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It is early morning on the lake. The solemn quiet is interrupted only by the gentle surf upon the sand. In the distance a bird is announcing the dawn with his centuries-old song. Soft light trickles through the subtle mist. From the dew the white sand is slightly moist, and we sit entranced in the stillness, the beauty, the peace.

Our reverie is broken by voices across the water, somewhat gruff and weary. Gradually the outline of a boat appears, and we see the wet fishnet glisten slightly in the emerging light and hear the net weights splash the water uniformly, thrown by experienced fishermen hands. Coming closer the boat reveals seven men, grousing and grumbling, throwing their nets mechanically, half-heartedly, expecting little, getting nothing.

Clearing our eyes we look down the beach and notice in the early morning chill, smoke rising easily from an inviting fire. Intermittently, the faint aroma of food cooking reaches us, and we are tempted to join the stranger around the fire.

About that time the stranger shouts to the fishermen, "Friends, have you caught anything?" He asked the question in a tone that suggested he already knew what we knew. The fishermen replied as we expected. The stranger then shouted, "Throw your net to the right side of the boat and try your luck there." Perhaps from his vantagepoint he could see a shoal of fish. There was a moment of hesitation on the boat, but then they reasoned, why not. What could they lose?

With the net heavy and full, the disappointed, sullen fishermen awakened to the excitement of success. And in the awakening they took a more careful look at the stranger in the early morning light. "It is the Lord," exclaimed John. A shock went through the whole group. From the beach we could see the electric awareness. Then one of the men, clad only in his loincloth, threw on a kind of shirt, jumped into the water and swam ashore to greet the stranger. The others remained in the boat, struggling to bring in the huge catch of fish.

About then the stranger called out, "Come have breakfast. And bring some of the fish you have caught." (They had caught 153.) We can see the charcoal fire is just right now for broiling fresh fish and toasting bread. Soon the hungry fishermen are embracing the stranger, warming themselves by the fire, and talking quietly among themselves, though excitedly. And just now we feel our hunger pangs and wish we could join in the warmth of that fire and the excited camaraderie of the group there with the unique stranger. Let's draw a little closer.

I.

Now we are beginning to see more clearly. These men are some of the disciples. There are Peter, James, and John, Thomas the twin, Nathaniel, and two others. And the stranger is Jesus -- the Risen Christ.

We know the story well. After the crucifixion, the disciples had locked themselves behind closed doors in Jerusalem, for fear they too would be executed as traitors. Eventually, at least those seven escaped to the north, to Galilee, to their homes and families and former businesses.

It was difficult to do. They fully expected the ridicule and mockery of their wiser friends and family members who had decided to stay home rather than follow Jesus. Their worst fears had been confirmed. Jesus had been killed like all the other would-be Messiahs. So now, defeated and humiliated, they had come home to take up their old work.

So Peter, James, and John invited the others to go fishing with them. It was great to be back. Peter loved the smell of the sea. It always was a thrill to hoist the simple sail and to feel the wind move his boat out into the deeper water. The lines and nets were familiar in his hands. From long experience he knew all the landmarks along the shore. There's that special clump of trees. And over there is that peculiar house. And there is that unusual rock.

Ah, the old familiar places, how they helped to ease the pain of failure. In many ways it was great to be back home, doing the things he had been taught from his youth. Maybe this was where he really belonged. Maybe he was a fool to have dreamed his dreams of deliverance and liberation. Visionaries always do get you in trouble, he thought, as he pulled on the tiller. Once you break out of your accustomed role that has been given you, you can easily be fooled. But no one could fool him about fishing. He had learned that from childhood and could hold his own with the best. And so he fell back into his old way of life, trying to forget his dreams of a new future, with a new Messiah and a new Kingdom, and an exciting new day in history.

