We are coming into the season of fruit in the northern hemisphere – beautiful, juicy, luscious, abundant fruit of every shape, size, color and taste. Fruit is one of God's greatest gifts.
According to Jesus, the one criterion for success as a follower of Christ is fruitfulness.
“I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing... My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.”
And later in this long teaching, he says, “You did not choose me. I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” (John 15:16).
What does it mean to be fruitful? I think it goes deeper than simply being productive. Productivity involves generating outcomes and measurable results, things you can tick off a task list. Fruitfulness obviously includes a product – the fruit – but fruit develops in different ways on varying timetables. And we don’t “produce” fruit – we grow it. Or we allow it to grow; we can't make it grow. We can only create the right circumstances for it to grow. And we can't hurry it along. (Somebody tell tomato growers that...).
I love productivity – especially if I have produced things I can see: articles, songs, sermons, spreadsheets, newsletters. On a day with many pastoral appointments and meetings, I sometimes have trouble feeling I’ve “done” anything, because the outcomes aren’t visible and measurable. Jesus invites me to value fruitfulness even more than productivity.
How can we assess fruitfulness? I would love to hear your thoughts on that. The first thing I think of is changed lives. When we see people changing, healing, growing, turning God-ward, we are seeing good fruit. When we bring justice or peace or reconciliation to a community, we are seeing good fruit. When we experience greater joy and more love in our lives, we are seeing good fruit.
Where in your life do you feel the most fruitful? And what branches seem barren, producing little?
What fruit do you feel is still forming in your life? Does it have the water, sun and nutrients it needs? How can you foster greater growth?
What fruit do you see, and would like to see in your community of faith? How might you help cultivate greater fruitfulness, more changed lives?
Fruit forms well because it is attached to the plant that nourishes it. Our fruitfulness in life, and as followers of Christ, flourishes as we allow God’s Spirit to flow through us, to form and ripen us and our ideas, to bring us to the fullness of who we are intended to be. Then we bring delight to others, just like a beautiful peach or a perfect strawberry.
4-29-15 - Abiding
“Abiding” is not a word we use these days in the sense in which it is used in the Bible. I cannot think of a usage outside of church literature in which it appears. Which is a pity – it’s a good word! Much richer than its nearest contemporary equivalent, “hanging out with.”
I did no etymological research on it, but a quick Google search reminded me that we do use the word – in the sense of something we comply with, or can barely tolerate (“I can’t abide that color”; “I will abide by the ruling.”) But the meaning in this week’s gospel passage is nothing like that. It means to dwell with over time. There must be a connection between “abide” and “bide,” as in, to “bide ones time.” Abiding suggests resting with deeply, not rushing away. Oh! Maybe that’s why we don’t use it these days – we do so little “resting with deeply,” “ staying quietly with.”
Jesus used the term that our forebears translated as “abide” quite a bit, especially in these farewell remarks captured in John’s Gospel. He uses it as a verb and as an imperative:
“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches.”
This image conveys an even stronger notion of connectedness. To abide as a fruit abides in the vine suggests that it both comes from and is connected with the vine, so connected it would take some force to part one from the other. This is not to undermine distinction and independence. It is a connection intended for greater fruitfulness: “Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”
How do we abide with Jesus and let him abide in us? We hang out with him in prayer and conversation and praise and worship. We recover our awareness of how we are connected to him, despite the efforts of the world and its messages, and the pressures of our lives to shake us loose. It is easy to feel disconnected from God except in those times when we consciously return. How would it be to carry that felt connection around with us daily?
That, I think, happens when we live into the second part – letting Jesus abide in us. We are promised that Jesus lives in us through baptism, a connection that is renewed at eucharist, through the Word, through prayer and service. So one way we abide with him and he in us is to make more space for him. Don’t toss him in a back room, just stopping by to visit when you’re feeling sad or stressed. Give him a seat at the table, when you’re doing dishes, paying bills, going to sleep. Don’t relegate him to a few moments here and there; make some time to nurture your connection.
Some monastics have practiced a form of constant prayer called “hesychasm,” the prayer of the heart, which trains one to pray with each breath, in and out, so that practitioners pray without ceasing. Whether we adopt that practice, or set alerts on our phones, or set aside times and places to rest deeply with Jesus, he promises us a more fruitful life through that connection.
And we can be sure HE is abiding with us. Even when we’re not paying attention.
