Sermon

And Another Thing...

by The Rev. Canon Susan Sommer

One of the things I love about John's gospel is that it never leaves well enough alone. Chapter 20 has all the earmarks of a grand finale. Jesus has appeared to all of his disciples, commissioned them, shown them his wounds, and observed that those who had not seen him in person -- who believed on the strength of the good news alone -- are the ones especially blessed. The evangelist then gives what seems to be the conclusion: "Now Jesus did many other signs and wonders which are not recorded in this book, but these have been written that you might believe." End of story, right? We infer that the disciples go forth and spread the good news.

But instead, we’re given chapter 21. Biblical scholars have long hypothesized that it was added a generation or two later to John’s original manuscript, and that may well be. Certainly it functions as an epilogue of sorts. Rather than fanning out and spreading the gospel to the ends of the earth, the disciples do something which to me is a lot more believable. They go back to fishing. And let’s be clear. This was no weekend getaway. This was the guys going home; after all, the Sea of Tiberius was merely the Gentile name for the Sea of Galilee. They’ve come full circle, and appear to be re-engaging their old lives. They’re back to what they knew, back to what they were good at, back to what they did before their lives were turned upside down.

This, to me, is entirely believable. The disciples had spent several years following Jesus. They were witnesses to the signs and wonders he performed. They knew he had died, and they all had experienced in person his resurrected self. But then what? What happens when you come back to earth after that exhilaration? Well usually, reality sets in. In this case, it appears that time and distance from the resurrection begin to take their toll. Their numbers begin to dwindle. The company that once numbered 12, then 11, now seems to be down to seven. Distinguished once by a purpose, the disciples are now blending into their own backgrounds. Instead of imagining a new beginning, they retrace their steps into the past.

I suspect that many of us can relate to this in some way. You get back from your honeymoon and find that you're married, and that requires learning how to live into the new creation that is marriage. Your first child is born and everyone oohs and ahhs, and then your mom goes home and you're brand new parents in charge of a helpless, very needy baby. You land the job of your dreams, and discover in short order that it will stretch you in ways you never imagined, and often in ways that are not entirely welcome. You work diligently to make retirement a reality, only to find that you miss the structure and stimulation that your career provided. How tempting it is, when the glow of the initial peak experience has faded, to face the future by looking backward, by trying to re-engage our old life -- or at least those aspects of it that we were good at.

So the disciples return to what they know. And they labor all night, and bring up nothing in their nets. Just then they hear a voice calling from shore, calling them by a familiar name, and bidding them to cast their nets one more time. And the catch they bring up this time is so great that they could not even haul it into the boat. And one by one, starting with the Beloved Disciple, these reluctant, backward-glancing apostles recognize who it is on the shore. And if his voice and the miracle are not enough, there follows another reminder in a meal of bread and fish.

The risen Lord met his disciples on their terms, and on their home turf, first in their fear and hiding in the upper room, then in their doubt, and now again in their reluctance and their retreat to familiar ground. It is as though he was saying to them, "Look guys, I get it. This transformation is new and the commission is a little daunting. You're stuck. You want to look backwards. OK. Here's something to look backwards at. Remember the last time you were here at the Sea of Tiberius with me? Remember the five loaves and the two fish and how many people were fed? Remember? OK. Count your fish now and see how many you have. Two? Looks more like 153 to me. Are you catchin' on here, guys? Do you see that what we just did together here, with this amazing catch, is greater than any of the signs I did alone in your presence? Don't you see that THIS is what discipleship is about?"

Jesus met his disciples on their terms and on their turf. And in so doing, he revealed once again an image of abundant life, smack dab in the midst of ordinary surroundings and quotidian pursuits.  No less for us, who by virtue of our baptism, are called to proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ. Our own discipleship may well be jumpstarted by the periodic peak experience, but its enduring character for us is also lived in its ordinariness. We exercise our discipleship when we work together, when we respond in trust to the voice that calls us by a familiar name. We are disciples when we break bread together and allow ourselves both to be transformed and to be agents of transformation for others. We are disciples when we allow Christ to rock the boat by an abundant life we cannot manufacture on our own. There's no going back. New life in Christ lies ahead. Breakfast is ready. 

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