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3 Easter - John 21:1-19

There were people who didn't see last week's episode of Game of Thrones, even though

they were watching it.

The battle scenes were exceptionally dark, so viewers had trouble making out characters

and action, which is exactly what cinematographer Fabian Wagner intended.

This makes him the perfect choice to film this morning's gospel.

Peter and friends go fishing on the dark sea before dawn.

A tiny flicker of light on the distant beach dances with clouds of charcoal smoke, just

enough to hint at the presence of a shadowy figure.

Memory is foggy too; who remembers the very last words Jesus said to them at the end of

John's gospel?

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.

Now, after ending at chapter 20, the gospel continues, because at least with John's

gospel, Marshall McLuhan was right: the medium is the message.

The end is not the end, because Easter.

The story that is finished continues, because Jesus, but now Jesus is nowhere to be

seen and Peter doesn't know what to do with himself.

In the midst of grief and confusion, who does?

In the murky darkness between yesterday's certainty and tomorrow's unknowns,

when everything is impossible to understand and completely out of our control,

who does?

Just like I would, Peter turns to what is familiar.

He goes where his expertise is at home.

He goes where he first met Jesus.

He goes fishing.

Like so many of us who go fishing in the dark, Peter catches no answers, no salmon, no

satisfaction, nothing.

Finally something comes up out of the water, but Peter had nothing to do with it.

God successfully fished out the sun and lifted it slowly toward the sky.

And just as it was coming to the surface, it gave light enough to confirm the suspicions:

there is a fire and a figure on the shoreline.

A voice bounces across the water: Children, you have no fish for your taco, have you?

Funny, he didn't use the usual word for fish—he used the word for the fish relish

that goes with bread, sounding more like a chef than a fisherman.

When they get to shore, he uses a different trade word—cooked fish—like a pickled

herring, that would not show up in the sea but would in a little boy's lunch.

Does cooked fish with bread begin to clear the morning fog of memory?

Add the sudden, wild abundance in the net that somehow was not torn...the light

is slowly dawning in the disciples' hearts.

This is the one who took five loaves and two cooked fish and fed thousands until they

were all hauling in leftovers.

These are just some of the echoes in this epilogue that convince the disciples not to ask

who this stranger is, because they knew it was the Lord.

If and when we ever recognize Jesus, it is long after he has already recognized and

provided for us.

We do not know the story nearly as well as the story knows us.

We do not know where it is taking us, but we have a voice in the darkness to