Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

John 21: 1-19

I’m not sure if you have ever utter the words, “I’m not really a breakfast person,” but I never quite know what to do with that view. I don’t mean to shame you but I will pray for you.

Because wow, do I love breakfast. Any time of day. All of my great grandparents emigrated here from Norway. Imagine my delight in visiting family in Norway and being served waffles and jam at 3PM coffee. They have figured out another time slot to fit in breakfast food. Genius.

Here we are in the Easter Season, and the resurrected Jesus just keeps showing up. It should be noted that Jesus doesn’t mess around being smug. He told everyone what was going to happen—he would suffer, die and on the third day rise again. And no one really listened or could take it in. So, you know, if it were me I’d be super tempted to begin with, I told you guys. Many times.

But he doesn’t do that. He just keeps arriving where people are.

First to Mary, who knew Jesus when he called her by name. Then to the disciples, who were both literally and metaphorically locked away in fear. All huddled up together in a room, wringing their hands for all they had seen and been apart of that led to Jesus’ death. Jesus breezes in and breathes peace all over them. Then Jesus came to Thomas, the story we heard last week. Not doubting Thomas, highly tactile Thomas, who needed to actually touch Jesus.

And finally, today. The fourth appearance of the resurrected Christ. In the aftermath of the death and resurrection of Jesus, the disciples take comfort in familiar patterns and territory and spend the night fishing. They know the fishing world-the physical labor of throwing and hauling and mending nets. These guys are just moments into this new world of resurrection and new life, a strange new territory where the dead do not stay dead. Like anyone doing a new thing, it makes sense that they want to get back to the muscle memory of their known world, fishing.

They fish all night and catch nothing. That is also familiar to them. But then Jesus appears on the shore-right there on that lonely beach along the Sea of Tiberius and invites them to try again and they are swamped by their catch. Jesus arrives and it is all abundance, church.

They aren’t very far off shore, but when Peter sees Jesus on the beach, he’s so excited that he turns into slapstick humor. He had been fishing naked—I don’t understand the fishing world in 2025 much less 2000 years ago in an entirely different culture but apparently sometimes you fish naked. But when Peter sees Jesus, he puts on his clothes and then jumps overboard and swims to shore. He couldn’t wait. This is golden retriever puppy energy. Anyway, Jesus greets them with an invitation to come and have breakfast. Some of the most beautiful words in scripture. Isn’t that so lovely? Jesus says, “Come and have breakfast. Grab a few of those fish you just caught and add it to the fire.”

It feels so tender of Jesus, to arrive on that beach before dawn and begin building a fire, keep it going until it’s ready to cook over. And then to put on the bread and some fish.

It’s a charcoal fire. There are two places in the New Testament where charcoal fires appear. This one today and then the one that Peter stood beside when he denied Jesus. He denied knowing Jesus, denied being involved with Jesus denied being a friend of Jesus. Now just a few days later, here is at another fire. Can you imagine what’s happening within Peter? That denying and the shame surrounding it would be the sort of painful memory would be acute. It’s the sort of thing that we would revisit throughout our lives. Probably at 3AM. Not to mention those disciples had to bear witness to the violence and trauma of a state sanctioned killing.

These are real humans, experiencing this in real time. We have had 2000 years to process, to analyze it, to make movies and hit tv series, to study and preach about it, to dedicate Phd work to every word of this. But Peter is living it.

Jesus goes right toward all of it. It’s no coincidence that Jesus built a charcoal fire. It’s not by chance that Jesus asks Peter three times, do you love me, do you love me, do you love me.  It’s not just poetic—or for the sake of a good story and call back. This is the work of Jesus the healer, who goes right to the source of Peter’s pain and brings it to the light.

We have had two weeks in a row of confirming tenth graders. The most moving part of the prayer we pray over them is that they might have patience in suffering. I sort of wonder if Jesus put his hands on Peter’s head at the end of the campfire and prayed the same thing for Peter.

Peter’s life would go on from here and he would experience miracles and healings and the coming of the Holy Spirit. Peter will see the church explode in numbers and breadth. And Peter will experience more hard moments. He’s be imprisoned and persecuted and eventually die a violent death.

In the hard moments, we do hope for patience. When we find ourselves throwing our clothes on and jumping into the sea, thrashing about trying to get to Jesus, we hope for a whole framework of trust, we pray that all these practices will be like scaffolding that can bear the weight of whatever it is we are holding and experiencing.

We are holding so much. Even though it’s a perfect, green budding day in May, a blizzard swirls around us. A months long blizzard of headlines of deceit, greed, abuse of power all while the earth groans in pain. And it’s not just headlines because we know each power grab move by leaders in positions of power has devastating consequences for the most vulnerable. And on everyone’s spirit and well being.

Here is what is also true. My parents each grew up on remote farms on the prairie. And blizzards were a fact of life. It was common to tie a rope from the house across the yard to the barn to that during blizzards, you could hang onto it and not get lost in the white out.

The blizzard is real but so is the rope. Church is a rope. And here we all are, hanging onto it together. We can’t really see what’s ahead of us. But we are okay, together, hanging on.

And hanging on together also means there are consequences. Because we are here together, homes will be built through Beacon housing. Spirits are tended through the choirs and bell choirs and singing together. Teens who find themselves without a place to stay find housing and support through LSS. A whole community comes around 10th grade confirmands and babies being baptized and prays for them.

Maybe you don’t need to worry if you have enough faith or if the practices you do will hold when things are rough. Because Jesus keeps arriving, coming toward you, saying your name, breathing peace, offering to let you touch him and saying, “Come and have breakfast.

Breakfast means you have made it through the night. Through the darkness. Through the small hours of worrying and the 3AM list of woes. It means the day is fresh and new and we begin again. And sometimes there are waffles.

So, come and have breakfast.