(By Jody)
John 21:1-14
The first task, naturally, is to smooth what I trust will be our collective feminist hackles, and the slight to Mary that this closing reference to “the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples” presents. Most of us would count: Mary in the garden, the gathered disciples minus Thomas, the gathered disciples plus Thomas, making this the fourth appearance of the risen Christ in the gospel of John. The only excuse I can find is that she’s not an official disciple (but we are used to considering that Jesus had more than just twelve disciples). If you can explain more, please do in free for all.
This story is bound to remind us of a story early in Luke’s gospel. Jesus hops, out of the blue, into Peter’s fishing boat, and asks him to pull out from shore so he can teach the crowds. Then he wants Peter to go out even further to catch fish. Peter patiently explains why this is pointless (we’ve worked all night and caught nothing) but still complies. They catch so many fish that Peter’s nets can’t cope, Peter’s boat can’t cope, even with help from James and John (the sons of Zebedee) two boats can barely cope. Peter is awed and inadequate, but Jesus tells him: “‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.’ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.”
Commentators do not agree on whether the return to fishing represents something positive and faithful, or something negative and hopeless. I’m inclined to believe it’s neutral, at least until Jesus shows up.
We are told Jesus showed himself to the disciples, Jesus showed himself in this way. So we know it’s not the mere fact of appearance that must catch our attention, rather the way Jesus presented and behaved.
The first impression is that it’s absolutely sensational.
Starting with the appearance of one so recently dead.
A mysterious “backseat fisher” on the shore, a miraculous catch of fish after a fruitless night, a moment of joyous recognition, an exuberant baptismal leap into the lake and dash to shore.
Sensation. Flabbergast. Awe.
My favourite part of the passage is definitely verse 12b “Now none of the disciples dared to ask him “who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord.”
This taps into a wonderful human impulse – to play it cool when we’re caught out, feeling behind, still joining the dots while a situation has moved on. Best expressed in the indignant, irritable, slightly injured tone a five year, given a piece of unsettling information or unwelcome instruction: I know!
To ask or comment on Jesus’ identity would be to expose themselves as having only just caught on. So they all play it cool. Their brains might well be whirling, re-interpreting Jesus’ “Children (friends), you have no fish, have you?” – desperately trying to retrospectively tone down their shirty nos to gracious agreement, and reframe his obnoxious meddling to wonderful insight. All while trying not to let on they’ve only just clicked.
And Jesus, bless his heart, is neither smug nor triumphant.
“Come and have breakfast” he simply invites them. Shades of the Lord’s Supper once again; hospitality, nourishment, strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. After all, breakfast is the most important meal. A “wedding breakfast” starts a couple’s life together, this breakfast starts a new life too.
Throughout, Jesus actively resists the sensationalism that at first glance seems to dominate the story. And that changes everything for the disciples, and for us.
Resurrected Jesus could become a distraction, something to entertain us rather than draw up to him, but he plants himself firmly as an invitation there on the shore: How are you going to make this part of your life, part of you? Don’t be an awed spectator, move in and find yourself a place at the fire.
Peter leaps, wholehearted and wild, into the water and toward Jesus.
I assumed he had been baptisted by Jesus, but when I stopped and thought about that I realised that’s entirely my own fancy. John tells us early on in his gospel that Jesus didn’t baptise. During the foot washing at the Last Supper, when Peter is eager to be washed from top to toe, Jesus says there’s no need. I don’t know if Peter wasn’t (or was) baptised, and if he wasn’t I’m not suggesting this is it. But it’s likely that we think of baptism when Peter leaps into the lake.
And it’s fitting that we do.
“In baptism new believers confess and share what God has already done in their lives. Here there is also a ‘letting go’ in which new Christians abandon themselves to the grace of God and resurrection power of the one who overcomes the chaos of death and sets our feet on the new path of life. The waters of baptism are a meeting place where human trust and the life-giving acts of God come together.” (Gathering for Worship, Baptist Union of Great Britain.)
We are meant to be moved, shaken, transformed by the resurrection. But this is grounded in everyday willingness to move in and make our home within the reality of God known through Jesus. “Come and have breakfast.” “Bring what you have.”
If today we don’t find ourselves buzzing about the resurrection, it may not be a problem. Because Jesus will want to shift us from the sensational buzz anyway, and into the ongoing work making our home within the grace of God, the power of Easter, the assurance of the kingdom of heaven and all who will be drawn to it.
The beloved disciple proclaims, Peter leaps, the rest row. They all end up in the same place – having breakfast with Jesus around the fire.
I wonder, How is the resurrection of Christ part of your life, part of you? Are you an awed spectator? Slow to recognise? A leaper, a rower, catching on, catching up? Can find yourself a place at the fire?
This poem plays with the sensational, and settles into the grounding love of God.
Easter Day, by Thom M. Shuman (A Lenten and Easter Cycle, Wild Goose Publications)
Early
Early in the morning you put the brightly coloured eggs and chocolate goodies in all the baskets piled high with plastic grass, giving them to the E.B. to deliver while you went back to bed ...
(no?)
early in the morning you put on your invisibility cloak and, after stupefying the guards, you waved your wand, rolling the stone away ...
(no?)
early in the morning Jesus felt around the floor of the tomb, until he found the bag in the corner, and pulling on the tights, as well as the shirt with the big red S, he broke the stone into a million pieces, and flew off, his cape flapping in the wind ...
(still no?)
OK then, how about?:
Very early in the morning when our fears were still in their cups, you sat in the darkness, cradling your silenced Word, as your tears carved rivers through chaos, and your voice cracked with anguish as you whispered:
’Let there be life’
and he is.
