Anew

Anew

Simon Peter said, “I’m going fishing.” “We’ll come, too,” they all said. So they went out in the boat, but they caught nothing all night. At dawn Jesus was standing on the beach, but the disciples couldn’t see who he was. He called out, “Fellows, have you caught any fish?” “No,” they replied. Then he said, “Throw out your net on the right-hand side of the boat, and you’ll get some!” So they did, and they couldn’t haul in the net because there were so many fish in it.

Then the disciple Jesus loved said to Peter, “It’s the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his tunic (for he had stripped for work), jumped into the water, and headed to shore. The others stayed with the boat and pulled the loaded net to the shore, for they were only about a hundred yards from shore. When they got there, they found breakfast waiting for them—fish cooking over a charcoal fire, and some bread. (John 21:3-9)

The sun reflected in the water before Peter even noticed – that wavy circle of gold on the surface of the sea. A fisherman is usually the first to spot the sun rising over the crest of the hills because it means his night’s labor is finally over. But not for this fisherman. Though the light reflected on the lake, a certain darkness lingered in Peter's heart. The wind chilled, but he didn't feel it. His friends slept soundly, but he didn't care. The nets at his feet were empty – the sea had been a miser. But Peter wasn't thinking about that, either.

His thoughts were actually far from the Sea of Galilee. His mind was back in Jerusalem, reliving an anguished night. As the boat rocked, his memories raced: the clanking of the Roman guard; the flash of a sword and the duck of a head; a touch for Malchus; a rebuke for Peter; soldiers leading Jesus away. "What was I thinking?" Peter mumbles to himself as he stares at the bottom of the boat. Why did I run?

Peter had run. He’d turned his back on his dearest friend and ran. We don't know where. Frankly, Peter probably didn’t even know himself. He found a hole, a hut, an abandoned shed – he found a place to hide and he hid. And he remembers how he’d bragged, "Everyone else may stumble … but I will not." (Matt. 26:33) Yet he did. Peter did what he swore he would never do. He had tumbled face first into the pit of his own fears. And there he sat. All he could hear was his hollow promise. Everyone else may stumble … but I will not. I will not. I will not. I will not…. A war raged inside the fisherman.

At that moment the instinct to survive had collided with his allegiance to Christ, and for a second allegiance had won out. Peter stood and stepped out of hiding and followed the noise till he saw the torch-lit mob in the courtyard of Caiaphas. He stopped near a fire and warmed his hands. The fire crackled with irony. The night’d been cold. The fire was hot. But Peter was neither. He was lukewarm because, "Peter followed at a distance." (Luke 22:54)

So he was loyal … from a distance. That night he went close enough to see, but not close enough to be seen. The problem was, Peter was seen. Other people near the fire recognized him. "You were with him," they said. "You were with the Nazarene." Three times people said it, and each time Peter denied it. And each time Jesus heard it. Understand that the main character in this drama of denial is not Peter; it’s Jesus. Jesus, who knows the hearts of all people, knew the three-time denial of his friend. Three times the salt of Peter's betrayal stung the wounds of the Messiah.

(But how do we know Jesus knew? Because of what he did. It’s right there: then "the Lord turned and looked straight at Peter." (Luke 22:61) When the rooster crowed, Jesus turned.) His eyes searched for Peter and they found him. And at that moment there were no soldiers, no accusers, and no priests. At that predawn moment in Jerusalem there were only two people – Jesus and Peter.

Peter would never forget that look. Though Jesus' face was already bloody and bruised, his eyes were firm and focused. They were like a scalpel, laying bare Peter's heart. Though the look had been for only a moment, it lingered still. And now, days later on the Sea of Galilee, the look seared him like a hot knife. It wasn't the resurrection that occupied his thoughts. It wasn't the empty tomb. It wasn't the defeat of death. It was the eyes of Jesus seeing his failure. Peter knew them well. He'd seen them before. In fact, he'd seen them on this very lake.

This wasn't the first night that Peter had spent on the Sea of Galilee. After all, he was a fisherman. He, like the others, worked at night – he knew the fish would feed near the surface during the cool of the night and then return to the deep during the day. No, this wasn't the first night Peter’d spent on the Sea of Galilee. Nor was it the first night he’d caught nothing. There was that time years before ….

Most mornings Peter and his partners would sell their fish, repair their nets, and head home to rest with a bag of money and a feeling of satisfaction. This particular morning, however, there was no money. There was no satisfaction. They had worked all through the night but had nothing to show for it except aching backs and worn nets. And, what's worse, everyone in town knew it because every morning the shore turned into a market as the villagers came to buy their fish. But that day, there were no fish.

Jesus was there that morning, teaching. As the people pressed in, there was little room for him to stand, so he asked Peter if his boat could be used as a platform. Peter agreed, figuring the boat might as well be put to something good. Peter listened as Jesus taught. It's good to hear something other than the slapping of waves. And when Jesus finished, he turned to Peter. He had another request. He wanted to go fishing. "Take the boat into deep water, and put your nets in the water to catch some fish." (Luke 5:4) Peter groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was fish. The boat’s clean; the nets are dry; the sun’s up and he’s tired. It's time to go home. Besides, everyone’s watching. They've already seen him come back empty-handed once. And, what does Jesus know about fishing, anyway? So Peter speaks. "Master, we worked hard all night trying to catch fish." Mark the weariness in the words.

