The Plymouth Pulpit

March 23, 2008

Rev. Dr. Donald Olsen

“Breakfast On The Beach”

Come with me, if you will, to the Sea of Tiberias.  It is early morning.  The quiet is gentle and carefree, interrupted only by the rhythmic surf lapping at the sand.  In the distance a bird announces the dawn of this new day with its ancient song.  Soft light trickles through the subtle mist.  The white sand is slightly moist from night’s chilly dew. 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 in the emerging light.  We hear the net weights splash the water uniformly, thrown by the hands of an experienced fisherman.  Coming closer to us now, the boat reveals seven men; grousing and grumbling, throwing their nets mechanically, half-heartedly, expecting little—getting nothing.  The faint aroma of food cooking reaches us, turning our attention up the beach where we see smoke rising easily from an inviting fire.  A stranger is bent over the fire tending food as it slowly cooks.  We are tempted to join the stranger and his warming fire.

About that time the stranger stands and calls to the fishermen, "Friends, have you caught anything?,”  his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.  The fishermen replied as expected.  The stranger then suggested, "Throw your net to the other side of the boat and test your skills there."  At first there was a moment of hesitation on the boat, but then they thought, why not?  What could they lose?  With the net suddenly heavy and full with catch, the disappointed, sullen fishermen awakened to the excitement of success.  In their awakening they fix their eyes on the stranger now more visible in the rising light.

"It is the Lord!" exclaims one.  A shock went through the whole group.  Even from the beach we can feel their excitement.  One of the men threw on his outer garment, jumped into the water and swam ashore to greet the stranger.  The others remained aboard, struggling to control the nearly bursting net.

About then the stranger called out, "Come have breakfast.  And bring some of the fish you have caught," (the count was 153).  We can see the charcoal fire is now just right for cooking fresh fish and toasting bread.  Soon the hungry fishermen are embracing the stranger, warming themselves by the fire, and talking quietly, though excitedly, among themselves.  Our own hunger awakens and we wish we could join in the warmth of that fire and the exuberant friendship of those gathered there.

Let's draw a little closer so we may see more clearly.  These men are some of the disciples.  There are Peter, James, and John, Thomas the son of Nathaniel, and two others. And the stranger is Jesus the Risen Christ. 

We know these Easter stories 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 these seven escaped to the north, to Galilee, to their homes, to there families and former businesses.

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

It was great to be back.  Peter, James, and John invited the others to go fishing.  Peter loved the smell of the sea.  It was always a thrill to hoist the sail and feel the wind move his boat into deeper water.  The lines and nets were old friends to his hands.  From long experience he knew all the landmarks along the shore. There's that clump of trees where as children they would swing out on a rope and drop off into the water. And over there is the house where the old man would scold them for walking through his field.  And there is that unusual rock where he would sometimes perch and watch the sunset.

Ah, the old familiar places, how they helped to ease the pain of failure.  Now he is doing all the things he had been taught from youth.  Maybe this was where he really belonged.  Maybe he was a fool to have dreamed his dream of God’s Kingdom formed in grace and love.  Visionaries always do get you in trouble, he thought, as he pulled on the tiller.  Once you break out of your accustomed role 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.  So he fell back into his old way of life, trying to forget his hope of a new future, with a new Messiah and a new Kingdom, and an exciting new day.

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 vitality 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?  Have there not been moments when we caught the vision and dreamed the vision of which Jesus spoke?  Maybe it came in a time of study and prayer when God’s presence enveloped you.  Maybe it was in a time of helping another and seeing that life transformed.  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.  Your workday is plagued with problems and concerns that seem to overpower you.  There is friction in personal relationships, some are even held at arm’s length.  So we forget about Easter’s promise, about Christ’s vision of new community and fall back into the old ways, allowing ourselves to be engulfed by habitual, life draining attitudes.  We had heard the call to adventure, but then in disappointment and fear, settled back into the old ways of entropy.

The French author, 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 and renewed life. He writes,

          “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,” returning to business as usual as did Peter and the disciples?  But now the 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 excitement return, our hearts warm again and our smiles return.  And have you noticed how much more beautiful the world suddenly looks?

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 here, and look, the sun is coming up.  It has burned off the mist and we see the deep blue of the sky and the reflection in the lake.  Just the beauty alone is enough to renew our soul.  But sitting around the fire with the mysterious sense of Christ's presence is more renewing still.

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 too often bored and unfulfilled.  So we long again for the renewing sense of Christ's presence.  How do we renew that relationship and experience Christ once again?

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, 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 Schumann or Beethoven, and I am released from my own ego to express the fullness of their music.  It is then that Schumann came alive to the audience.  They, in a way, sense the composer’s presence, as do I.

We do not, as Christians, have a musical score to follow.  But we do have scripture and the traditions and music of the church.  And our experience is that when we place our own egos aside and reach for the mind and soul of Christ, Christ comes alive to us in a unique way: a living presence; by whom our vision is renewed and we are transformed.

Listen as the conversation continues around the fire.  The sun is higher now.  We see other fishing boats making their way back to the docks and the morning market.  We've nearly finished this delicious fish and bread and we sense something important is about to be said.

Jesus 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 asks, "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 who 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 Jesus pressed the question of love three times to renew their relationship and concretize Peter’s commitment to the important work ahead.  Now, their relationship renewed, Jesus urged Peter to take leadership again by caring for the least and the last and by nurturing and guiding those who would follow Christ.

So it was at breakfast on the beach that Peter was reminded of the importance of relationships, both human and divine.  Relationships that are forged, broken and renewed bind us together with ties that are more important than fishing or boats or profits.

Antoine de Saint-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 Christ is doing with Peter and the others—breaking down the prison walls of their despair with the assurance of Christ’s presence.  Christ affirms for them again the unbroken bonds of their relationship, even in the midst of their denials and faithlessness.  Once again Christ 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 the gaze of Christ turn 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 returning to the old familiar ways of thinking, of behaving, and of making money; ways of an old humanity and old world not yet renewed.

But now, at breakfast on the beach, Christ asks us if we love him and will honor his vision that we nurture and care for one another and offer hospitality to the stranger in need; that we study and pray together becoming a community of learning followers, disciples, bound together by common experiences and devotion.  It is in service to others, in acts of love, in common study and prayer that we begin to sense Christ’s presence anew.  Yes, it is in the practice of love, study and prayer that the knowledge of God becomes more complete and palpable.     

So now the sun is fully up and a new day has captivated us.  The charcoal glow has dimmed and Christ is ready to move forward.  What a refreshing morning, and how renewing this breakfast on the beach.  Yes, Lord, we do love you. Yes, Lord, we will use our gifts and talents in imaginative service to others.  Yes, Lord, we will live as learning followers, bound together in study and prayer that your fullness may be known.

Amen.