Salt & Light

Salt & Light

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matt. 5:13-16)

A peculiar thing happened to me during the evening of September 8, 2011. That was the “Great Blackout” – a widespread power outage that affected large swaths of Southern California, including parts of Arizona, Baja California and Sonora. It was the largest power failure in California’s history. Power had yet to be restored that evening, so I had to feel my way through the darkness into the utility room where we keep the candles in drawers for, apparently, nights like this. Through the glow of a flashlight I looked in the drawer where the candles were stored and there they were – melted to various degrees by previous missions. I took a match and lit four of them and placed each on a candlestick.

What had been a veil of blackness suddenly radiated with a soft, golden light. I could see the washing machine that I had just run into with my toe. “It’s great to have some light!” I said out loud, and then spoke to the candles. “If you do such a good job here in the laundry room, just wait till I get you out where you’re really needed. I’ll put one of you on the table so we can eat, and another on the desk so I can read. I’ll give another to Sandy, and I’ll set you,” as I grabbed the largest one, “in the family room where you can light up the whole area.” I felt a little foolish talking to candles, but what do you do during a “Great Blackout”?

I was turning to leave with the large candle in my hand when I heard a voice: “Now, hold it right there.” I stopped. Somebody’s in here, I thought. Then I relaxed. It’s probably just Sandy, teasing me for talking to the candles. “Ok, San, cut the kidding,” I said in the semi-darkness. No answer. Hmm, maybe it was the wind. I took another step. “Hold it, I said!” There was that voice again. My hands began to sweat. “Who said that?” I demanded. “I did.” The voice was near my hand. “Who are you? What are you?” “I’m the candle.” I looked at the candle I was holding. It was burning a strong, golden flame. It was red and sat on a heavy wooden candle holder that had a firm handle. I looked around once more to see if the voice could be coming from another source. “There’s no one here but you, me, and the rest of us candles,” the voice informed me. I lifted up the candle to take a closer look and there was this tiny face in the wax.

Not just a wax face that someone had carved, but a moving, functioning face full of expression and life. “Don’t take me out of here!” “What?” I asked incredulously. “I said, don’t take me out of this room.” “What do you mean, ‘Don’t take (you) out of this room?’ I have to take you out. You’re a candle. Your job is to give light. It’s dark out there. People are stubbing their toes and walking into walls. You have to come out and light up the place!”

“But you can’t take me out. I’m not ready,” the candle explained with pleading eyes. “I need more preparation.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “More preparation?” “Yeah, I’ve decided I need to research this job of light-giving so I won’t go out and make a bunch of mistakes. You’d be surprised how distorted the glow of an untrained candle can be. So I’m doing some studying. I just finished a book on wind resistance. I’m in the middle of a podcast on wick build-up and conservation – and I’m reading a blog on flame display. Have you heard of it?” “No,” I answered. “You might like it. It’s called Waxing Eloquently.” “That really sounds inter —,” I caught myself. What am I doing? I’m in here talking with a candle while my wife and daughters are out there in the darkness!

“All right then,” I said. “You’re not the only candle in here. I’ll blow you out and take the others!” But just as I got ready to blow, I heard other voices. “We aren’t going either!” It was a candle conspiracy. I turned around and looked at the other three candles, each with flames dancing above a miniature face. I was beyond feeling awkward about talking to candles. I was getting mad now. “You are candles and your job is to light dark places!” “Well, that may be what you think,” said the candle on the far left – a long, thin fellow with an Aussie accent – “but I’m busy.” “Busy?” “Yes, I’m meditating.” “What? A candle that meditates?” “Yes. I’m meditating on the importance of light. It’s really enlightening.” I decided to reason with them.

