We’re in the season of Easter now, a time when the story doesn’t end, but keeps unfolding in unexpected ways and new life keeps finding us, even in the most ordinary places. So, as I’ve been reflecting on our upcoming sermon series, exploring the stories and what it means to live into the flow of God’s grace, I’ve found myself returning to this story by the water…
You see, I’ve heard it said before that when the disciples went fishing after the resurrection, it meant they were giving up. That they were simply tossing in the towel and returning to their old lives, leaving everything behind. Maybe that’s true. But I’m not so sure.
Because I know that when life feels overwhelming or uncertain or even just exhausting, I don’t usually make big, dramatic decisions. I reach for something familiar and comforting.
I take a walk.
I curl up with my favorite book, a cup of coffee or tea, and get cozy under my favorite blanket. I seek to do something — anything — ordinary that helps me feel a little more like myself again.
So, when Peter says, “I’m going fishing,” and the others say, “We’ll go with you,” I wonder if it wasn’t about giving up at all, maybe they just needed something steady and familiar. Something they knew how to do. Something that made sense in a moment that they just couldn’t make sense of. And it’s there, in that ordinary, familiar place, that Jesus meets them. On the shore, at daybreak, with breakfast already cooking.
There’s something about that image that is so tangible and comforting…the smell of the fish cooking…the sounds of the water, the fire, the early morning birds…you can almost feel the breeze tousling your hair as the sun peeks over the horizon. And Jesus… preparing breakfast. Not lecturing or correcting or saying, “I told you so,” just a simple invitation to come and eat and be together.
Maybe that’s part of why this scene feels so real to me. Some of my own memories of being near the water go back to pond fishing with my Papa. It was nothing fancy, just early mornings, quiet presence, and the steady rhythm of casting and waiting while munching on packets of Nabs. There was something about those moments that felt grounding, like the world slowed down enough to breathe well……and for a moment, everything seemed a little more possible than it did the night before.
I imagine the disciples felt something like that, too.
In fact, that sense of a new beginning isn’t just something we feel in the crisp air of early morning, it’s something Scripture names as part of who God is. The prophet in Lamentations 3: 22-23 declares: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” In other words, each new day isn’t just a reset of our surroundings, it’s a reminder of the steady, renewing love of God already at work.
And Jesus is right there in that kind of moment for the disciples. Not waiting for them to figure everything out. Not standing at a distance. But already present.
Of course, Peter can’t stay in the boat…he throws himself into the water to get to the shore faster. And even then, he’s carrying everything with him: grief, regret, the fear of not quite knowing what comes next. Jesus meets him in that overwhelm. Three times, he asks, “Do you love me?” And three times, Peter answers, “Yes.”
Jesus is not shaming Peter for any of it: not for the denial…not for the doubt…not for returning to what was familiar…he is seeking to restore him by reminding him of what is still true.
And maybe that matters more than we realize because I think sometimes, we imagine that if we’ve gotten something wrong, or wandered a bit off course, then we must figure out how to get ourselves back on track. Like we should skip past the uncertainty, move on quickly, or push ourselves into whatever comes next. But this story suggests something else…
That returning to the familiar isn’t failure, it might be the place where grace meets us. That maybe Jesus is already there, waiting for us in the ordinary places. Meeting us not at our best, but at our most honest…with an invitation…a meal…and a chance to begin again.
That’s part of what the church has always been, at its best…a place where people can come as they are, be met with grace, and discover that beginning again (and again and again…) is possible.
A Small Practice for the Week
Sometime this week, return to something familiar on purpose.
Take a walk you’ve taken before or sit in your favorite chair. Go somewhere that feels steady or known. If you’re able, consider doing this outdoors.
And as you do, take time to pause, breathe, and wonder:
What might I be receiving today that is new, even in something familiar?
Be open to the grace that often meets us in the most ordinary moments. Because “his mercies never come to an end… they are new every morning.” And we are invited to begin again more often than we think.