I did no etymological research on it, but a quick Google search reminded me that we do use the word – in the sense of something we comply with, or can barely tolerate (“I can’t abide that color”; “I will abide by the ruling.”) But the meaning in this week’s gospel passage is nothing like that. It means to dwell with over time. There must be a connection between “abide” and “bide,” as in, to “bide ones time.” Abiding suggests resting with deeply, not rushing away. Oh! Maybe that’s why we don’t use it these days – we do so little “resting with deeply,” “ staying quietly with.”
Jesus used the term that our forebears translated as “abide” quite a bit, especially in these farewell remarks captured in John’s Gospel. He uses it as a verb and as an imperative:
“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches.”
This image conveys an even stronger notion of connectedness. To abide as a fruit abides in the vine suggests that it both comes from and is connected with the vine, so connected it would take some force to part one from the other. This is not to undermine distinction and independence. It is a connection intended for greater fruitfulness: “Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”
How do we abide with Jesus and let him abide in us? We hang out with him in prayer and conversation and praise and worship. We recover our awareness of how we are connected to him, despite the efforts of the world and its messages, and the pressures of our lives to shake us loose. It is easy to feel disconnected from God except in those times when we consciously return. How would it be to carry that felt connection around with us daily?
That, I think, happens when we live into the second part – letting Jesus abide in us. We are promised that Jesus lives in us through baptism, a connection that is renewed at eucharist, through the Word, through prayer and service. So one way we abide with him and he in us is to make more space for him. Don’t toss him in a back room, just stopping by to visit when you’re feeling sad or stressed. Give him a seat at the table, when you’re doing dishes, paying bills, going to sleep. Don’t relegate him to a few moments here and there; make some time to nurture your connection.
Some monastics have practiced a form of constant prayer called “hesychasm,” the prayer of the heart, which trains one to pray with each breath, in and out, so that practitioners pray without ceasing. Whether we adopt that practice, or set alerts on our phones, or set aside times and places to rest deeply with Jesus, he promises us a more fruitful life through that connection.
And we can be sure HE is abiding with us. Even when we’re not paying attention.
4-28-15 - Pruning
There is a lovely lilac tree outside the rectory where I am privileged to live. But it never gets pruned. It’s not on anyone’s “to-do list,” and I don’t know anything about pruning lilacs, except that there are seasons when you’re not supposed to do it, so when I think of it, I'm afraid to try. It has grown tall and wide, but is not as healthy as some of the other trees in the yard.
Pruning is a painful process. No one wants to cut into living things, or beautiful ones, though a gardener or farmer - or surgeon - will do so in order to allow a plant to become as healthy and fruitful as possible. Jesus said that even God is in the pruning business: ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.
Jesus talks both about the cutting away of non-fruitful branches, and the cutting back of fruitful ones. Nothing seems to be exempt from the pruning shears.
We prune things to conserve resources so that the fruitful parts receive maximum nutrients. The same is true in our lives. Not every aspect of our lives bears good fruit, and when we have too many branches we dissipate the focus and energy available to each one. We must undertake pruning processes, or allow God to work them within us.
Are there aspects to your life or work or relationships that no longer feel fruitful? Patterns of thinking or behaving or relating that are not life-giving? Make a list today of “branches” you might be willing to cut away, leave behind entirely. As you read through that list, where do you feel the greatest sense of loss or failure? Where the most relief? Pray through it with Jesus and/or discuss it with a spiritual adviser or friend. Then act on what you've discerned.
What areas of your life, work or relationships feel fruitful? Are there ways you can prune or refine your involvement in them to allow for even more growth?
There’s an old adage that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” (To which one wag responded, “The examined life is no picnic either!”) I suggest the same is true of an “unpruned life.” It resembles an overgrown garden – hard to move around in, with a lack of differentiation and clarity, healthy growth often impeded by weeds and undergrowth. Undergrowth! There’s a great term. That which is overgrown becomes undergrowth.
If we want to see growth in our lives, not to mention our ministries, bring on the pruning.
Pruning is a painful process. No one wants to cut into living things, or beautiful ones, though a gardener or farmer - or surgeon - will do so in order to allow a plant to become as healthy and fruitful as possible. Jesus said that even God is in the pruning business: ‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.
Jesus talks both about the cutting away of non-fruitful branches, and the cutting back of fruitful ones. Nothing seems to be exempt from the pruning shears.
