We Begin Again

Acts 9:1-6

John 21:1-19

If you have ever experienced a point in life that felt like an ending, then you know something about how the disciples felt in these post-resurrection days. They are trying to figure out how to begin again.

Because they have been following Jesus a few years now, continuously. They walked away from the lives they had before and began something new. It was a jarring, abrupt experience for all of them. Peter, James, and John walked away from their boats, their nets, the catch of fish waiting to be sold; their families, their community. Jesus said to them, “Follow me,” and that was that.

Matthew walked away from his booth, leaving his business behind – accounts receivable, accounts payable, and so on. Jesus said to him, “Follow me,” and that was that.

Philip, Nathanael, Andrew – in every case it was the same: Jesus said, “Follow me,” and so they did.

It is difficult to become acclimated to a change as radical is this, to leave behind something and to begin something else. I have heard that it takes at least three weeks, 21 days, to feel invested in something new. But just to make sure of this, I asked Google. Google said it takes somewhere between 18 days and 254 days, with the average being around 66 days. So there you have it. Because Google said it, I don’t question it.

In any case, let’s just acknowledge that, for these disciples, following Jesus was a well-established habit by now. Their previous lives of fishing, tax collecting, and whatever other vocations they had been in, were now in the distant, hazy past.

Still, it wouldn’t have been that hard to return to the old practices, like fishing. It’s like riding a bike, as they say. For Peter, his hands knew the nets better than anything else. The knowledge deep in his body was easily reawakened, and so at that moment when it felt like everything was ended, Peter got up and said to the others, “I’m going fishing.”

And so they all went fishing.

There was certainly some comfort in it for these men. Those who had been fishermen in their prior lives would have felt soothed by the familiarity of these actions. For the ones who were less familiar with fishing, it would have been a distraction from the disturbing sense of aimlessness of recent days.

What happened next in the story should sound familiar to us. Earlier this year we heard a very similar story from Luke’s gospel about the calling of Peter. Peter and the others had just come ashore after a long and wearying night of fishing. They had caught nothing. While they cleaned their nets, Jesus sat down in Peter’s boat, and continued teaching the crowds flocking to him. Later he asked Peter to go out into deep water and let down his nets. Peter was tired, disheartened, and skeptical. But he did as he was asked, and the catch was enormous – more than the nets could hold. Remember what Jesus said to him: From now on you will be fishing for people.

But “fishing for people” is a strange concept, one these men might have struggled to make sense of. Catching fish is a simple thing. Catching people is not so clear. Perhaps they still did not know what it meant.

Once again on this night, they were unsuccessful. They fished all night and came up empty. And, once again, there was Jesus. He called out to them. “You don’t have a thing, do you?” They admitted as much, not yet very attentive, not yet aware that this was the Lord. Until Jesus said to them, “Try casting on the right side of the boat” and when they did they repeated the biggest catch of their lives.

The men came ashore, where they joined Jesus around the fire he had ready. They cooked some of the fish they had caught. And they ate.

There are so many stories in the gospels of Jesus sharing food with others. He sat at the tables of rich Pharisees and Tax collectors as well as humble fishermen. He sat outside on hillsides and plains sharing abundant picnics of fish and bread with thousands. He shared an intimate dinner at an inn with Cleopas and another disciple, giving thanks and breaking the bread. And he shared this breakfast on the beach with the men who were closer to him than any others, yet in this moment more distant and unsure that ever.

But isn’t it the case that mystical things happen around the sharing of food. Suddenly there is more than enough for everyone. Suddenly, they see God in their midst, suddenly lives are renewed, perspectives are changed, everything is seen through the lens of divine love.

And during that particular meal, Jesus turned his attention to Peter, with whom he had some unfinished business.

It was only a few days earlier that Peter had denied knowing Jesus three times. Someone asked him, “Aren’t you one of his disciples?” but Peter answered, “I am not.” Another said, “Yes, I have seen you with him,” but Peter said, “I do not know him.” A third person said, “Surely he was with him,” and Peter cried out, “I do not know what you are talking about!” and as the cock crowed, Peter wept in shame.

Here, by the fire, Jesus asked, “Peter, do you love me?” Three times Jesus repeated the question. Do you love me? Yes, Lord, I love you. Then feed my sheep.

Feed my sheep. Tend my lambs. Fish for people.

And so we begin again. These disciples are called again to follow Jesus in caring for others, feeding people, strengthening the flock against any and all evil.

New beginnings are not an uncommon thing. For each time we stumble, we need to regain our balance and begin again. Each time we stray off the path, away from the light, we need to regain our bearings, find the way, and begin again. Each time we drift away from an old, good habit and fall into a new bad habit, we need to acknowledge where we are and begin the process of rebuilding. Praying that the process will be closer to 18 days than 254 days.

There is always a chance to begin again. A chance to hear Jesus calling us – cast your net on the right side this time! Try again. Jesus will be there waiting for you.