Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
October 15, 2023

Come and Have Breakfast!

Lucy Forster-Smith
Senior Associate Pastor

Psalm 23
John 21:1–14

I absolutely relish these appearances of Jesus after he has been resurrected from the dead. Yes, I love these stories of Jesus showing up with no appointment booked, not wearing a name badge, arriving right smack dab in the disciples’ lives. More often than not, even as they had followed him down many roads, sharing meals, knowing every furrow in his brow, taken in by the remarkable power of his presence, they did not even recognize him. Think Mary at the tomb — he had to say her name for it to dawn on her who he was. Think the road to Emmaus — he taught them for what may have been hours, he talked with them about what had happened, he may have waited for them to wake up and smell the coffee, grasp his words, make a leap to say “Ah … yes!” But it took breaking the bread for him to come to view. So we arrive in this instance at the lake.

The guys, well, Peter, has decided it is time to go fishing. We don’t know what prompted him to want to return to his first profession, but it was where he went. For those of you who go fishing regularly, you may just know what prompted it. It may have been the load of bills to pay, the pressure at work. It could have been the years of trailing Jesus around and fear he’d lost his touch at fishing — a little arthritis settling in, that sea calling his name. Or maybe it was the escape of it — the one foot in front of the other after loss, the familiar routine when all you’d been through seems so untethered.

The disciples must have been emotionally spent at that moment. They’d just lost the one whom they hoped would bring sweeping great changes, dare we say, the very redemption of the world. They’d watched him enter Jerusalem as the heartbeat of hope rose from crowds singing Hosanna. He’d guided them through a Passover meal like no other. They’d been with him in the Garden of Gethsemane, the unexpected betrayal, the armed arrest, the mock trial, the bloody execution. And if that wasn’t enough emotional overload, the quick shift of mood when the women told them he’d risen. With fleet feet the disciple Jesus loved tore to the grave, saw the empty tomb and cloths, and believed. And then the visit of Jesus when the disciples were locked up in fear. Yes, a whole lot.

“I’m going fishing,” says Peter. “We will go with you,” say the disciples. And like many who go fishin’, it was a long night. Not one blasted fish; nets empty, skinny, nada. They must have kept it up, thinking the sun might bring a new wrinkle to the bleak waiting void.

So often our lives begin with emptiness, scarcity, failure, tragedy. Even when we’ve had those spiritual, familial, wondrous highs, we may plunge into the same old, same old — especially in our best laid plans. Or maybe it is just me. I am a worrier. I have an internal scorecard of sorts and figure if things are going well, I may use up all my luck or goodwill and in a moment’s time everything I’d tried so hard to build will all come tumbling down on me. This is such a scarcity mentality — to assume that with full nets in the past, all of the good fishin’ luck has run its course.

Is that what may have been going through the minds of those disciples as night pressed in on them and they kept drawing up nothing? Peter, the bold one; Nathanael, Thomas the Twin, the minor character, the one who earlier in the Gospel wondered if anything good could come out of Nazareth? The Beloved Disciple and a couple others unnamed. In the dark, with exhaustion overwhelming them, the seeping light hints of dawn, and it seemed like just another day was going to arrive. And isn’t it weird that what arrived was so mundane, so stark in its simplicity that they could easily have missed it? Yes, another day with the sun cracking open the sky. Yes, another day with empty nets. Yes, another day when some fool is on the shoreline, having a cookout, shouting out to the night-weary fishermen in the boat.

“Are they biting? Is that sea producing anything, children?” he calls to them.

What kind of jokester is this?

“You don’t have any fish,” he says. He knows it, and it feels a little like he’s mocking us.

“No,” they shout.

And the guy seems to have all confidence, like he knows the sea, knows their trusting hearts, knows fish, for heaven’s sake.

“Try the right side. They are there,” he shouts. “Yes, children/kin/sibs, give it a try.” And so with no hesitancy, nothing to lose, they adjust the nets to the right side and voila! There they are. They make a great haul, so many fish they could not pull it in. And then thunderstruck, the one whom Jesus loved whispers to Peter, “It is the Lord.” We can only imagine the million thoughts that were going through Peter’s mind: he might remember another time earlier when some of these had been out all night and came onto the shore, arriving empty-handed. A man came by, saw the situation, got in the boat, and a little offshore, the man, Jesus, told them to put down the nets, and then, as now, the take was amazing, so much so, that when they pulled the net over the boat’s stern the boat began to sink and Jesus had to rescue Peter, lest he’d drown.