We have felt the same. Have there not been times when this Jesus excited us, when he aroused our hopes, enlarged our vision, and breathed fresh vigor into these weary lives? Have we not enjoyed, from time to time, the fresh burst of hope, the resurgence of faith, and the longing to believe again in the reality of love? Maybe it came on Easter amidst the trumpets and bells and the grand hallelujah of Christ's resurrection.

But then on Monday, life settles into its dull routine. You argue with your husband. The business is plagued with problems. There is friction in personal relationships. So we forget about Easter, and fall back into the old ways, allowing ourselves to be engulfed by the habitual depressing attitudes.

We had heard the call to adventure, but then in disappointment and fear, settled back into the old ways of defeat and death. Antoine de Saint-Exupery describes us well when he claims we lock ourselves up in our own prisons of fear and despair, opting for comfort and security rather than adventure. He says,

You rolled yourself up into a ball in your genteel security, in routine, in the stifling conversations of provincial life, raising a modest rampart against the winds and the tides and the stars. You have chosen not to be perturbed by great problems, having trouble enough to forget your own fate as man ... Nobody grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time. Now the clay of which you were shaped has dried and hardened, and naught in you will awaken the sleeping musician, the poet, the astronomer that possibly inhabited you in the beginning. (Wind, Sand and Stars, p. 11)

Is there still time to rescue you, to awaken the potential within you? Had you been stirred to a resurrection of hope and new relationships, only to be discouraged, and to say forget it, and to return to business as usual as did Peter and the disciples?

But now this Risen Christ calls to us from the warmth of his charcoal fire and he says, "Come join us for breakfast. Here, have some crisp, broiled fish and some warm, toasted bread." And he assures us we were not fools after all, that his cause will not end in humiliation and defeat, that love and newness of life will triumph. And so we feel the old excitement return and our hearts warm up again and the smile returns. And have you noticed how much more beautiful the world looks?

II.

Now that we've been drawn into the circle around the charcoal fire, let's sit down a while. The sand is warm and dry now, and look, the sun is coming up. It's burning off the mist. Notice the deep blue of the sky and the reflection in the lake. Now the horizon is clearing. Just the beauty alone is enough to renew our vigor. But sitting around the fire with the mysterious sense of Christ's presence is more invigorating still. And without question, those early disciples were confident of his presence and power, so much so, they changed the world.

But now, of course, the years have come and gone. Human life has had its share of suffering and tragedy. Then too, it has had its successes, and some of us have become satiated with good things, and yet we are flaccid and often bored. So we long again for an invigorating sense of Christ's presence. How do we get it?

One way is that of following the principle of great musicians. Claudio Arrau, the great concert pianist, underwent many years of psychoanalysis before he came to his superior level of artistry. He had great difficulty for some time. His playing lacked the life and sparkle and depth of feeling he knew it should have.

Eventually, said Arrau, I learned the secret of truly great artistry. I learned that I, the artist, must decrease, and the music and the composer must increase. I had always put myself at the center, said Arrau, and I got nowhere. But then I was determined to put the music and mind of the composer at center. So now, in each concert I reach and reach for the soul and mind of Brahms or Beethoven, and I am released from my own ego to express the fullness of their music. It is then Brahms and Beethoven came alive to the audience. They, in a way, sense their presence, as do I.

We do not, as Christians, have a musical score to follow. But we do have a Bible and the traditions and hymns of the church. And our experience is that when we place our own egos aside and reach for the mind and soul of Christ, he comes alive to us and to the group in a unique way as a living presence. It is as though we can feel him here and detect his firm power and gentle wisdom shaping the nature of our gathering.

III.

Listen as the conversation continues around the fire. The sun is higher now. The outline of the hills is more distinct. We see other fishing boats making their way back to the docks and the morning market. We've nearly finished this delicious charbroiled fish and bread. And we sense something important coming up.

Jesus now turns to Peter, asking him if he loves him. Peter assures him he does. But Jesus doesn't seem satisfied and again he raises the question. Peter answers affirmatively. A third time Jesus puts the question, "Simon, Son of John, do you love me?" Peter, nearly exasperated, says "Lord, you know all things, you know I love you."

