‘Come and have breakfast.’ Jesus’ words to the tired disciples have to be some of the most tender words in the gospels. How paradoxical that the risen Jesus comes across as most human in one of his post-resurrection appearances that come at the end of the gospel according to John. How paradoxical that the Jesus of this gospel, who seems to have known everything that was happening to him, also has this capacity to be intimate with his disciples whom he has called friends prior to his death.
Anyone who has been the recipient of someone bringing them even a cup of coffee first thing in the morning knows how gentle a gesture this can be. Breaking one’s fast with food brought by someone else can be a powerful moment. Just think of the children who, with help, bring their parents breakfast in bed. It is a sweet gesture.
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The circumstances surrounding Jesus’ invitation to come eat are vastly different than a simple domestic scene. He and the disciples no longer are in Jerusalem, the site of such violence, but are once again back at Galilee with all the calm the lake has to offer.
The narrative revolves around the act of fishing. Later on in Christianity, the image of the fish became one of the symbols of Jesus — the capitals of the Greek words, ‘Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour,’ spell out the word ‘fish’ (ichthys). Post-resurrection events, it would make sense for the disciples to be out fishing, though they have returned to their former and familiar lives along the sea of Tiberius, rather than go out and find more disciples.
So out they go in the night, raising our suspicions because in this gospel, weird conversations, such as that with Nicodemus, take place at night. This night trip yields nothing and in the morning, that time of rebirth and resurrection, the discouraged disciples return to shore. There they meet Jesus whom they do not recognise.
This still-unknown figure addresses them tenderly by calling them little children, using a term that conveys that they are those who do not yet understand; they are not mature in their faith. He tells them where to go fish so they do. Through that action, the disciple who loved Jesus tells Peter, ‘It is the Lord!’ This recognition scene parallels that of Luke’s narrative of the road to Emaus, which we also hear during Easter-tide. Impetuous Peter leaps overboard, as though he is leaping into the waters of baptism. The others, needless to say, do not follow suit.
And then this unknown figure meets them with cooking fish and gently asks them to have breakfast. Again, in the breaking of bread, preceded by the sharing of fish, they finally begin to fathom that this person is their risen saviour, appearing to them now for the third time.
The narrative could easily end at this point. We would think about how we don’t recognise Jesus in our midst and how sometimes we have to be hit on the head to realise he is there right in front of us. But there is a reason why this story continues on.
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Our English translation renders the dialogue between Jesus and Peter meaningless because it uses the word, ‘love,’ to convey two Greek words. Jesus asks Peter if he loves him more than the others in the sense of sacrificial love. Peter answers with the more common understanding of friendship, saying, yes, of course, I am friendly with you. Peter misses the point in his conversation with Jesus. Jesus is using the language of agape, self-giving love, whereas Peter is using the word, philios, signifying friendship which is more inwardly directed. Despite Peter’s failure to grasp just what Jesus is asking, Jesus nonetheless asks him to feed his sheep, to accept this leadership that Jesus had excercised during his ministry.
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These threads come together for us as we consider how we live out Jesus’ self-giving love in the context of our friendly love. Likewise, the scene, that of sharing food and eating, provides a framework to think about what these types of love mean for us.
Sara Miles whose book Take This Bread we read during Lent speaks about the connection between Jesus and food. She first had communion, agape, at the age of 46. Having tasted that bread, the bread of life, her world opened up and she started to feed others, first communion and then in a serious of food pantries, the first of which began around the altar in her church. As the pantry grew larger and larger, drawing in more people than all the Sunday services combined, the rector instructed her to enter the number of people attending the pantry into the service register because it was communion of a different kind. What united what happened on Sunday and Friday was the self-giving love of Christ. This type love does not necessarily mean that we like one another — that is of philios. Agape love means we seek and serve Christ, loving our neighbour as ourself. Living agape love invites, demands us to feed God’s people, regardless their station in life.
For three months now, Trinity has offered a lunch to the community. This is not your typical soup kitchen — this is a feast, a real meal! Consider coming for ham and scalloped potatoes, glazed carrots and cake. That was two weeks ago. Or comforting macaroni and cheese. That was last month. The goals of these meals are several: yes, they target a segment of the community who may not have enough to eat during the weekend and for whom this meal can provide a welcome tide-over. They also meet the needs of those who live in places without a proper kitchen. Finally, and this may surprise you, they are meant for us to gather together as companions on the journey. Our lives are united around food, healthy and not healthy, secular and holy. But we eat together and eating is one of the most basic acts that unites us.
We may fear engaging with people who may be different from us (or so we think). They are still God’s beloved children. Christ dwells in them as Christ dwells in us. And breaking bread together whether in here or in Nourse Hall is an action that transcends our wanting to stay on a philios level instead of engaging on the agape level.
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Yesterday at the consecration of Ian Douglas, the 15th bishop diocesan of the Diocese of Connecticut, the preacher, Archbishop Desmond Tutu in his sermon said, ‘In God there is a unity of all people. God said, “I will draw ALL people to be held in this unbreakable embrace that won’t let us go.”’ He held himself in an embrace. Repeating the word, ‘all,’ over and over again, Tutu described all the different groups of people there are, the opposites, emphasising that God loves ALL. Finally, speaking to the bishop-elect, he said, ‘… [P]lease tell the children of God that each one of them is precious. Each one of them is held in this public embrace, each one of them is a member of God’s family. Tell them that, tell them that. Tell them.’ He ended his sermon this way.
Spreading that news of God’s love to all belongs to you and me, too, not just to a bishop. We all are charged to tell others about God’s unbreakable embrace, that agape Love that died and rose for us so that we might have eternal life. We may do so through lunches, we may through our worship, but please make sure this message goes beyond these walls to a community that so desperately needs to hear it... to a community that is starving.
END NOTES
Exegetical portion from Wes Howard-Brook, Becoming Children of God (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1994), 464-78.
Sara Miles, Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion (NY, NY: Ballentine Books, 2007).
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