"Gone Fishin'"

John 21:1-19

Thinking of a million things he'd rather be doing, the dutiful son picks up the suitcases and heads toward the car. The bags aren't nearly as heavy as his schedule, and he hopes he won't get too far behind in his work. Catch-up was never his favorite sport. For the life of him, he can't quite understand how he let himself get talked into making the trip, nor does he fully understand his mother's motivations. But a promise is a promise, and unexpectedly the doctors cleared her for the journey.

She is rather quiet during the drive. She leans her head against the passenger window, watching for signs of something familiar, some field that hasn't sprouted a shopping mall or housing development. She reaches over and pats her son's hand and smiles in a way that somehow shows both calm and fear at the same time, not unlike her expression when she buried her husband fifteen years ago.

She is going home.

It's something her son won't understand for another twenty years, but he will, given time - when it is his time. She is going back, perhaps for the last time, to where she was born and raised. A place and time he hardly remembers, existing more in the deep recesses of memory than in fact. She is going back to be rocked to sleep in the cradle of her memories, and in so doing, complete the circle of her life. She began here and, in a way, will end here. She just wants to see the old house once again.

They sit in the car in front of the old homestead, watching and quietly talking, noting similarities as well as changes in its aging structure, until finally someone comes out. It is a young woman. She kneels in the garden, and begins pulling a few weeds. The old woman watches her intently for a little while, thinking of how many times she had done the same thing; and suddenly she herself is thirty-something again, kneeling in the garden, and the kids are laughing and playing in the back yard. Somewhere from deep within her she hears a voice: "Follow me." And the door of the car swings open and she is out, walking up to this young woman whom she does not know, and she is talking to her about her house and her life.

The young woman, at first apprehensive, invites mother and son in for some iced tea and, sitting at the table, the three complete the circle. "Over there," the older woman says, pointing to the kitchen door, "I used to mark off the boys height on the back of that door." The younger woman sheepishly gets up, goes over, and shows her the back of the door. There are marks on it - not the tall marks of the older woman's sons, climbing rampantly toward the top of the door. But two smaller columns, with the names, "John," and "Samantha" printed carefully above them, in pencil. They all laugh. Then it is time to go. For a moment the older and younger generations hug and exchange an embrace, and soon the older woman and her son are sitting in the car again. Without taking her eyes off the house, she finally speaks, "Okay." It is only one word, but with it she musters the courage to let go and face the next step in her journey. He starts the car and pulls away. She closes her eyes and smiles.

After the resurrection, Peter and the other disciples go back home - back to where it all began, to the place Jesus had commanded them to go - home, to the comfort of Galilee. They have come full circle and, just like the first time when Jesus called them, they are fishing. They have been out all night. But certainly not just fishing. While their hands are at work, engaged in the familiar, they are concentrating on greater issues - what happened to them this past week - the death and resurrection of their friend, their teacher, their Lord.

But they come up empty - in every respect. It is too much for them. They aren't great theologians - those who are given to making rational sense of such things. They are laymen – simple fishermen. That's all. How can they talk about what had happened to them? Who will listen to them? How can they even tell a story whose meaning they themselves barely know?

Then a stranger, but not a stranger, engages them from the shore: "Had any luck, boys?" "No - no luck at all. We've been fishing all night, and came up empty." "Try it once again," comes the reply. And, just like the first time, three years ago, the net is full! Peter, and then the rest, suddenly recognizes the voice of grace - the voice of second chances. Peter flings himself over the side of the boat toward the figure waiting for him on the shoreline, ready to feed them with both nourishment for the body and for the soul. "Now, go feed my sheep," Jesus instructs them. He offers them a familiar invitation - an invitation to once more share in his life, to share in discipleship and friendship, to once again, one last time - leave the nets: "Follow me." They take one last look around, pick up their things, and make their way toward their new home.

The stories are the same. They are our story. We have been to Easter and back. We have been in familiar territory, heard the same sweet story repeated as it has been told us from our childhood. There is a wonderful familiarity about it all that comforts us and gives meaning to our life. Yet we cannot simply remain in this familiar place. If we do, our nets will finally come up empty as well. Our God is not a God of the past, but of the future. Our home is no longer in the familiar stories and ways of our past. Like the disciples, God calls us toward a new land - like Moses and the children of Israel, he calls us to experience the resurrection in a land of promise - in a place of His making. It is Easter - a time to experience His resurrected presence among us - and the promise of His continued presence enables us to continue on, to take roads that seem risky to us, knowing that He is there with us, wherever those roads may lead us.

We don't know where the future will lead us - either as individuals or as a congregation. But we do know that God has wonderful plans for us; as the bumper sticker says, "He isn't through with us yet." The way on which He leads us is both a way of death and a way of life, a way of endings and of new beginnings - that was true of Peter and the other apostles, and it is also true of us. Some of you have had to take difficult roads - roads you would rather not have traveled. Others have been surprised by detours, sudden dead ends, which lead to new beginnings. If we are willing to follow the path of faith, what we all will find is new life - a life different than what we had before, full of new possibilities for expressing our ministry, new ways of being faithful to our calling. Some may be getting ready to leave us - I think especially about our high school and college graduates. For you, too, this is an ending but also a beginning. God is faithful, and he will fill your life also with new opportunities, new possibilities for ministry. They are there, if we have eyes to see and hearts to believe.

The road before us is filled with promise, because it leads us toward the kingdom God is establishing among us - a kingdom built on faith. In this Easter season, Jesus calls us to follow Him, down a new road - together. If we stick together, and hold Jesus' hand, we will be o.k. And God will lead us home.