For Peter and his six buddies, it's been a long, rough night on the lake. Freshly returned from Jerusalem to the shores of Galilee, reunited with what old family and friends they hadn't alienated, they weren't sure what to do with themselves. They'd seen the Lord, but Mary Magdalene said he aimed to meet them in Galilee (Mark 16:7; Matthew 28:10). Now here they were in Galilee – so where was Jesus? As they sat around, brawny, headstrong Simon Peter suggested they get some work in. They were fishermen with boat and net, they were low on cash, so if they fished through the night, they could catch themselves enough to feed their families and sell the rest at market, getting by while they waited, waited, waited. And so began a long, rough, lonely night on the lake (John 21:1-3).
Just like the night before the cross, Peter and company pulled an all-nighter. By torchlight, they cast their net again and again, but all to no avail. The fish were nowhere to be found. In the meantime, for hours on the still, dark lake, they had nothing to do but wait in silence or talk. Maybe Nathanael reminisced, saying he thought he could still taste the incomparable flavor of the wine Jesus made in his home village Cana (John 2:1-11). Maybe Thomas talked of Jesus appearing just to convince him, and how he'd gazed up that spear-track between the Lord's ribs, an open channel leading directly into the holy heart that is Infinite Love (John 20:27-28). But Peter... Peter was lost in thought.
Jesus was alive – Peter didn't understand, but he'd seen it – yet what did it mean? He felt a failure in his calling and his career, unfit for either. After a long night with nothing gained, Peter wondered whether the others regretted joining him at all. They were tired, shivering, stomachs growling loud enough to wake the dead, and now the distant crowing of a rooster heralded the rising sun. At the sound, tears welled up in Peter's eyes (cf. John 18:27).
Then, a man's voice came to their ears through the darkness. He must have been yelling; they were nearly the length of a football field away from shore. Peter turned to look, and he couldn't help but think that this patch of shoreline looked a bit like the place where, on a Friday before another year's Passover, the yet-uncrucified Lord had broken two loaves in his hands and filled thousands of bellies and twelve baskets beyond (John 6:1-13). But now there in such a spot stood a hazy figure, yelling from beside the telltale glow of hot coals. The coals took Peter back – it was while warming himself over a charcoal fire in the high priest's courtyard that he'd been questioned and identified as a follower of Jesus, and had denied Christ thrice as the rooster crowed (John 18:15-27). Peter felt little different from the late Judas. For hadn't Peter as good as sold Jesus out, if not by turning him over, then by letting him sweat and pray and bleed and die alone? Forgiven he might be, but he'd never forget.
Now, what was this old man yelling from that distant flame? Peter strained his ears to hear. “Children, haven't you any fish?” Their first prospective customer, and they had to let him down, had to disappoint him, had to make him join them in their hunger. “No,” Peter and the others mournfully called back, faces burning in shame. The customer wasn't satisfied; he had to go telling the professional fishermen how to do their jobs. Typical. He shouted to them to try again one last time before giving up. They humored him – and suddenly their nets caught on something heavy. A lot of somethings. By torchlight and the dawn's rays, peering over the side of the boat, they saw life suddenly teeming as thick as the prophecies of Ezekiel. “Everything will live wherever the river goes. … Its fish will be of very many kinds, like the fish of the Great Sea.” Fishermen would spread their nets wide for the catch, and on the shoreline would grow the tree of life, fresh from Eden – so the prophet had said (Ezekiel 47:9-12). And there, standing on that shoreline, their customer was laughing in delight. John nudged Peter. Young John saw what no one else saw yet: “It's the Lord! Peter, it's the Lord, it's Jesus!” (John 21:4-7).
With a catch beyond their wildest dreams bearing witness, and John's perceptive heart recognizing a sighting of Jesus 'in the wild,' Peter's pulse quickened, snapping him from his fog. Suddenly aware of his relative state of undress before the Lord, he'd not let shame do to him what it did to Adam and Eve. Tossing on his outer cloak, he leapt from the side of the boat, too impatient to waste a second waiting for the boat to reach shore, and did his best to set a world record at the 100-meter freestyle. The rest, rowing their hearts out against the weight of the nets (and maybe wishing Peter'd lent his muscle to the collective endeavor), followed behind (John 21:7-8).
