John 21:1-14 "The Daily Sacrament" Scott Hoezee

It's an odd scene: a night of dismal fishing turns into a dawn of remarkable fishing; impetuous Peter hurls himself overboard but only after he first puts his overcoat back on; Jesus helps the disciples to catch a load of fish but then it turns out that they aren't really needed--Jesus already had breakfast cooking, including some fish. But the oddest facet of them all is what is, and is not, spoken here. The story ends in an awkward silence. None of the disciples dares say much. But Jesus' words are the most startling. His speech here is limited to fishing instructions and an invitation to eat. "Catch anything?" he shouts through cupped hands in verse 5. "Want some breakfast?" he inquires in verse 12.

Jesus is the resurrected Lord of life in John 21. His living, bodily presence on this earth is nothing short of a grand miracle. This past week the church marked the ascension of Jesus, and although that had not yet happened in John 21, Jesus was nevertheless on course toward that cosmic glory. He was already the universal Lord in whose pierced hands was held the power of life and death, the victory of God, and so the hope of every last creature who has ever lived, if there is any hope to be had at all, that is.

That's who the post-Easter, resurrected Lord Jesus Christ is. So what is he doing fussing with fish and cooking a breakfast on the beach? Why in the world would this man have the time to help out some discouraged anglers and then also do the work of a cook, poking at a charcoal fire with a stick, frying up some fish, baking some pita bread?

Generally speaking in life, the higher up a person ascends in power and prestige, the less likely it is that he or she will have either time or desire to deal with life's mundane details. Powerful corporate executives do not brew their own coffee. No one in the D.C. area is going to bump into Laura Bush at the Piggly Wiggly while she picks up some eggs and raisin bread for the president's breakfast. I once read that like most presidents, during his years in office Ronald Reagan never carried a wallet, keys, or anything at all beyond a handkerchief. He didn't need credit cards or cash, a driver's license or keys: everything was bought and provided for him, other people opened doors for him, and he had not driven a car in years. The further up one goes in life, the more ordinary chores fall to other people.

Yet John 21 shows us Jesus as the giver of fishing tips and as chief cook and bottle washer for his friends. Why? There are many things that can be said about this passage. A great many commentators in history have perceived here a kind of acted-out parable for the church. If we "fish" in those places where Jesus direct us, then we will bring in a large harvest of souls, making us true "fishers of men." The net that stands for the church will never burst. So we go where our Lord directs us, we witness to his gospel, and then we rely on the Lord to help us haul in ever-more citizens of the kingdom of God.

Probably there is something to that line of thinking. But that angle on this story, like so many other interpretations, tends to elevate this ordinary tale to a higher, more spiritual, more ethereal level. As Frederick Buechner once wrote, the church has always faced that temptation to be more spiritual than God himself. When we make this a parable about witnessing to the gospel and being fishers of men, we remove ourselves from what makes this story so precious: namely, its ordinary nature.

So this morning I invite you, through your mind's imagination, just to be in this story. I want you to hear the crackle of that little fire on the beach, to smell the smoke, to hear the sizzle of the fish, to delight in the fragrance of just-baked bread. I want you to see the rough-hewn faces of the disciples, their bloodshot eyes after having been up all night, the vaguely uncertain looks on their faces as they steal glances at Jesus when they think he's not looking in an effort to make sure it's really him. I want you to see the soggy disciple Simon Peter and hear the plop-plop of water dripping off his wet clothes and onto the sand. I want you to hear Jesus saying not "I will make you fishers of men," but rather what the text actually says, "You hungry? Well then have a seat, breakfast is served!"

Just allow this story to be as ordinary as it appears to be because only then can the extraordinary presence of Jesus, smack in the middle of all that is familiar and typical, have resonance with your life. After all, why is it that the resurrected Lord of the universe has time to dabble with cooking? Why is it that, what with a world still full of evil and all, Jesus has time to play waiter to his hungry friends? Listen: it's because real life--your real life, my real life, each person's real life--is where we need to meet up with Jesus or else we're not going to see him much at all. If encounters with Jesus, if the sense that we are in his divine presence, is limited to mountaintop experiences of ecstasy, brilliant visions and dreams, or the comparatively rare occasion when we can say with certainty that the Lord has revealed something big to us, then much of life is going to look very unspiritual.

Jesus meets us where we are, and he always has time to join us in whatever it is we're doing. And when he does, then our every moment has the potential to become sacred after all, our every meal becomes in its own way a kind of Lord's Supper. Because make no mistake, although there was no wine served at that breakfast on the beach, although we do not have recorded here any words of institution to make this breakfast a clear instance of the eucharistic meal of remembrance, even so when Jesus takes bread and fish, gives thanks, and then distributes it to his friends, it is a sacramental meal because it is a living encounter with the living Christ.

At my church in Fremont, we had the practice of bringing communion to a half-dozen or so homebound people in the afternoon of those Sundays when we celebrated the sacrament in church. One person to whom I always brought the sacrament was Harold. Harold held the record for being the longest-term resident at the local nursing home, but that was only because he had entered the home already when he was about 40. In addition to a couple of physical limitations, Harold was mentally rather limited and challenged though he was overall a very aware man with whom you could carry on a conversation. He was in his late-60s by the time I met him. The first Sunday afternoon when an elder and I brought him communion, I opened with prayer, read some verses from I Corinthians 11, and then handed Harold a piece of bread, saying as I did, "The body of our Lord." Harold looked at the bread and then he looked at me. I smiled and made a slight nod with my head in the direction of the bread between Harold's fingers. Harold again glanced from the bread to me and this went on until finally I silently raised my eyebrows. Harold then sighed, rolled his eyes, fixed me in his gaze and said, "Take, eat . . ." and only then did I realize he was awaiting the magic words. "Oh!" I said, "sorry: Take, eat, remember, and believe that the body of our Lord . . ."

Harold was not wrong: we properly intone certain words as part of our remembrance and faith. But John 21's breakfast on the beach reminds us that in the ordinariness of everyday life, and in between the times when we gather at the Lord's table, our Lord is with us by his Spirit. He may not cup his hands so as to ask you if you've caught any fish, but he will ask things like, "How was your day at the office? How did that algebra exam go? Did anything interesting happen today? Want to talk about it?" And over and again he will also ask if we've eaten yet and, if not, will work to provide us with the staff of life to strengthen us to go on in those daily tasks to which he himself has already called us.

This morning we come to the table of our Lord, and it is of course a unique and focused sacramental moment. But when you walk away from this table, when you exit this sanctuary, when you tomorrow pick up again your weekly routines, you must not think you have left your Lord behind at this table such that he can but watch you go and wait until the next time you have the chance to dine with him here at church. As the Lord of Life, Jesus is never too busy to attend to the daily things of your life.

Unlike the powerful of this earth who leave to others the daily details they no longer wish to be bothered with themselves, Jesus has taken on the small things as well as the big things of your and my life. If it seems strange to you that Jesus should tumble to ask how fishing was or strange that he would busy himself with the baking of daily bread, then that may be because Jesus himself is strange to you in the average run of the average day. But Jesus desires to be near to us, familiar to us. That's why he placed his Holy Spirit within us. So in a few moments I hope you hear Jesus speaking through words like "Take, eat, remember, and believe." But sometime this week I hope you hear him speaking also through those who ask things like, "How was your day? Have you eaten yet?" Amen.