“Listen, I appreciate what you guys are doing. I’m all for meditation time. And everyone needs to study and research; but for goodness sake, you guys have been in here for weeks. Haven’t you had enough time to get your wicks ready?” “And you other two,” I asked, “are you going to stay in here as well?” A short, squatty, purple candle spoke up. “I’m waiting to get my life together. I’m not stable enough. I lose my temper easily. I guess you could say that I’m sort of a hot-head.” All this was sounding too familiar. And then the last candle spoke up. “I’m just not gifted in this area.” “Not gifted? What do you mean? You’re a candle!” I said. “Well, I’m really a singer. I sing to the other candles to encourage them to burn more brightly.” And without asking my permission, she began a rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.” The other three joined in at that point, filling the laundry room with singing.

“Come on, you guys. There’s plenty of time for this later. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.” But they wouldn’t stop. I put the big candle on the washing machine and took a step back and considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly healthy candles singing to each other about light but refusing to leave the comfort of the utility room. I had all I could take. So, one by one, I blew them out. They kept singing to the very end. I stuck my hands in my pockets and walked back out into the darkness. I stubbed my toe again. Then I bumped into my wife. “Where are the candles?” she asked. “They don’t … they won’t work,” I said. “Where did you buy those candles anyway?” “Oh, they’re church candles. Remember the church that closed down across town? I bought them there.”

In Jesus’ day, salt was a precious commodity – which is a little hard for us to grasp today when you can buy a 26 oz. container of Morton’s salt for a little more than 3¢ an ounce. But during Jesus’ time in the Roman Empire, slaves were traded for salt. In fact, Roman soldiers were often paid with salt. Ever hear the expression, “Worth his salt”? Even the Latin word for salt, sale, is the root for our word salary.

But salt was not only precious, it was useful. A Roman proverb, which may have been common during Jesus’ time, was “Nil utilius sole et sale.” I missed out on Latin in high school, but the phrase loosely translates: “Nothing is as useful as sun and salt.” So is it just coincidence that Jesus used these two metaphors (salt and light) for his followers? Probably not. That’s because salt adds flavor, too, and pure sodium chloride never loses its flavor. However, some of the salt that was available in Palestine was mined from the salt flats surrounding the Dead Sea. So, there were a lot of other impurities mixed in with the salt. And if this mixture was exposed to the elements, rain would leach the salt out and leave a pile of impurities that might look like salt, but was really just a salt imposter. That pile of impurities was worthless and was used as a road agent on the pathways, and trampled underfoot by passing travelers. Of course, salt also preserves. And in a time when there was no refrigeration, salt was essential for the preservation of food. Salt is essential for life, too. In fact, without an adequate amount of sodium, your body can go into shock. It’s called, hyponatremia – an abnormally low concentration of sodium in the body fluids outside the cells. Symptoms of hyponatremia include fatigue, lightheadedness, nausea, dizziness, confusion, disorientation, seizures and, in the most severe cases, even death.

Jesus said that we are the salt of the earth. Precious; valuable; a seasoning influence in the world; a preserving agent in a modern day Sodom or Gomorrah whose citizens have become fatigued, dizzy, confused and disoriented. But if we’ve allowed the elements to leach the salt from our lives, what’s left of our influence? Or, if we resist the actions of The Salt Shaker, what good is salt that refuses to be used? But Jesus also said that we are the light of the world. And although we are surrounded by light during the day, very few things actually give out light. We see most things only because they reflect light. For instance, when light strikes a surface, some or all of it is reflected. Most surfaces scatter light in all directions, and all you see is the surface. But mirrors and other shiny surfaces reflect light in exactly the same pattern in which it arrived, so you see a mirror image.

That’s why in John 8:12, Jesus said, “I am the Light of the World. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” Jesus is the Light of the world, but those who follow Jesus have the light of life – a reflection of its source. And Jesus wants His light to shine through us; to bless the world through us; to dispel the darkness through us. Jesus wants to use us to make a difference in the world. Note that Jesus doesn’t say, “Make your light shine.” He says, instead, to “(l)et your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Our purpose is to shine so that others around us can see our good deeds – not for the deeds we’ve done but for their source of inspiration. We are like a city on a hill, or a light on a stand whose beacon draws a world of darkness into the world of Light. A city where the power outages of life cannot dim its influence, or whose light cannot be hidden. All we have to do is flip the switch. So consider whether we’re a shining light in the inky, black sky of cultural darkness, or whether we’re simply shining in the safety of a laundry room, or maybe even a church.

