Fish for Breakfast

“When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread.”

— John 21:9 NIV

The hopes of Jesus’ disciples were dead as his body that lay in the grave. Then he rose from the dead. In the days following, Jesus appeared not once, not twice, but six times to one or more of his followers. He shared peace, hope, faith, and knowledge as he did.

Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James, John, and two other disciples traveled from Jerusalem to Galilee as Jesus commanded. John 21:1-14 recounts the story.

Peter—ever ready to do something—decides to go fishing. The others join him. In the job he left and the boat he left three years earlier to follow Jesus. Yet, now, despite the hope of post-resurrection appearances there are questions.

Without Jesus here, how will my life go?

I followed him. I believed in him. Jesus was everything to me. And, now, he’s gone. How do I continue to follow him when he’s not here to follow? How will he provide for me now? To lead me? Or, am I on my own? Again. To live life by my terms? Once more. To provide for myself again as a fisherman? So. Yes. I’ll go fishing.

All night they fished and caught nothing. As dawn breaks they’re heading in when a not yet identified as Jesus person on the shore says of their lack of fish, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” They do. Too many to haul in.

John says “It is the Lord!”

Peter jumps in and swims a hundred yards to Jesus.

The others struggle ashore dragging the net full of 153 large fish.

And there, indeed, on the shore is Jesus. Roasting them fish for breakfast and some bread.

Why fish for breakfast? What is Jesus teaching? What were they to learn? What are we to learn?

When we obey God—going where He says and doing what He commands—we will know His presence and His provision.

See Him or not. God is with us.

Except Him or not. God provide for us.

Perceive Him or not. God loves us.

Follow Jesus.

I Struggle With What To Say

I struggle with what to say. Generally, I have a lot to say. Just ask me. Or maybe stay quiet. I’ll fill the silence with an observation or a question.

But, at this time in our country—following the heinous murder of George Floyd—with protests continuing everywhere you look, I struggle with what to say.

Without question I condemn racism and police violence. I agree, Black lives matter.

Yet, what I do question is why. Why after hundreds of years in this so-called “Christian nation” do we struggle so much with prejudice, discrimination, racism, and violence? Why is it that we can not always trust those sworn to protect and serve to keep from doing the opposite? Why haven’t things gotten better despite the life-sacrificing efforts of so many good folks?

As a pastor I see sin. Anger and its malevolent motivator, contempt. Hate kindled by some unseen unforgiveness. Fear that is blind to reason, hard-hearted and graceless. And pride. Pride, of course, is the root of it all. Foolish, judging, selfish, arrogant pride. I see a heart problem.

And, I wish I could fix it. Get folks to sit down together, share a meal, tell stories, and get to know one another. Get folks to set aside their prejudice and fear to give grace and hope a chance. Get folks to truly live the noblest values of the religion they subscribe to. Get folks to love one another. 

Life is better when you love one another. No matter the other. 

I struggle with what to say. 

But I’ll keep loving. I’ll keep serving. I’ll keep praying. I’ll keep preaching. I’ll keep kindly asking others to do the same. And, maybe, just maybe we’ll see a genuine change in loving one another.

The Familiarity Trap

There’s something about the familiar. The routine. The expected. The way it’s always been.

From the feel of your favorite jeans to the singing along with your go-to jam. From the taste of the dish just the way Mom made it to the view of the place you grew up that brings back memories.

There is nothing wrong with the familiar.

Jesus goes back home in Mark 6. His ministry and acclaim have grown. He’s performed previously unimagined miracles. He’s taught with confounding authority all the while confronting the religious powers that be. He’s a spectacle unlike the Ancient Near East has ever known. And now he’s home to teach in his local synagogue.

The folks were amazed at his teaching (Mark 6:2). But then they begin to wonder. Where’d he get this stuff? And this power? He’s Mary’s son; the carpenter. We know his family. His sisters are right here. He can’t be all that! Their amazement turns to offense (Mark 6:3). The familiar. A trap.

There is nothing wrong with the familiar. Unless we allow it to confine us from the possible. Familiarity can become a trap.

“He could not do any miracles there, except lay his hands on a few sick people and heal them. He was amazed at their lack of faith.”

— Mark 6:5-6a

It is not that Jesus did not have the power to do any miracles. He did heal some. It is that he chose to limit his power because they could not imagine him as powerful. Jesus doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone. Jesus exercises his power in response to faith. This to grow greater faith in those who experience his power.

But here. In his hometown. Jesus is amazed. He wondered. He marveled. He was astounded. At. Their. Lack. Of. Faith. Why? Because they already knew him.