This time, with all the memories, all the weariness, the great haul, the recognition, Peter, who had been fishing in his birthday suit, grabs his clothes, and with an awkward moment of inexplicable holiness, he jumps in the water, clothes and all and comes to shore, to the risen Christ. Yes, they all come to shore with their haul. And Jesus, who is doing the shore breakfast of fish and bread, asks for some of their amazing catch. From the nets, they pull out some of their bounty, place it on the grill, and the miraculous cornucopia gives way to Jesus’ simple majesty. He says, “Come and have breakfast.” Yes, just that: Come and have breakfast. And the Gospel narrative comments no one dared ask him, “Who are you” because they knew. They are speechless, because they see below the surface: this is no common meal and no ordinary guest. Yes, the extraordinary stirring is just below the surface, and maybe the point is God sometimes shows up just to show up. Jesus comes into the daily moments of the disciples lives and with little ado leaves them speechless, by miracle and mission.

I had one of those odd showing-up moments not long ago, when Tom Forster-Smith and I were traveling in the Austrian Alps. Of course, two clergy would find our way into a church, and it happened that the church we visited had a stunning pulpit that depicts this scene we are focusing on this morning.

It was a shimmering morning when we came into this very ornate Baroque church perched on a crag over a beautiful mountain lake. We made our way to what we found out later was a very famous pulpit, crafted with the classic Baroque detail with its dizzying array of textures. The pulpit is shaped like a boat, with sculpted waves crashing on its side. Over the right side of the boat is the golden net with its bountiful, flourishing, life-bearing catch being drawn from God’s sea.

The risen Christ, clad in a golden skirt and a halo of gold, has his mouth open, looking at a couple disciples who seem confused but compliant. The third disciple, likely the one Jesus loved, gently holds the net, looking serene. The message is that the Word made flesh, Jesus, arisen from the tomb, speaks from that pulpit a word of bounty to all who will hear. It is a tall order for any of us who preach, to stand adrift when the world and future seems so terribly at sea. But Jesus doesn’t give up as he stands there watching the disciples, whose mouths are closed, no holy utterance or quiet question. The disciples in that pulpit ship are clearly speechless.

When was the last time God’s action in your life left you speechless? When the skinny results from all the trying harder or the torn world leaves you spent, wouldn’t the presence of Jesus, showing up on the shorelines, inquiring about how it is going, be a welcome, sigh of relief? Do you long for an invitation from Jesus, a simple invitation like “Come and have some breakfast”? Wouldn’t that bring bounty beyond measure? Yes, when we meet the Lord, new life emerges.

From the shores of Tiberias to our community, this congregation, comes the living presence of Jesus. It begins with his assumption of bounty, an invitation to the meal where he makes preparations; he asks us, like the guys on the shore, to contribute from our bounty, because it all comes from God anyway, and then he issues the simple, yet completely gracious invitation: “Come and have breakfast.”

Would you know him? Isn’t this the good news of salvation in a nutshell? It is offered to all, even those who fail and come up empty, even in situations that seem completely impossible; it comes to those who see and believe; it comes to fools for Christ who jump into the water with their clothes on because this is simply too good to miss; and it comes to those who have yet to discover they are foolish enough to join in this remarkable project called discipleship! This is every one of us, and the net of divine grace is big enough for all — not one tear in it, friends.

Unlike that untorn net of bounty, the world is very torn right now. There is so much fear in many parts of the world and especially in Israel and Palestine; the terror inflicted by Hamas. The efforts to awaken peace for all the citizens of that land where Jesus met the disciples with such calm on that beach seems eons from coming to life. The heartache, the unspeakable violence, all of it is so tearing of hearts, spirits, bodies, minds. And when we witness such tragedy and the daily sorrow, we wonder if the coming of Jesus 2000 years ago has any bearing on this day, this hour, the moment in time.

But I am here to say to you that we must be watchful, stand firm in our faith, be courageous and strong, because the one who was nailed to a tree for no good reason at all, the one who rose from death to life abundant, comes to us this day, this hour, this minute with nets of mercy, strength, and jarring courage. He invites us to throw our empty nets over the other side of the boat and draw up the bounty that he stands ready to give.

This is Christ’s own invitation. Yes, each and every one. And when we steady ourselves from the rocky seas of our lives and get our feet planted on the beach, he asks us to contribute from the bounty he’s provided. And we will be nourished so we can be ready to nourish all who are hungry, thirsty, naked, in prison, held hostage by fear or failure, to bring Jesus’ radical, radiant, sweet invitation to every child born on this planet: “Come and have some breakfast.” Amen.

Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church