We prune things to conserve resources so that the fruitful parts receive maximum nutrients. The same is true in our lives. Not every aspect of our lives bears good fruit, and when we have too many branches we dissipate the focus and energy available to each one. We must undertake pruning processes, or allow God to work them within us.
Are there aspects to your life or work or relationships that no longer feel fruitful? Patterns of thinking or behaving or relating that are not life-giving? Make a list today of “branches” you might be willing to cut away, leave behind entirely. As you read through that list, where do you feel the greatest sense of loss or failure? Where the most relief? Pray through it with Jesus and/or discuss it with a spiritual adviser or friend. Then act on what you've discerned.
What areas of your life, work or relationships feel fruitful? Are there ways you can prune or refine your involvement in them to allow for even more growth?
There’s an old adage that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” (To which one wag responded, “The examined life is no picnic either!”) I suggest the same is true of an “unpruned life.” It resembles an overgrown garden – hard to move around in, with a lack of differentiation and clarity, healthy growth often impeded by weeds and undergrowth. Undergrowth! There’s a great term. That which is overgrown becomes undergrowth.
If we want to see growth in our lives, not to mention our ministries, bring on the pruning.
4-27-15 - The Long Goodbye
If John’s Gospel is a reliable historical record (a question over which scholars have spilled much ink through the centuries…), the Last Supper must have lasted a Long Time. As John tells it, after the drama and the rituals of washing feet, breaking bread and sharing wine, Jesus delivers himself of many Last Words. This discourse, which fills chapters 14-18 of the Fourth Gospel, is dense, elliptical, sometimes repetitive - and full of nuggets of teaching that theologians would later mine in developing core church doctrines like the Trinity, Incarnation, the Holy Spirit, Heaven.
These words are not as a transcript. At best, they are a compilation of memories and themes, filtered through several witnesses some 40-50 years after the events being described, and responding to movements and controversies in the early church. And yet I choose to believe Jesus said much of what is set down here, if not in these exact words, sequence, or necessarily on that occasion. I think at some point Jesus spoke to his followers about vines and branches and abiding in God. And these words still resonate for us:
‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.
Jesus is about to take his leave of these beloved and frustrating disciples. He has said he is going to a place they cannot follow, but know the way. It’s a good time to talk about pruning and fruitfulness, as he is about to become for us the branch cut away, despite the manifold fruit he had borne in just three years, reflected in thousands of lives renewed, loves restored, sins forgiven and infirmity healed.
But Jesus is not referring to himself in this moment. He is the true vine, he says, and God will remove every branch in him that bears no fruit. That means the branches to which Jesus has given life. That means his apostles. And that means us.
This week’s Gospel passage is not long, but it is full with metaphor and meaning. Using the image of a vine and its branches, Jesus talks about how we are honed, and nurtured, and how to stay fruitful as servants of God, friends of God. Exploring this passage is a good opportunity for some spiritual inventory. So today let’s start by thinking about ourselves as branches connected to that True Vine.
How connected do we feel?
How fruitful do we feel we are?
How much in the way of nutrients is making its way to us?
Jesus needed to be sure his closest followers understood some things before the harrowing ordeals ahead, while he was still with them in flesh. Hence the Long Goodbye.
But for us, these words are a Big Hello, for our fruitfulness is ever before us. Let's receive them as such and greet the exploration ahead.
These words are not as a transcript. At best, they are a compilation of memories and themes, filtered through several witnesses some 40-50 years after the events being described, and responding to movements and controversies in the early church. And yet I choose to believe Jesus said much of what is set down here, if not in these exact words, sequence, or necessarily on that occasion. I think at some point Jesus spoke to his followers about vines and branches and abiding in God. And these words still resonate for us:
‘I am the true vine, and my Father is the vine-grower. He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.
Jesus is about to take his leave of these beloved and frustrating disciples. He has said he is going to a place they cannot follow, but know the way. It’s a good time to talk about pruning and fruitfulness, as he is about to become for us the branch cut away, despite the manifold fruit he had borne in just three years, reflected in thousands of lives renewed, loves restored, sins forgiven and infirmity healed.
But Jesus is not referring to himself in this moment. He is the true vine, he says, and God will remove every branch in him that bears no fruit. That means the branches to which Jesus has given life. That means his apostles. And that means us.