Peter had been beaten to the threshold of the empty tomb, but he wasn't about to let anybody beat him this time, not if he could help it. Only, when he got there, the glowing coals already had fish and bread laid out on them, carefully tended by the Lord Jesus. Their growling stomachs wouldn't need to wait; no sooner would they reach shore than food would be ready after the long night. Nonetheless, when Jesus asked for a few of the large fish he'd blessed them with, Peter hurried to grab the full net hanging off the boat and, loving the Lord with all his strength, dragged it the rest of the way ashore – although, given the weight of even typical Galilean tilapia (let alone large ones like these), the 153 fish must have weighed well over a quarter ton (John 21:9-11). Yet if the risen Lord asked them even as a tithe, how could Peter's love refuse any labor of reparation for his base denials?
Shortly, after the breakfast Jesus had cooked, Peter's threefold denials over a charcoal flame would be remedied by a threefold recommissioning over a charcoal flame – a commission to feed them just as Jesus was feeding him (John 21:15-19). But before a fresh commission could be given, there was bread and fish to eat. Christ the Chef had everything ready before the disciples came ashore. “Come and have breakfast” (John 21:12), he said to them, and – as with the thousands from the other year – “Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish” (John 21:13; cf. 6:11). From his own hands, bearing the bloodless marks of Roman nails, they took now their breakfast. And in his company, it couldn't be anything but miraculously delicious.
The angels had relayed through the women to the apostles that Jesus' ultimate intent wasn't to meet the disciples in Jerusalem – though he did that, too – but to meet them in Galilee. And here he did just that. This breakfast he served them – flatbreads where we might have pancakes, grilled fish where we might have sausages – was what he had in mind all along for their Galilean reunion with the Victor over Death. This breakfast of life was his invitation to them, tired from their sore night of sorrow, frustrated from their long labors, to come to him and be refreshed. His reunion with them would break their hard fast. He had prepared food for them.
And as for you, maybe you, like Peter, have been plagued with doubts in your career or in your calling. Maybe in the toilsome night of tears and troubles, you've been soothed by dreams or scared by nightmares. Maybe memories haunt you, winds chill you, waves rock you. And for all of it, maybe you haven't caught anything that could sustain you. Or maybe you've just been fasting in suspense, waiting for something new to come into your life, waiting to be fed with something fresh and joyous. But now here by the fire stands Jesus, risen from the dead; he's cooking you a breakfast you didn't catch, didn't bake, didn't buy. There he stands, and he sees your hunger. And as loud as your stomach growls for nourishment, as loud as your soul growls for satisfaction, as loud as your heart growls for something newer than new, his hungers to fill your hunger with himself – with his body, his blood, his grace, his love. For he is risen from the dead, has given triumph to life, has brought a new day! And as he watches the waters teem with fish, stands as the tree of life the prophet promised, he feeds you the fruit of forgiveness. The Last Supper, the First Breakfast! Take, eat – let salvation hit your tongue, new creation take shape in your stomach!
So now we break our fast at last, for the same Host invites us to kiss the burning coals of holiness, the coals that – as Isaiah learned – burn away every impurity from our lips. This Host calls us to a sacred meal from his altar, to be savored with trembling and thanksgiving before a God of salvation. This Host calls us ashore to the beach breakfast of a new morning of life. This is the Day that the Lord has made by rising from the dead! Let us rejoice and be glad in it, glad in feasting, glad in the richness of eternity. For Christ the Chef has cooked us something more magnificent than all taste and all sense – a wine finer than the wine at Cana's wedding, a bread more plentiful than what satisfied five thousand. Here, Christ has fished himself for us – up from the grave, down from heaven – and wants to reveal himself to us, here and now, as astoundingly as to Peter and the others who came before us. Life in person has drawn near, promising us, “Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (John 6:54). The breakfast of a new creation is served! So come, let us have his breakfast, just as the Risen One said! Amen.
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