John 21:1-14
The first task, naturally, is to smooth what I trust will be our collective feminist hackles, and the slight to Mary that this closing reference to “the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples” presents. Most of us would count: Mary in the garden, the gathered disciples minus Thomas, the gathered disciples plus Thomas, making this the fourth appearance of the risen Christ in the gospel of John. The only excuse I can find is that she’s not an official disciple (but we are used to considering that Jesus had more than just twelve disciples). If you can explain more, please do in free for all.
This story is bound to remind us of a story early in Luke’s gospel. Jesus hops, out of the blue, into Peter’s fishing boat, and asks him to pull out from shore so he can teach the crowds. Then he wants Peter to go out even further to catch fish. Peter patiently explains why this is pointless (we’ve worked all night and caught nothing) but still complies. They catch so many fish that Peter’s nets can’t cope, Peter’s boat can’t cope, even with help from James and John (the sons of Zebedee) two boats can barely cope. Peter is awed and inadequate, but Jesus tells him: “‘Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.’ When they had brought their boats to shore, they left everything and followed him.”
Commentators do not agree on whether the return to fishing represents something positive and faithful, or something negative and hopeless. I’m inclined to believe it’s neutral, at least until Jesus shows up.
We are told Jesus showed himself to the disciples, Jesus showed himself in this way. So we know it’s not the mere fact of appearance that must catch our attention, rather the way Jesus presented and behaved.
The first impression is that it’s absolutely sensational.
Starting with the appearance of one so recently dead.
A mysterious “backseat fisher” on the shore, a miraculous catch of fish after a fruitless night, a moment of joyous recognition, an exuberant baptismal leap into the lake and dash to shore.
Sensation. Flabbergast. Awe.
My favourite part of the passage is definitely verse 12b “Now none of the disciples dared to ask him “who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord.”
This taps into a wonderful human impulse – to play it cool when we’re caught out, feeling behind, still joining the dots while a situation has moved on. Best expressed in the indignant, irritable, slightly injured tone a five year, given a piece of unsettling information or unwelcome instruction: I know!
To ask or comment on Jesus’ identity would be to expose themselves as having only just caught on. So they all play it cool. Their brains might well be whirling, re-interpreting Jesus’ “Children (friends), you have no fish, have you?” – desperately trying to retrospectively tone down their shirty nos to gracious agreement, and reframe his obnoxious meddling to wonderful insight. All while trying not to let on they’ve only just clicked.
And Jesus, bless his heart, is neither smug nor triumphant.
“Come and have breakfast” he simply invites them. Shades of the Lord’s Supper once again; hospitality, nourishment, strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. After all, breakfast is the most important meal. A “wedding breakfast” starts a couple’s life together, this breakfast starts a new life too.
Throughout, Jesus actively resists the sensationalism that at first glance seems to dominate the story. And that changes everything for the disciples, and for us.
Resurrected Jesus could become a distraction, something to entertain us rather than draw up to him, but he plants himself firmly as an invitation there on the shore: How are you going to make this part of your life, part of you? Don’t be an awed spectator, move in and find yourself a place at the fire.
Peter leaps, wholehearted and wild, into the water and toward Jesus.
I assumed he had been baptisted by Jesus, but when I stopped and thought about that I realised that’s entirely my own fancy. John tells us early on in his gospel that Jesus didn’t baptise. During the foot washing at the Last Supper, when Peter is eager to be washed from top to toe, Jesus says there’s no need. I don’t know if Peter wasn’t (or was) baptised, and if he wasn’t I’m not suggesting this is it. But it’s likely that we think of baptism when Peter leaps into the lake.
And it’s fitting that we do.
“In baptism new believers confess and share what God has already done in their lives. Here there is also a ‘letting go’ in which new Christians abandon themselves to the grace of God and resurrection power of the one who overcomes the chaos of death and sets our feet on the new path of life. The waters of baptism are a meeting place where human trust and the life-giving acts of God come together.” (Gathering for Worship, Baptist Union of Great Britain.)
We are meant to be moved, shaken, transformed by the resurrection. But this is grounded in everyday willingness to move in and make our home within the reality of God known through Jesus. “Come and have breakfast.” “Bring what you have.”
If today we don’t find ourselves buzzing about the resurrection, it may not be a problem. Because Jesus will want to shift us from the sensational buzz anyway, and into the ongoing work making our home within the grace of God, the power of Easter, the assurance of the kingdom of heaven and all who will be drawn to it.
The beloved disciple proclaims, Peter leaps, the rest row. They all end up in the same place – having breakfast with Jesus around the fire.
I wonder, How is the resurrection of Christ part of your life, part of you? Are you an awed spectator? Slow to recognise? A leaper, a rower, catching on, catching up? Can find yourself a place at the fire?
This poem plays with the sensational, and settles into the grounding love of God.
Easter Day, by Thom M. Shuman (A Lenten and Easter Cycle, Wild Goose Publications)
Early
Early in the morning you put the brightly coloured eggs and chocolate goodies in all the baskets piled high with plastic grass, giving them to the E.B. to deliver while you went back to bed ...
(no?)
early in the morning you put on your invisibility cloak and, after stupefying the guards, you waved your wand, rolling the stone away ...
(no?)
early in the morning Jesus felt around the floor of the tomb, until he found the bag in the corner, and pulling on the tights, as well as the shirt with the big red S, he broke the stone into a million pieces, and flew off, his cape flapping in the wind ...
(still no?)
OK then, how about?:
Very early in the morning when our fears were still in their cups, you sat in the darkness, cradling your silenced Word, as your tears carved rivers through chaos, and your voice cracked with anguish as you whispered:
’Let there be life’
and he is.