This week’s Gospel passage is not long, but it is full with metaphor and meaning. Using the image of a vine and its branches, Jesus talks about how we are honed, and nurtured, and how to stay fruitful as servants of God, friends of God. Exploring this passage is a good opportunity for some spiritual inventory. So today let’s start by thinking about ourselves as branches connected to that True Vine.
How connected do we feel?
How fruitful do we feel we are?
How much in the way of nutrients is making its way to us?
Jesus needed to be sure his closest followers understood some things before the harrowing ordeals ahead, while he was still with them in flesh. Hence the Long Goodbye.
But for us, these words are a Big Hello, for our fruitfulness is ever before us. Let's receive them as such and greet the exploration ahead.
4-24-15 - Surf and Turf
I made a mistake in yesterday’s Water Daily. I said Jesus had the fire going and the bread, and all he needed was the fish his disciples had caught with his help. But the text says he already had fish on the fire. He just needed some more. Where Jesus got the fish he already had, I don’t know; I doubt it was a problem for someone who could command storms and materialize at will. What matters, I think, is that he wanted his friends to contribute to the feast, not just provide it all for them.
Their work as “fishers of men” was not finished; in some ways it was just beginning. Soon Jesus would be leaving the planet permanently (in bodily form, that is), and these men, now so at a loss, would be gifted and empowered for transformational ministries. But first, Jesus had a little business to do with Peter, a leader in the community of Christ-followers. And so we switch metaphors from fish to sheep, from fishing to shepherding:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”
Biblical scholars call this the “restoration” of Peter. After his three-fold betrayal of Jesus, he is invited thrice to reaffirm his love and commitment. And three times he is commanded: “Feed my lambs, “Tend my sheep,” “Feed my sheep.” I don’t know why the transition from lambs to sheep, and “feed” to “tend” and back. What I take away from this exchange is that Jesus is making a connection between loving him and shepherding those whom he regards as his “lambs” (perhaps those young in faith?) and his “sheep” (believing members of the household of God?).
It’s easy to say, “I love Jesus,” but I find it can be an awfully abstract feeling, since our experience of Jesus is often so remote. We can love him in theory, or by faith. But when we fully love someone, we want to spend time with them, we want to give to them, and we want to value what they value. Jesus made it clear that he valued the work of God’s hands, the children, women and men made in God’s image. And so, if we truly want to be known as people who love Jesus, we will take care to feed and tend the people around us. All the people around us – not just the ones we know and like, but also the ones we don’t know and find it challenging to like.
This story of the catch of fish and the picnic on the beach is full of metaphors, yes. But let's not only treat it symbolically. What if Jesus is inviting us to be makers of feasts, feeders of his sheep, in all kinds of places, all the time?
I am captivated by the notion that the followers of Christ can be like bands of guerrilla feast-makers, constantly pulling off surprising events of feeding and tending. What if each congregation covenanted to make one feast in an unexpected place each month? What an explosion of love that would put into the world. What a rush of Holy Spirit energy would fill us.
“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”
You in?
Their work as “fishers of men” was not finished; in some ways it was just beginning. Soon Jesus would be leaving the planet permanently (in bodily form, that is), and these men, now so at a loss, would be gifted and empowered for transformational ministries. But first, Jesus had a little business to do with Peter, a leader in the community of Christ-followers. And so we switch metaphors from fish to sheep, from fishing to shepherding:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”
Biblical scholars call this the “restoration” of Peter. After his three-fold betrayal of Jesus, he is invited thrice to reaffirm his love and commitment. And three times he is commanded: “Feed my lambs, “Tend my sheep,” “Feed my sheep.” I don’t know why the transition from lambs to sheep, and “feed” to “tend” and back. What I take away from this exchange is that Jesus is making a connection between loving him and shepherding those whom he regards as his “lambs” (perhaps those young in faith?) and his “sheep” (believing members of the household of God?).
It’s easy to say, “I love Jesus,” but I find it can be an awfully abstract feeling, since our experience of Jesus is often so remote. We can love him in theory, or by faith. But when we fully love someone, we want to spend time with them, we want to give to them, and we want to value what they value. Jesus made it clear that he valued the work of God’s hands, the children, women and men made in God’s image. And so, if we truly want to be known as people who love Jesus, we will take care to feed and tend the people around us. All the people around us – not just the ones we know and like, but also the ones we don’t know and find it challenging to like.
This story of the catch of fish and the picnic on the beach is full of metaphors, yes. But let's not only treat it symbolically. What if Jesus is inviting us to be makers of feasts, feeders of his sheep, in all kinds of places, all the time?
