The Lakeside
Sermon
I've recently spent several hours by the lakeside, for I've been in retreat this past week in the little village of Hemingford Grey, in Huntingdonshire. A great delight for me was to walk to the flooded gravel pits, sit on a bench in glorious sunshine, and watch the water birds. For me, that's a wonderful way to become very aware of the presence of God through the beauty of his created world. And sitting like that for several hours, doing nothing but watching and waiting, I can't help but absorb the peace which passes all understanding.
But I suspect it wasn't quite like that for the disciples that night as they set out to go fishing on the Sea of Galilee. The first Easter was over. The disciples were no longer in Jerusalem, cowering in fear of the religious authorities, they were back home in Galilee. But Jesus, their leader and their dear friend, the source of all their hopes, was dead. And although he'd apparently already appeared to his friends in his risen form, that doesn't at this stage, seem to have made much difference to them. Perhaps they believed they'd left him behind in Jerusalem. Perhaps their minds were still bound by time and space.
It sounds as though they don't know quite what to do with themselves, so they fall back on work. "I'm going fishing," says Simon Peter. And you can almost hear the relief in the voices of the others as they very quickly agree: "We'll come with you." Something to do. Anything to take their minds off their loss. Anything to fill that aching void.
But somehow, it doesn't really work. They don't catch anything. Perhaps their heart wasn't in it. And what can be more frustrating and depressing for professional fishermen than to go home with empty nets, after working all night? So nothing was going right for them, not even work.
But then, gradually, after this long period of darkness, light began to dawn. And as the light increased, so there in the distance, they were able to see a figure standing on the shore. Perhaps he'd been there all the time, throughout the entire period of darkness, but they hadn't been able to see him until the darkness began to lift. At any event, by the time they spotted him, he had a fire going and fish cooking, so he must have been there for quite a while.
Inevitably, as in almost all the other resurrection stories, they fail to recognise Jesus. Even so, they follow the instructions of this stranger. Perhaps they realise his distant vantage point, on the shore, will give him a better overview of the situation. It's often easier for some stranger to look at a situation from a distance with fresh eyes and pick out what needs to be done. While those deep in the situation can't see clearly enough to decide on the right course of action.
Fortunately the disciples aren't too proud to follow the stranger's instructions to the letter. They cast the net just a little bit differently. They shift their position, as it were. And that small shift makes all the difference. The nets are filled to overflowing. It's at that moment one of them makes the connection which seems so obvious to us, with the benefit of hindsight. "It's the Lord! We haven't left him behind in Jerusalem after all, he's here!"
Of course, when I'm living through darkness, unable to see who's standing there, and some person or some intuition or something suggests I might shift my position just a little, it isn't nearly so obvious it might be the Lord. First, I have to find the humility to follow what might seem like a useless suggestion. It's only later, when I see the results, that I begin to recognise God's hand, and to realise he was there all along.
But once the suggestion's made, once Jesus is named, all the disciples instantly recognise the truth. And they all react differently, as people do. Peter, impulsive Peter, immediately goes overboard. And there's something I can't help admiring about that instant, headlong rush towards Jesus. But they can be quite irritating, those that go overboard. Sometimes they find themselves in deep water, and have to be rescued, as Peter did on a previous occasion. And very often they seem to leave others to do the donkey work, the drudgery, as they're off, following their heart's desire. Peter was off in an instant, but the others had to pull the boat in, dragging the net full of fish.
Interestingly, Jesus is concerned with their material comforts. With warmth and food and fellowship. What more welcoming sight can there be when you come in from a long, cheerless, cold and wet night, than a fire and breakfast cooking? If people are having a bad time it's often physical comfort that they need. Perhaps just the presence of another human being. Or the thoughtfulness of a small gift.
Jesus isn't particularly concerned with the huge catch of fish. He doesn't say: "Make sure you give 10% to the poor." Or, "That's enough to set you up in a nice little business. Invest it wisely. Don't waste what I've done for you."
He doesn't even mention the catch. It's a gift with no strings attached. Jesus has given them the means to realise this huge catch of fish. It's completely up to the disciples how they use that gift. Jesus takes just a small part of the catch, in order to feed his friends. Just as he takes wine and bread, initially given by God but harvested by human hands, in order to feed us in the Eucharist.
And this dawn breakfast is a significant meal, a sort of eucharist. We're told in verse 13 that "Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish." Eucharistic language, the sort of language used by Jesus at the Last Supper.
But why fish instead of wine?
The primary use of fish was for food, so Jesus is nourishing the disciples at this meal. But fish was symbolic too, in the OT. In the plagues of Egypt, back in the time of the Exodus, all the fish in the Nile died, so the fish became symbolic of death (Exodus 7:21). Later, in the time of Second Isaiah, the fish symbolised death from drought (Isaiah 50:2). And Koheleth, the writer of Ecclesiastes, uses the fish to symbolise premature or untimely death (Ecclesiastes 9:12).
So it may be, that by using the fish at this particular Eucharist, Jesus is symbolising his resurrection, his victory over death.
And of course, the fish, once a symbol of death, became for Christians, a symbol of life. The acrostic derived from the Greek letters of the word "fish" (ichthys) were understood by Christians to stand for the Greek words for: Jesus (i), Christ (ch), God's (th), Son (y), Saviour (s). The use of the symbol of the fish persists to this day as a kind of badge for Christians. And has become quite widespread over recent years.
A night which started for the disciples as so very dark, so very hopeless, ends as light dawns, with a lakeside experience full of hope. Their Lord was not left behind, far away in Jerusalem. He was there for them, wherever they were, and whenever they needed him.
