Peter’s story concludes on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
We went to Galilee, as the angel said. It was good to be back with family again in our old, familiar places. Yet somehow everything there felt strange and hollow, distant even. The question still lingered in our hearts: What now? Jesus had risen, but he wasn’t the same as he had been. We’d seen him a few times. He would show up when we least expected, then disappear suddenly. He never stayed for long. He had shown us from the Scriptures that he was indeed the Messiah, but we were still re-learning what that meant. What was this new life with Jesus going to be like? And did I have any place in it? And if not, what then?
One night after supper, I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m going fishing,” I announced.
“We’re going with you,” said some of the others.
So we went down to the boats and cast our nets into the dark sea. We cast and we cast all night long. Nothing. I was a failure as a disciple and a failure as a fisherman. Was there anything left in this world for me?
“I’m through,” I said. “Let’s go in.”
But then, just as we were turning the boat around, dawn broke across the horizon and a voice called from the shore, “Haven’t you caught anything? Why don’t you try your net on the other side?”
It was a strange request, impertinent even. But I’d heard it once before. John and I looked at each other. Could it be? The shore was only about 100 yards away, but it was too far to see clearly in the dim light and morning mist. We threw in the net, and it came up so full of fish we couldn’t get it back into the boat.
John burst out laughing. “It is Jesus!” he cried.
I knew he was right. Immediately, I jumped in the water and swam for shore. Sure enough, there he was, waiting for us. He hadn’t disappeared yet. As I came dripping up out of the sea, I wanted to run straight to him and fall at his feet, but what I saw gave me pause, and I found myself hesitating in the shallows. Jesus was sitting and tending a small coal fire, just like the one from the high priest’s courtyard. I looked at Jesus, I looked at the fire, and I didn’t know what to do.
“Why don’t you bring some of the fish you just caught and add them to the fire?” said Jesus.
For indeed, there were fish sizzling over the flames, filling the air with their inviting aroma. A pile of bread was toasting beside them. Jesus was cooking breakfast for us, we who had abandoned him to be crucified only days before.
The others had come up behind me, having brought the boat back to shore. So I turned and climbed back in to help them with the catch and bring some for the meal.
As we gathered around to eat, I walked around to the far side of the fire and sat down beside Jesus. I didn’t know what to say to him, but I wanted to at least be near him for as long as I could. So much of our history together was wrapped up into that scene: the lake, the boat, the fish, the bread, the meal, the fire. And the scars. I watched his hands as he tended the fire, cooked the fish, and served us our food. It was never going to be the same. Jesus would bear those scars forever. Just as I would bear mine.
As I stared deep into the pile of glowing coal with its small flames, I could hear it all over again. The memories crashed like waves over my storm-tossed soul. Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you…. You’re one of his disciples, aren’t you?… I don’t know what you’re talking about…. Who me? I am not!… I tell you, I don’t know the man. I swear it! The words spun around and around in my head, like wind churning up the sea. I had failed my calling. The calling I had been given right there in that very place, and I’d been a faithless friend besides.
“Simon bar-Jonah.”
Jesus spoke gently, but his voice startled me. I had been so caught up in the stormy echoes of my own. I looked up and let our eyes meet for the first time that morning.
“Do you love me more than these?”
The sea turned hot and welled up within me. For indeed I had claimed to love him more than the others, but it had turned out for my shame. I had brimmed with confidence and fallen with flourish. The love I had thought so strong had been tested by fire and found wanting. And yet it was only by seeing my heart for what it was that at last I saw, too, just how much I needed Jesus. Without him, I could not be the man I wanted to be, and that made me love him all the more. The boat and nets and fish of my old life held nothing for me. Now more than ever I wanted to follow Jesus, if only he would take me back again.
“Yes, Master. You know that I love you,” I said.
“Then feed my lambs.”
In my heart, I looked up from the waves that I was fighting and saw another boat in the distance. Jesus’ boat. Whatever he had gone off to do was done, and now he was coming back to meet me in the storm. He had a job for me. He still wanted me. But would I be up to the task?
The waves crashed over the sides of my boat. Watch and pray…. Simon, are you asleep?… Couldn’t you keep watch for one hour? I tried to bail the water out, but it was no use. The waves just kept on coming. Are you still sleeping?
“Simon bar-Jonah, do you love Me?”
His boat drew near and I looked up from my task, still gripping my bucket. I had failed, yes, I had failed. So many times, in so many ways. But Jesus was still there. He had come for me, and I loved him more than anything. “Yes, Master. You know that I love you.”
“Tend my sheep,” he said, turning his boat and pulling it up beside mine.
I looked into his face as the storm raged about us, but I couldn’t hold the image. I saw the moonlit rivers of sweat carving channels down his cheek. I saw him in the torchlight of the garden crowd, shaking his head at me in rebuke. I saw him turn in the lamplight to look me in the eye as the rooster crowed and the high priest spit in his face. The water swirled and swirled at my feet as the boat filled around me and began to sink.
“Simon bar-Jonah, do you love Me?”
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. But I had nothing to show for it. There was nothing I could say or do to prove it. All I had was my heart. It was black and stormy and unworthy of his touch, but it loved him. Either that was enough, or it wasn’t. I put down my bucket and laid down my fight.
“Master, you know everything. You know that I love you.”
“Feed my sheep.” And with those words he gripped the side of my sinking craft and offered me his hand.
I wanted with all my heart to reach out and take it, but still I hesitated. What would happen when I faced the next test? What if I failed again?
“The day will come when you will lay down your life for me,” Jesus said. “In the meantime, follow me.”
With those words Jesus reached out, and I took his hand. He pulled me up into his boat, and I let my own capsize into oblivion. And when at last it had faded away, I found myself sitting with Jesus on the calm clear morning of a new and living hope.