I am captivated by the notion that the followers of Christ can be like bands of guerrilla feast-makers, constantly pulling off surprising events of feeding and tending. What if each congregation covenanted to make one feast in an unexpected place each month? What an explosion of love that would put into the world. What a rush of Holy Spirit energy would fill us.
“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”
You in?
4-23-15 - Breakfast with Jesus
Were sweeter words ever uttered? “Come and have breakfast.” When we consider that these words were offered by a revered and beloved spiritual master who’d risen from the dead, they are all the more extraordinary.
In the gospel story we are exploring this week, Jesus’ disciples leave Jerusalem after his resurrection and go back to what they used to do: fishing. But they’re not catching anything – until someone on the shore calls out to them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat. When they do, suddenly the nets are so full of fish they can hardly haul them. Pretty good story, right? But it’s not over! They realize that guy on the shore is Jesus and head in, pulling the nets behind them. And yet another gift awaits them:
When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish.
What is more amazing – that someone risen from the dead was inviting them to breakfast on a beach, or that someone else ignored all this to count the fish! (The writer David James Duncan paints a funny picture of this scene in his novel The River Why, pointing out that one of those disciples sat there counting the fish while Jesus, the resurrected Lord of heaven and earth stood patiently by… but fishermen do like stats, and so does the writer of John’s Gospel.)
It is a beautiful thing to be offered breakfast after a hard night’s work, or anytime, really. Jesus already has the fire going and some bread. All he needs is some fish to cook – and he invites his friends to bring some of the bounty they have just caught.
That’s how God works with us as well. God provides all kinds of blessings in our days, from actual feasts, to times when the right song comes on the radio to cheer us up, to encounters that expand our spirits. And most often some of the material for those blessings comes from us, as we offer back a share of what God has given us in the first place. We don't have to be on the lookout for these blessings – they seem always to be unexpected, as this one was for Jesus’ friends. But it does help to keep our spirits open to them.
When were you last surprised by blessing? What were the circumstances? Have you shared that story?
What do you have an abundance of in your life? Is Jesus inviting you to bring some of that to him to be blessed and broken and shared?
This post-resurrection fish fry is yet another reminder that God desires to set feasts before us, and to collaborate with us in the making of them. The more we recognize that what we have "caught" is itself what God has blessed us with, the more generously we will want to share it, to create feasts in unexpected places for unexpected people. What an Easter initiative that would be!
In the gospel story we are exploring this week, Jesus’ disciples leave Jerusalem after his resurrection and go back to what they used to do: fishing. But they’re not catching anything – until someone on the shore calls out to them to cast their nets on the right side of the boat. When they do, suddenly the nets are so full of fish they can hardly haul them. Pretty good story, right? But it’s not over! They realize that guy on the shore is Jesus and head in, pulling the nets behind them. And yet another gift awaits them:
When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish.
What is more amazing – that someone risen from the dead was inviting them to breakfast on a beach, or that someone else ignored all this to count the fish! (The writer David James Duncan paints a funny picture of this scene in his novel The River Why, pointing out that one of those disciples sat there counting the fish while Jesus, the resurrected Lord of heaven and earth stood patiently by… but fishermen do like stats, and so does the writer of John’s Gospel.)
It is a beautiful thing to be offered breakfast after a hard night’s work, or anytime, really. Jesus already has the fire going and some bread. All he needs is some fish to cook – and he invites his friends to bring some of the bounty they have just caught.
That’s how God works with us as well. God provides all kinds of blessings in our days, from actual feasts, to times when the right song comes on the radio to cheer us up, to encounters that expand our spirits. And most often some of the material for those blessings comes from us, as we offer back a share of what God has given us in the first place. We don't have to be on the lookout for these blessings – they seem always to be unexpected, as this one was for Jesus’ friends. But it does help to keep our spirits open to them.
When were you last surprised by blessing? What were the circumstances? Have you shared that story?
What do you have an abundance of in your life? Is Jesus inviting you to bring some of that to him to be blessed and broken and shared?
This post-resurrection fish fry is yet another reminder that God desires to set feasts before us, and to collaborate with us in the making of them. The more we recognize that what we have "caught" is itself what God has blessed us with, the more generously we will want to share it, to create feasts in unexpected places for unexpected people. What an Easter initiative that would be!