Grace,

Randy

Blind

Blind
Blind - Audio/Visual 

As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. “Rabbi,” his disciples asked him, “why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents’ sins?” “It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “This happened so the power of God could be seen in him.” (John 9:1-3)

About the only thing a blind man could do in those days was beg for a living. But the disciples didn’t look at the blind man so much as an object of mercy, but as a subject for theological debate because the disciples were convinced that the man's congenital blindness was caused by sin – either his own or his parents'. Jesus disagreed. Now, there’s no doubt that both the man and his parents had, at some time, committed sin, but Jesus didn’t see their sin as the cause of the man’s blindness.

The ensuing miracle of Jesus giving this man his sight, however, led to a big problem: identification. Was this really the blind guy, and if so, who made him see? First the neighbors asked the man how he was healed, and then the Pharisees asked him. Not satisfied with his answer, the Pharisees then asked the man's parents, and then gave the son one final interrogation. But when you think about it, all of them were really asking the wrong question. Instead of asking “How,” they should have been asking “Who?” And they could have done that by simply rearranging those three letters.

When asked to describe his experience, the man simply told his questioners what had happened: all he knew was that the man who caused him to see was called “Jesus," (because he hadn’t actually seen him), and he didn’t know where he went. (For the same reason) In other words, the man had been healed, but he hadn’t been saved. Now, since the Pharisees were the FBI of the faith, it was appropriate that the healed man be brought to them for questioning. The fact that they studied this miracle in such detail is only further proof that Jesus actually healed the guy, but working on the Sabbath was illegal. Therefore, anybody who broke the Sabbath couldn’t possibly be a true prophet of God – even though this man had been cured of his congenital blindness.

The beggar, however, wasn’t intimidated by the Pharisees’ threats because when he was asked who he thought Jesus was the man said, "He’s a prophet!" But the religious leaders didn’t want to see Jesus given those lofty accolades so they had to come up with an explanation. And the explanation they chose? Jesus must have "switched" beggars. Now, if you’re the FBI you’ve got to get some evidence of the big “switcharoo.” And the best way to get that kind of evidence would be to interrogate the parents of the beggar. They should know, right? So they called them in and asked them two questions: "Is this your son?" and, if so, “How does he now see?" Well, the first one was a no-brainer, but that second one was a little tricky. So, they passed the buck and suggested that the inquisitors ask the boy himself because he was of age – which was the Biblical equivalent of throwing their son under the bus.

Anxious to settle the investigation, the Pharisees called the beggar in once more, but this time they put him under oath. The problem, however, was that the court was prejudiced from the start since they started the questioning with "We know that this Man (referring to Jesus) is a sinner!"

In other words, “You’d better cooperate with us or we’ll kick you out of church.” But the beggar didn’t flinch. He’d experienced a miracle, and wasn’t about to debate Jesus’ character. And for the fourth time he’s asked again, "How did he open your eyes?" By this time, the man has lost his patience. I mean, he’s been blind all of his life and there’s so much to see. He certainly didn’t want to spend a lot of time in a courtroom looking at the faces of twelve angry men. But the Pharisees were cautious men who considered themselves conservatives, when in reality they were more like preservatives. At least a conservative takes the best of the past and uses it; a preservative simply pickles it.

It seemed incredible to the healed man that the Pharisees didn’t know who the man was that had opened his eyes. I mean, how many people were going around Jerusalem opening the eyes of blind people? But instead of investigating the miracle worker, they were investigating the miracle. So, the beggar gave the experts a lesson in practical theology: if Jesus healed a man born blind (which had never happened before), how could Jesus be a sinner? But religious bigots don’t want to face either evidence or logic, so they accused the witness of being born in sin, and then excommunicated him from the local synagogue. So much for seeking the truth.