Notice Jesus didn't call him Peter, which means rock. Rather, he addresses him by his old name of Simon, son of John, because that's what he was now that he had forsaken Christ and returned to his fishing and his old way of life. And because of Peter's earlier three-time denial, he hardly could be solid as a rock. So he pressed the question of love three times to offset the three-time denial. But once the new allegiance was sworn, Jesus urged him to take leadership again in feeding the sheep, in watching over the Christian flock.

So it was at breakfast on the beach Peter was reminded of the importance of the human relationships they had begun as a part of the Kingdom of God. Their ties of everlasting friendship were renewed, ties that were more important than fishing or boats or profits.

Antoine de St. Exupery observes:

We forget that there is no hope of joy except in human relations. If I summon up those memories that have left me an enduring savor, if I draw up the balance sheet of the hours in my life that have truly counted, surely I find only those that no wealth could have procured me. True riches cannot be bought. One cannot buy the friendship of ... a companion to whom one is bound forever by ordeals suffered in common. (ibid., p. 26)

Antoine continues, "Happiness! It is useless to seek it elsewhere than in this warmth of human relations. Our sordid interests imprison us within their walls. Only a comrade can grasp us by the hand and haul us free" (ibid.). That is what Jesus is doing with Peter and the others -- breaking down the prison walls of their despair with the assurance of his comradeship. He affirms for them again the unbroken bonds of their relationship, even in the midst of their denials and faithlessness. Once again he entrusts them with the responsibilities of leadership in this movement destined to change the world.

Gathered around the charcoal fire with the last bits of fish consumed we see Jesus' gaze shift to us. We know how often our faith has faded in the high noon realities of life. We've done our share of denying and our returning to the old familiar ways of making money, and of thinking, and of behaving, ways of the old man and the old world.

But now, in the afterglow of Easter, at breakfast on the beach, he asks us if we love him and if we will feed his sheep. For it is in service, in the acts of love and thoughtfulness, in the causes of truth and justice, we begin to sense anew his presence. It is in the acts of following and obedience the knowledge of God becomes more complete and certain. It is the one who keeps the commands of love who is assured more and more of his risen presence.

So now the sun is fully up and the new day has arrived. The charcoal glow has dimmed and Jesus seems ready to be on his way. What a refreshing morning, and how invigorating this breakfast on the beach. Yes, Lord, we do love you. Yes, we will do our part to feed your sheep.

Prayer

Eternal God, who by your creative power has begun to touch the earth in beauty with the first blush of spring; and who, in the afterglow of Easter, has infused a new confidence within our souls that life will win over death, praise be to you for the hope you give us in this season.

We give you thanks for the thrill and exhilaration of new life. We stand amazed at the life forms pulsating, throbbing, beating, manifesting themselves in every living thing in this springtime. We shall ever be amazed at why it is and how it is that the same basic material is organized into a multiplicity of life forms. You astound us day by day with all your marvels, Lord, and we thank you that you have made us participants in your grand experiment of life and love.

In this season of new life and resurrection from the dead, it is for us to confess how easy it is to get back into old ruts and graves. In the dazzling light of new self-knowledge, we often have retreated into old rationalizations and self-justifications. Thrust into new contexts which challenge our old presuppositions, we are slow to learn but quick to defend some outmoded self-concept or self-understanding. Forgive the way we cling to the security of old tombs, and grant us courage to allow you to raise us from the ways of our dead past.

O loving Father of us all, who takes special pity on those who fail, and who is ever ready to seek the lost and to lift up the fallen, look upon us with compassion. We often have declared our love and loyalty for you and our Master, Jesus Christ, only to find ourselves disguising our loyalties when we are beside alien campfires. In our days of hope and idealism we have sworn allegiance to your Cause, only on some dark night to have our loyalties falter and our morals compromised. Be merciful to us, forgive us, and restore us to yourself and grant us the second chance we need. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.