4-22-15 - Out of the Boat
Naked fishing? Sounds like the next big thing in adult vacation excursions. Who knew such things went on the Bible? Yet there it is, in print and everything. When the nets suddenly filled with an abundance of fish too great to haul, the disciples realized who that guy calling from the shore must be: the Lord! Here he is again! And Peter, we’re told, is so excited he puts his clothes on and jumps into the water:
That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.
I can understand why he was naked – probably a hot night on the Sea of Galilee, and maybe the boat was messy. Though it must also have entailed some risks; hmmm… let’s not go there. What is surprising is the idea of someone putting on their clothes to jump into the water. But that’s what Peter does. Maybe he doesn’t want to greet his Lord in his birthday suit. Maybe he just can’t wait until they’ve pulled the boat to shore.
This is the second time in the gospels that we hear of Peter jumping out of a boat into the sea. The first time was when Jesus came toward the disciples’ boat walking on the water, and invited Peter to join him. Peter, with characteristic impulsivity, did so, and managed to take some steps before he realized that what he was doing was impossible, at which point he began to sink. And here he is again, quick to get out of the boat and into the water to get close to Jesus.
Maybe Peter had another reason for his hurry. Was he still haunted by the ease with which he had denied knowing Jesus after his arrest? Did he play and replay that conversation by the fire in the courtyard of the High Priest’s house, daring himself to answer differently, to risk arrest and execution himself? Any chance to get near Jesus again, to renew that intimacy, must have been precious indeed. He couldn't wait; he was out of the boat and into the water.
What a wonderful metaphor for us as Christ-followers! Faith invites us to get out of our boats, our holding containers and comfort zones, and plunge into the Living Water of God-Life, trying to get close to Jesus. Whether it's for love or a desire for reconcliation or meaning or purpose, we can dive right in.
What “boats” are you currently hanging out in – boats of usefulness, perhaps, but also places that shield you from full-body contact with the Life of God? Do you jump out regularly? What would impel you to jump out of that boat to immerse yourself in the Living Water flowing from God’s throne – which is another way to say the Life of God at work in the world around you?
I’d like to think that if I saw Jesus 100 yards away, I’d jump out of the boat and swim to him too. What keeps me in the boat is not seeing Jesus so close by. And yet he promised that he is. So my prayer is, “Let me see you, Lord; let me hear you calling, telling me where to cast my nets. Let me see your miracles around me, and let my heart sing with joy.”
That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.
I can understand why he was naked – probably a hot night on the Sea of Galilee, and maybe the boat was messy. Though it must also have entailed some risks; hmmm… let’s not go there. What is surprising is the idea of someone putting on their clothes to jump into the water. But that’s what Peter does. Maybe he doesn’t want to greet his Lord in his birthday suit. Maybe he just can’t wait until they’ve pulled the boat to shore.
This is the second time in the gospels that we hear of Peter jumping out of a boat into the sea. The first time was when Jesus came toward the disciples’ boat walking on the water, and invited Peter to join him. Peter, with characteristic impulsivity, did so, and managed to take some steps before he realized that what he was doing was impossible, at which point he began to sink. And here he is again, quick to get out of the boat and into the water to get close to Jesus.
Maybe Peter had another reason for his hurry. Was he still haunted by the ease with which he had denied knowing Jesus after his arrest? Did he play and replay that conversation by the fire in the courtyard of the High Priest’s house, daring himself to answer differently, to risk arrest and execution himself? Any chance to get near Jesus again, to renew that intimacy, must have been precious indeed. He couldn't wait; he was out of the boat and into the water.
What a wonderful metaphor for us as Christ-followers! Faith invites us to get out of our boats, our holding containers and comfort zones, and plunge into the Living Water of God-Life, trying to get close to Jesus. Whether it's for love or a desire for reconcliation or meaning or purpose, we can dive right in.
What “boats” are you currently hanging out in – boats of usefulness, perhaps, but also places that shield you from full-body contact with the Life of God? Do you jump out regularly? What would impel you to jump out of that boat to immerse yourself in the Living Water flowing from God’s throne – which is another way to say the Life of God at work in the world around you?
I’d like to think that if I saw Jesus 100 yards away, I’d jump out of the boat and swim to him too. What keeps me in the boat is not seeing Jesus so close by. And yet he promised that he is. So my prayer is, “Let me see you, Lord; let me hear you calling, telling me where to cast my nets. Let me see your miracles around me, and let my heart sing with joy.”
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