The good news is that The Good Shepherd always cares for his sheep, and he knew that the man had been excommunicated. So, he went out searching for him, and then having found him revealed himself to him. And that’s when the real miracle happened. You see, it’s not enough to believe that he was "a man called Jesus," or "a prophet," or even "a man of God." Once Jesus identified himself as the Son of God, the beggar believed and was saved. (John 9:38) And then Jesus turned to give the Pharisees a little lesson on spiritual blindness.

You know, the same sun that brings the beauty out of a seed also exposes the vermin under the rock. The religious leaders were blind and wouldn’t admit it, and the light of the truth had only made them blinder. “In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah: ‘You will be ever hearing but never understanding; you will be ever seeing but never perceiving. For this people’s heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them.’” (Matt. 13:14-15)

Stung by the prophet’s words, the listening Pharisees ask, "Are we blind also?" fully expecting Jesus to say, “No.” But Jesus had already called them "blind leaders of the blind" (Matt 15:14), so they already had their answer. You see, they were blinded by their pride, their self-righteousness, their tradition and their false interpretation of the Word of God. And Jesus’ reply to these smart guys was a paradox of epic proportion. "If you were blind, you would be better off. But you claim to see. Therefore, you are guilty!" (John 9:40-41)

In other words, blindness would at least be an excuse for not knowing what was going on. But they knew what was going on because Jesus had performed so many miracles in their presence. However, the religious leaders simply ignored the evidence so that they could come up with a results-oriented decision that fit their theology. In contrast, the beggar was both physically and spiritually blind, yet both his eyes and his heart were opened. Why? Because he listened to the Word, believed it, obeyed it, and experienced the grace of God.

The Pharisees, on the other hand, had good physical vision, but they were blind spiritually. Had they listened to the Word and sincerely considered the evidence, they too would have believed on Jesus and been born again. So then, in what sense did the Pharisees actually see? Well, they saw the change in the blind beggar and couldn’t deny that he’d been healed. Even Nicodemus, one of their own, was impressed with the Lord's miracles. (John 3:2) If they had simply examined the evidence with honesty, they would have seen the truth clearly. "If anyone is willing to do God’s will, he will know the teaching….” (John 7:17) "Yet you refuse to come to me to receive this life.” (John 5:40)

You see, the real crux of the problem was that the religious know-it-alls couldn’t control Jesus. Here’s God with skin on walking among his people, and the God police are upset because he doesn’t act the way they think he should. They say, “This man can’t be of God. Look, he breaks the Sabbath, goes against our customs, has no respect for our authority and doesn’t even bother to recognize our vast knowledge of God! We know the scriptures, and our interpretations of them are the only true way to understand God. We know God, by golly, and this man is not from God!” In other words, they thought they had it all figured out, and had put God in the prison of their own understanding.

We should never become so tied down to our own beliefs that we are blind to see how God is working in the world today. The Spirit of God is alive and well, and he is all around us, whether we accept it or not. And whether we believe it or not, God is moving in our lives. So, who are we to tell him what he should be doing? All we can do is stand back in awe and wonder at his magnificence.

We never meet this healed beggar again. And while being excommunicated from the synagogue was certainly a painful experience for him, he found in his fellowship with Jesus far more spiritual help and encouragement than he could have ever have found in his Jewish traditions, or even church for that matter. Now I’m all for church, but Christ died for a relationship, not a religion. And if our “religion” blinds us to the person of Jesus, then, as the great Biblical commentator, Matthew Henry, so plainly stated, there are “(n)one so blind as those who will not see.”

So, let’s quit switching beggars because life’s not a shell game.

Grace,

Randy

Deja vu

Déjà vu
Deja vu - Audio/Visual 

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. (John 21:3-6)

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. 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 … but 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. 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. (Luke 22:61)

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. Because 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 had 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, too, 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 some other good use. 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." See 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. 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 – this time 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? Well, 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. And he’s come back for you.

Jesus invites you to try again, but this time with Jesus in your boat.

Grace,

Randy