As we in the church world look forward to returning to in person worship since our isolation due to COVID-19, I wonder if we are longing so much for the familiar that we will miss Jesus. Will me miss the opportunity to try new things? Will we miss the chance for new experiences of worship? Will we miss the power of Jesus because we are so ready for normal?

But what if that normal we left is gone never to return the same way? What if God intends to use this experience to bring a new day for His church? What if He intends to deepen our relationships and strengthen our faith like never before? What if God is giving us this time in isolation to draw use closer to Him in our homes, on our own, even now? And we miss it. All because we’ve fallen into the familiarity trap.

Fifty

Yep. Fifty years old. That merits a few observations—fifty observations. 

1. God loves you. No matter what.

2. Humility is always welcome.

3. Ice cream = happiness. When happiness fades, buy more ice cream.

4. Eat your fruit and veggies too. We like you healthy. 

5. A good wife, who can find? I’m still amazed I did.

6. Tell people you love them. You never hear it enough.

7. Dogs are a gift to humans. Cats think they are.

8. Ride a bike. You feel like a kid again.

9. Read. Every day. Its food for your brain. And your soul.

10. Spend less time on screens. (Ope. You’re reading this on a screen.)

11. Get outdoors. “Blow the stink off,” as my Gran said.

12. Patience. It’s a virtue worth the wait.

13. Eat good food. Exercise your tastebuds as God intended.

14. Go places. Experiences shape you. You need shaping.

15. Hair really does relocate as you age. Weird.

16. Treasure family. God gifted you one to another. 

17. Friends are a gift. Treasure them too.

18. Pray for others. Pray with others. More.

19. Write. It helps you think. Especially if you think you aren’t a writer.

20. Have tea and talk, Grandma K said. At least talk. 

21. Be transparent. You need people to know the real you.

22. Disagree without being disagreeable. And drop the ostensible outrage. 

23. Why so serious? Get over yourself.

24. Sing. And dance. A lot. Make people wonder..

25. Mayonnaise is still better than ketchup on fries. Try it.

26. Honor others above yourself. Life is better that way.

27. Trust God. And others. Faith makes you stronger. 

28. Cry when you need to. It lubricates the soul.

29. Laugh more. Really. Why so serious?

30. Nap. You’re a better you if you do..

31. Empathy may be the greatest act of compassion you can exercise.

32. Forgiveness may be the greatest gift you can give. Even to yourself.

33. Fluffy slippers. Because comfort is a virtue.

34. Listen. You learn things.

35. Reflect. You learn more things.

36. God’s grace should amaze you. If not, ask Him.

37. Exercise faith. We need you beyond what you imagine.

38. Go to the edge. Scare yourself. A little.

39. Butter makes everything better. You know it’s true.

40. Belong to a church. Really belong. 

41. Give yourself to others. You receive more in return.

42. Spend yourself for others. Your reward will be greater. 

43. Chocolate. Have a stash. You never know when you need it.

44. Engage the Bible like your life depends on it. It does.

45. Pay attention. Don’t miss life.

46. Age is just a number. Says old people.

47. A day without peanut butter is not a day. Chester says so.

48. I have a lot to say about food. Don’t try to psychoanalyze why.

49. Be otherish. It’s God powered, self sacrificing, and other focused.

50. Follow Jesus.

If you want to go back and read my Forty post from 10 ten years ago just for fun, click here. Beyond that, if you made it this far, it may be because you love me—or that you’re just a curious type—either way, please know that my life is all the better for knowing you. I am blessed. By you. Thank you.

The Everlasting Light

It was Christmas Eve 1865 and the Reverend Phillips Brooks of Philadelphia was on a trip to Israel. The Civil War that had racked the United States for four years had ended months before. President Abraham Lincoln had been assassinated just days later. Our broken nation was still recovering. We needed peace. We needed light.

Where did Reverend Brooks find himself that Christmas Eve? In the countryside. In the dark. In the quiet. With the starlight. Just outside Bethlehem.

Two years later he drew on that experience to write our beloved Christmas carol, O Little Town of Bethlehem.

“O little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight”

— Phillips Brooks

Where other carols emphasize the glory of God with the grand chorus of angels, Brooks focuses on the quietness of Jesus’ birth. The everlasting light. Born into obscurity. In the night.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned,” wrote the Prophet Isaiah (9:2) 700 years before Jesus’ birth.

Jesus said of himself, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

And note how John foretells Jesus’ coming as he writes his Gospel (1:9-10), “The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him.”

He is The Light.

The Great Light.

Dawning on us in sin’s darkness.

To give light to every one of us.

That we would no longer walk in darkness.

And though eternal and our Creator, we did not recognize him.

May you recognize Jesus, the Everlasting Light, as your Savior.

Merry Christmas, friends.