John 21: 1-19
Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." They said to him, "We will go with you." They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.
Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. 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.
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. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.
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. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, "Follow me."
-----------
This charcoaled fish dinner that the risen Christ shared with his disciples reminds me of a time when I was young, just out of college, without a care in the world. Paul McCartney could have been thinking of me when he penned the lyrics a few years before, "Out of college, money spent. See no future, pay no rent. All the money's gone, nowhere to go." In fact, most of my worldly burden, would fit neatly into the backpack I slung over my shoulder. My wanderlust had carried me to small fishing village overlooking the Gulf of California on the west coast of Mexico - a place called Topolobampo. The beaches were beautiful, largely undiscovered by Americans and still unspoiled. The fishing was good. Good enough to provide a livelihood to a substantial number of the residents of Topolobampo.
Early one afternoon, I was sitting on a rock beside the tidewater channel that carries the fishing boats into and out of the broad bay that spills into the vastness of the Pacific Ocean. An ancient wooden fishing vessel, equipped with oars in case the equally ancient motor failed, sputtered into my vista. The captain killed the engine, tilted the outboard motor, exposing the propeller to the air and the boat gently glided from the water onto the sand.
Seven or eight fisherman disembarked - the youngest perhaps 18, the oldest had skin so lined and weathered by the ravages of salt and sun, that he could have been a hundred. They acknowledged my presence with a nod and then, as if the event were choreographed, each of the fishermen moved through his paces. One stowed away the nets and gear, another pulled onions and peppers and limes from a bag. Another slid a large knife from its scabbard, and with the midday sun reflecting from the blade, began to slice the fruit and vegetables. Without direction, the youngest crew member took a burlap bag from the boat and carried it to the waters' edge, where he rinsed the sand away from dozens of salt water clams.
The captain took his knife and adroitly opened each clam shell, spilling the shimmering contents into a large stainless steel bucket, newly rinsed with saltwater from the bay. Noticing my interest, he called to me, "Tiene hambre?" "Are you hungry?" With only a moment's hesitation, I answered, "Si".
I wandered down to the center of their bustling kitchen on the sand, and we began to talk - about fishing mostly and that day's catch. They agreed that it had been good, but like fisherman everywhere, they could remember days when the fishing had been better and told tales of the ones that got away.
And as we talked, the raw clams marinated in the mingling of onions, peppers, lime and cilantro and the flavors of food and new friendship fused together. When we could wait no longer, we gathered in a circle, and sat on the ground. Tortillas warmed by the sun, were passed about, followed by the bucket of clams and each of us filled our expectant tortillas with the gifts of the sea. A more succulent meal I can't recall. I've eaten ceviche at least a hundred times since, and I can't replicate the experience of that circling bucket of clams, the communion we shared.
When the shellfish were all eaten and ours stories exhausted, the near empty bucket was passed around to me. The captain looked in my direction and said, "Rogelio, bebelo". I understood what he said the first time, but as I peered at the bottom of the bucket and saw the liquid remains of clam juices and lime - the fragments of broken tortillas and particles of sand, I hesitated and asked politely, "Mande?" "Pardon?"
"Bebelo" he answered, "Drink it". I knew had no choice. The offer to drink the juices that remained from our meal was an honor. I could not refuse. I raised the bucket to my lips and, I assure you, a more perfect beverage I have never tasted. I passed round this outsized common cup to the grinning fishermen, and our bond was complete.
Fast forward with me 30 years to a short street in East LA, in a barrio, a neighborhood, called Boyle Heights. Fifty years ago this was a Jewish neighborhood, an immigrant population with Jewish shops and an active synagogue. Brooklyn Avenue is now Cesar Chavez and Spanish is the language spoken. Street signs are now in Spanish and everyone shops at the mercado. It is more Mexican than much of Mexico.
A series of circumstances led me, a little over two years, to make my home on New Jersey Street, on an island of land in the middle of a confluence of LA freeways. When friends asked how I could stand the noise living so near the Hollywood Freeway, I assured them that it wasn't really a problem, the roar of Interstate 10 drowned it out.
Questions of who was legal and who wasn't weren't talked about. It was clear that within families, some had papers, some didn't. A husband might and a wife not. Children, born in the U.S. might be citizens, and their parents might have a green card. One thing was clear, however, I was the real immigrant. East LA was their country, papers or no papers. Despite that reality, I was welcomed, not simply tolerated, but welcomed.
The welcome I received often took the form of gifts of food. In fact, I noticed that a competition developed between the neighbors on either side of me to serve me the most delicious dinner. Tacos, arroz con pollo, carne guisada, homemade tamales - savory and sweet, menudo - the tripe soup that I never developed a taste for, fruit from their gardens, all made their way to my doorstep. Never have I been so welcomed.
Two weeks ago a study was released that showed that Arkansas has the fastest growing Latino population in the country. And that Benton County has the fastest growing Latino population in the state. I am embarrassed that the Christian community has done so little to welcome our new neighbors. I am especially embarrassed that there is not a single worship service in Spanish in the Episcopal Diocese of Arkansas. I want us to do something about that.
I envision a day, in the near future, when our coffee hour tables, are filled not just with the beautiful fruits and cheeses and pastries we have today, but also with tacos, y frijoles, y pan dulce. I imagine us sharing the abundance that we enjoy with our Latino neighbors and I see them sharing their gifts of the spirit with us.
Jesus asks Peter, three times, "Do you love me?" Peter answers three times, "Yes, Lord, I love you, you know that I love you." And Jesus answers, then..."feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep."
It is harder to imagine a clearer call to action, to mission, than is found in today's gospel. The risen Christ appears to his disciples and issues instructions to them on how to fish. We are the fisherman and the opportunity to have our nets filled to overflowing is right in front of our eyes. This welcoming of our Latino neighbors into our community can't be conceived as a mere act of charity, but an action that opens the way for Jesus to show himself again to his disciples.
The placement of this fishing story at the end of the Gospel of John is a way of completing the circle of Jesus' three year journey with his disciples. You will remember in Mark how Jesus, at the beginning of his ministry, first called Simon and his brother Andrew. He discovered them fishing in the Sea of Galilee and said to them, "Follow me and I will make you fish for people."
Fishing and tending sheep. Images that bring to mind the twin responsibilities we have as a Christian community - pastoral care and mission. Caring for those within our community and reaching out to others are mutually supporting endeavors. We can't really have one without the other.
We worship a risen Christ, a Christ revealed to his disciples, a Christ revealed to us. Living into Christ's commission to love one another and to show Christ's love to the larger community is our assignment, the glorious task, we at All Saints' are undertaking. How that will play out, we have no way of knowing. I am certain, however, that for us to live fully into that mission requires that we, above all else, pay heed to Jesus' last words to Peter, "After this he said to him, "Follow me."