. He loves us where we are. And what did he do next? He made them breakfast. They’d been fishing all night. They were hungry. And Jesus makes them breakfast. Who does he reveal himself to be? He is Lord of the mundane and the ordinary. Lord of the laundry and the dishes. Lord of our commutes, Lord of our taxes and the book you were reading before falling asleep. He is Lord of Wordle and the games you play on your smart phone. Jesus died and rose again that we may have life. And wherever he finds us living these lives, he is there, not accusing us, but loving us and caring for us. Its very ordinariness is what makes Jesus’ love such welcome good news. His resurrection meets us at every moment of our lives, and enveloping us with God’s love. And what are we supposed to make of that little detail where Peter is naked, then puts on his clothes before diving into the sea to swim ashore? Now, it might be that John is just telling us the story the way he remembered it. And, most likely, that’s just how it happened. Again, it’s so ridiculous, what can it be but true? But I suspect he also included that detail to make a theological point. Way back in Genesis, in the first book of the Bible, we hear the story of Adam and Eve. They’re described as wandering in the garden naked, hanging out with each other and with God with absolutely no shame. It’s paradise and they’re innocent. But as soon as sin enters the garden, they become completely self-conscious. So they hide themselves from God, and cover themselves up with leaves. And when they got caught, there’s a whole chain of events that culminates in them being expelled from the garden. From that point on, the remainder of the Bible is a story of redemption – of God restoring his broken, ashamed people back to peaceful union with Godself and with one another. So here we are, well into this story of redemption. God has come in the flesh. Jesus has died and risen from the dead. Sins are forgiven. But when Jesus appears on the beach to meet his disciples, what does Peter do? Just like Adam and Eve, he covers himself up. He hides his nakedness – his shame – and then swims out to see Jesus. Remember, Peter’s last conversation with Jesus was when he swore to be loyal to the end. But instead, when Jesus had been arrested and Peter was accused of being one of the disciples, he denied it three times. So he’s ashamed. He’s naked, and he hides himself. But how does Jesus respond? First, he gives him breakfast. And then he takes him aside to talk with him privately. And there’s absolutely no condemnation. There’s no, “What were you thinking?” or “Don’t you realize you abandoned me? But it’s okay. I managed. On my own.” He doesn’t even ask for an apology: “Are you sorry for denying me?” He does none of these. Instead, he asks three times, “Peter, do you love me?” That’s all that matters. There’s no guilt. There’s no shame. There’s only this one thing, the heart of the matter, the core of all true relationships. “Do you love me?” And each time, Peter says, “Yes, you know that I love you.” Three times Peter denied Jesus. And now, three times, Peter affirms his love. And this is the story that’s been retained in our scriptures. For two thousand years, and for evermore, the church knows that its first leader, our first pope (so to speak) denied Jesus, was forgiven, and restored. “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” So it is with us. Have we sinned? Have we denied Jesus: if not by our words, certainly by our actions? Do we cover our nakedness with all manner of coping mechanisms, to hide our shame before God and one another? Yes, of course we do. We all do. But today, that’s not what Jesus wants to talk about. He knows these things and he knows he’s forgiven us. And now he’s prepared a table (if not with fish, at least with bread and wine) and the only question he has for us is, “Do you love me?” And before we can say, “Well, what about my brother’s cancer, and what about the war in Ukraine and what about all the other religions …” “Shh. Do you love me? Those other things are my concerns and all shall be answered in time. But right now, with you and me, do you love me?” “Yes, Lord. “ Or, perhaps for some of us, “I want to, Lord,” is the best and truthful answer. “Then, feed my sheep,” is his reply. God receives us where we are – welcoming us, feeding us, restoring us – then calls us to live as God lives. Feed my sheep. Love one another in mundane and ordinary ways. Help your neighbor who’s working in the yard. Sign up for coffee hour. Take a break in the middle of work to listen to your co-worker who’s going through a divorce. Write a letter to the person you haven’t seen since COVID began. Feed my sheep. As I am loving you, so you will be loving me as you love one another. That is what I ask of you. And I will take care of the rest.