An Amazing Catch

(From John 21)

The day was dawning under heavy clouds, portending a storm on the lake.  We fishermen, with our nose for the weather, could feel it coming.  So, we stayed close to shore, huddled in the boat, ready to dash to safety.  

After a night of empty nets, the seven of us were tired and discouraged.  But not just from the fishing. The events of the past week had carried us beyond the limits of our strength.  Those events, so unexpected, so confusing and so horrific, had ripped our hearts and minds beyond the breaking point.  So, we fled to the safety of the familiar, protected by the dark of the night, doing what we knew best.

At the end, only one of us had stood, only one had kept the vigil, had kissed the dead feet of our friend as his body hung lifeless on the shame of the cross.  Only one had blood on his face, only one had embraced Mary, the mother of our dead friend.  The others? We were hidden away, cowering in fear.

Peter, who saw himself as the leader, had to be brought back into our fellowship time and again.  He’d already criticized Jesus (“you will never be crucified!”), denied him (“I do not know the man”), and deserted him during the long hours of his friend’s painful execution.  In his despair, he couldn’t possibly know that he would be brought back one more time, and eventually, seal his own fate with a similar execution.

No words were spoken in the calm of the boat. There was none of the earthy grumbling of fishermen who come home empty-handed.  A strange numbness encased us in a fog, as if the life had been drained from what had once been our livelihood. After the last three years, and especially after the last week, we knew that, familiar as it was, fishing could never restore our spirit.

Illustration by Jody Harrington

We would have started for shore sooner, giving up on the fishing, if only there had been something else to do. In our idle moments, we could think only of the terror of the arrest, mock trial and execution. And our own shame. Diversion of any kind was welcome, if ineffective.

Suddenly, a spark of light broke the darkness on the narrow beach. Beside it, a shadowy figure, blurred against the obscurity of the steep shore embankment, turned the spark into a small fire.  The mysterious figure seemed to come and go, hidden by the smoke and the lifting night.

We watched as the fire grew, and then settled back into glowing coals. Light was beginning to streak the sky, appearing in the cracks between the clouds. In the absence of any other focus, the seven of us were drawn to the fire and to the figure. And after a night of deadly calm, where did this wind suddenly come from?

Then a strangely familiar voice: “Children, haven’t you caught any fish?”  

“No,” we answered, sullenly.  

Then a command: “Cast your nets on the right side, and you will find some!” Without objection, or any thought of the possible embarrassment if this stranger proved correct, we obeyed.

And there they were, more fish than could be counted, even more than might be safely brought into the boat. Literally right under our noses. How could this mysterious figure have known, standing off in the darkness of the shore?

Suddenly the one who knew him best: “It is the Lord!” 

The dawn broke, both in the sky and in our hearts. Rays of brilliant light now bathed the beach, clearly showing the profile of a man, standing beside a fire of coals, with food grilling in the rising smoke.

Without a word, Peter impulsively wrapped his tunic around his waist, jumped into the water and swam toward the shore. No words were spoken as the rest of us apprehensively trailed along in the boat, pulling the over-weighted net alongside. Would we be welcomed or would we be chastised by the figure on the beach?

Was it our Lord, who had been brutally killed? This was not his first appearance to us, but perhaps the most unlikely. In ways we could not explain, he seemed the same, yet different.

Drawn to the smell of the breakfast, we heard him direct us to “bring some of the fish you have just caught.” Later it would occur to us that he often sought and used what we could contribute, giving us a part in his miracles of abundance.

Without help, Peter drew the net ashore. We would later count one hundred fifty-three fish, the largest catch any of us ever recalled. Yet the net was intact. And again, we would later remember that the fruit of our missionary work would never tear a net, and that as he had predicted, we would truly become “fishers of men.”

“Come and eat breakfast.” His words reminded us that his greatest desire was to feed others, not just with food for the body, but with his very self, food for the soul.

And we ate, filling ourselves in a way that shed all the gloom of the previous night. The day had truly broken; a new day, a day of reunion with our friend and Lord. We could laugh again.

But Peter’s heart still weighed heavily with his failures. And so, Jesus, taking him aside, sought to reclaim it. They strolled down the beach. Addressing Peter formally, as he had first done three years before, Jesus asked, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”

Seeking to justify himself, Peter responded, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”  

“Then feed my lambs,” came the reply.

And once more, Jesus asked Peter if he loved him and again Peter affirmed his love. The third time, Peter was grieved to hear the question repeated and replied “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”

“Feed my sheep,” the answer came again.  

And then: “Truly I tell you, when you were young, you dressed yourself and walked where you wanted to. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and take you where you do not wish to go.”

And so, Simon son of John, the critic and denier of Jesus, was restored to Peter, the Rock. But with an accompanying promise of future suffering. This time, Peter made no comment; he did not question or deny our Lord’s ominous prophecy. Perhaps by now, he’d learned to keep quiet and just accept the words of Jesus. So instead, he changed the subject.

Turning, he saw another, trailing behind them. This was the other disciple, the one who had faithfully stood at Golgotha, who Jesus had entrusted with his mother, the one who seemed closest to Jesus, the beloved disciple, the “one whom Jesus loved.” Without even mentioning his name, Peter asked, “What about this man?”

The response to Peter’s pointed question has puzzled the faithful through the ages, a prophecy that could not be understood or believed in any literal sense. 

“If he is to remain until I come again, what is that to you?”

And Peter was again, speechless.