"We worked hard." Scraping the hull; carrying the nets; pulling the oars; throwing the nets high into the moonlit sky listening as they slap on the surface of the water. "All night." The sky had gone from burnt orange to midnight black to morning gold. The hours had passed as slowly as the wispy clouds walked in front of the moon. The fishermen's conversation had stilled and their shoulders ached. While the village slept, they worked. All … night … long. "Trying to catch fish." The night's events had been rhythmic: net swung and tossed high ‘till it spread itself against the sky. Then wait. Let it sink. Pull it in. Do it again. Throw. Pull. Throw. Pull. Throw. Pull. Every toss had been a prayer. But every drag of the empty net had come back unanswered. Even the net sighed as the men pulled it out and prepared to throw it again.

For twelve hours they'd fished. And now? Now, Jesus wants us to fish some more? And not just off the shore, but in the deep? Peter sees his friends shrug their shoulders. He looks at the people on the beach watching him. He doesn't know what to do. Jesus may know a lot about a lot, but Peter knows fishing. Peter knows when to work and when to quit. He knows there’s a time to go on, and a time to punch out. And common sense said it was time to get out. Logic said, cut your losses and go home. Experience said pack it up and get some rest. But Jesus said, "We can try again if you want."

The most difficult journey is going back to the place where you failed. Jesus knew that. That's why he volunteered to go along. "The first outing was solo; this time I'll be with you. Try it again, this time with me on board." And Peter reluctantly agreed to try again: "But you say to put the nets in the water, so I will." (Luke 5:5) It didn't make any sense, but he'd been around the Nazarene enough to know that his presence made a difference. That wedding in Cana? That sick child of the royal ruler?

So the oars dip again and the boat goes out. The anchor is set and the nets fly once more. Peter watches as the net sinks, and he waits. He waits until the net spreads as far as his rope allows. The fishermen are quiet. Peter is quiet. Jesus is quiet. Suddenly the rope yanks. The net, heavy with fish, almost pulls Peter overboard. "John, James!" he yells. "Come quick!" Soon the boats are so full of fish that the port side dips dangerously close to the surface. Peter, ankle deep in flopping silver, turns to look at Jesus, only to find that Jesus is looking at him. And that's when he realizes who Jesus is.

What an odd place to meet God – in a fishing boat on a small sea in a remote country. But that’s the practice of the God who comes into our world. That’s the encounter experienced by those who are willing to try again … with him. And Peter's life was never the same after that catch. He’d turned his back on the sea to follow the Messiah. He’d left the boats thinking he'd never return. But now he's back. Full circle. Same sea. Same boat. Maybe even the same spot.

But this isn't the same Peter. Three years of living with the Messiah has changed him. He's seen too much. Too many walking crippled; too many vacated graves; too many hours hearing his words. He's not the same Peter. It's the same Galilee, but a different fisherman. So, why then did he return?

What brought him back to Galilee after the crucifixion? Despair? Some think so. But hope dies hard for a man who has known Jesus. I think that's what Peter had. That's what brought him back. Hope. A bizarre hope that on the sea where he knew him first, he would know him again.

So Peter’s in the boat, on the lake. Once again he's fished all night. Once again the sea has surrendered nothing. His thoughts are interrupted by a shout from the shore. "Catch any fish?" Peter and John look up. Probably a villager. "No!" they yell. "Try the other side!" the voice yells back. John looks at Peter. What harm? So out sails the net. Peter wraps the rope around his wrist to wait. But there’s no wait. The rope pulls taut and the net catches. Peter sets his weight against the side of the boat and begins to bring in the net; reaching down, pulling up, reaching down, pulling up. He's so intense with the task that he misses the message. But John doesn't. The moment is déjà vu. This has happened before: the long night; the empty net; the call to cast again; fish flopping on the floor of the boat. Wait a minute. He lifts his eyes to the man on the shore. "It's him," he whispers. Then louder, "It's Jesus." Then shouting, "It's the Lord, Peter. It's the Lord!"

Peter turns and looks. Jesus has come. Not just Jesus the teacher, but Jesus the death-defeater, Jesus the king, Jesus the victor over darkness. Jesus the God of heaven and earth is on the shore … and he's building a fire. Peter plunges into the water, swims to the shore, and stumbles out wet and shivering and stands in front of the friend he betrayed. Jesus has prepared a bed of coals. Both are aware of the last time Peter had stood near a fire. Peter had failed God, but God had come to him.

For one of the few times in his life, Peter was silent. What words would be adequate? The moment was too holy for words. God’s offering breakfast to the friend who betrayed him. And Peter is once again finding grace at Galilee. What do you say at a moment like this? It's just you and God. You and God both know what you did. And neither one of you is proud of it. What do you do?

You might consider doing what Peter did. Stand in God's presence. Stand in his sight. Stand still and wait. Sometimes that's all a soul can do. Too repentant to speak, but too hopeful to leave – we just stand. Stand amazed because he’s come back. Come back for you.

And he invites you to try again. This time, however, with him in the boat.

Grace,

Randy