And like the persistence of that early Christian symbol of the fish, nothing has changed. He's still there, in dark nights, waiting for light to dawn so that we can see him. Waiting to give us nourishment and to reassure us that he has risen. Even after 2000 years, the victory over death and darkness is still complete.
But I suspect it wasn't quite like that for the disciples that night as they set out to go fishing on the Sea of Galilee. The first Easter was over. The disciples were no longer in Jerusalem, cowering in fear of the religious authorities, they were back home in Galilee. But Jesus, their leader and their dear friend, the source of all their hopes, was dead. And although he'd apparently already appeared to his friends in his risen form, that doesn't at this stage, seem to have made much difference to them. Perhaps they believed they'd left him behind in Jerusalem. Perhaps their minds were still bound by time and space.
It sounds as though they don't know quite what to do with themselves, so they fall back on work. "I'm going fishing," says Simon Peter. And you can almost hear the relief in the voices of the others as they very quickly agree: "We'll come with you." Something to do. Anything to take their minds off their loss. Anything to fill that aching void.
But somehow, it doesn't really work. They don't catch anything. Perhaps their heart wasn't in it. And what can be more frustrating and depressing for professional fishermen than to go home with empty nets, after working all night? So nothing was going right for them, not even work.
But then, gradually, after this long period of darkness, light began to dawn. And as the light increased, so there in the distance, they were able to see a figure standing on the shore. Perhaps he'd been there all the time, throughout the entire period of darkness, but they hadn't been able to see him until the darkness began to lift. At any event, by the time they spotted him, he had a fire going and fish cooking, so he must have been there for quite a while.
Inevitably, as in almost all the other resurrection stories, they fail to recognise Jesus. Even so, they follow the instructions of this stranger. Perhaps they realise his distant vantage point, on the shore, will give him a better overview of the situation. It's often easier for some stranger to look at a situation from a distance with fresh eyes and pick out what needs to be done. While those deep in the situation can't see clearly enough to decide on the right course of action.
Fortunately the disciples aren't too proud to follow the stranger's instructions to the letter. They cast the net just a little bit differently. They shift their position, as it were. And that small shift makes all the difference. The nets are filled to overflowing. It's at that moment one of them makes the connection which seems so obvious to us, with the benefit of hindsight. "It's the Lord! We haven't left him behind in Jerusalem after all, he's here!"
Of course, when I'm living through darkness, unable to see who's standing there, and some person or some intuition or something suggests I might shift my position just a little, it isn't nearly so obvious it might be the Lord. First, I have to find the humility to follow what might seem like a useless suggestion. It's only later, when I see the results, that I begin to recognise God's hand, and to realise he was there all along.
But once the suggestion's made, once Jesus is named, all the disciples instantly recognise the truth. And they all react differently, as people do. Peter, impulsive Peter, immediately goes overboard. And there's something I can't help admiring about that instant, headlong rush towards Jesus. But they can be quite irritating, those that go overboard. Sometimes they find themselves in deep water, and have to be rescued, as Peter did on a previous occasion. And very often they seem to leave others to do the donkey work, the drudgery, as they're off, following their heart's desire. Peter was off in an instant, but the others had to pull the boat in, dragging the net full of fish.
Interestingly, Jesus is concerned with their material comforts. With warmth and food and fellowship. What more welcoming sight can there be when you come in from a long, cheerless, cold and wet night, than a fire and breakfast cooking? If people are having a bad time it's often physical comfort that they need. Perhaps just the presence of another human being. Or the thoughtfulness of a small gift.
Jesus isn't particularly concerned with the huge catch of fish. He doesn't say: "Make sure you give 10% to the poor." Or, "That's enough to set you up in a nice little business. Invest it wisely. Don't waste what I've done for you."
He doesn't even mention the catch. It's a gift with no strings attached. Jesus has given them the means to realise this huge catch of fish. It's completely up to the disciples how they use that gift. Jesus takes just a small part of the catch, in order to feed his friends. Just as he takes wine and bread, initially given by God but harvested by human hands, in order to feed us in the Eucharist.
And this dawn breakfast is a significant meal, a sort of eucharist. We're told in verse 13 that "Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish." Eucharistic language, the sort of language used by Jesus at the Last Supper.
But why fish instead of wine?
The primary use of fish was for food, so Jesus is nourishing the disciples at this meal. But fish was symbolic too, in the OT. In the plagues of Egypt, back in the time of the Exodus, all the fish in the Nile died, so the fish became symbolic of death (Exodus 7:21). Later, in the time of Second Isaiah, the fish symbolised death from drought (Isaiah 50:2). And Koheleth, the writer of Ecclesiastes, uses the fish to symbolise premature or untimely death (Ecclesiastes 9:12).
So it may be, that by using the fish at this particular Eucharist, Jesus is symbolising his resurrection, his victory over death.
And of course, the fish, once a symbol of death, became for Christians, a symbol of life. The acrostic derived from the Greek letters of the word "fish" (ichthys) were understood by Christians to stand for the Greek words for: Jesus (i), Christ (ch), God's (th), Son (y), Saviour (s). The use of the symbol of the fish persists to this day as a kind of badge for Christians. And has become quite widespread over recent years.
A night which started for the disciples as so very dark, so very hopeless, ends as light dawns, with a lakeside experience full of hope. Their Lord was not left behind, far away in Jerusalem. He was there for them, wherever they were, and whenever they needed him.
And like the persistence of that early Christian symbol of the fish, nothing has changed. He's still there, in dark nights, waiting for light to dawn so that we can see him. Waiting to give us nourishment and to reassure us that he has risen. Even after 2000 years, the victory over death and darkness is still complete.
