Such Love

The reading from John's Gospel takes us to the shore of the Sea of Galilee. After the Crucifixion, the disciples had gone north to their old fishing grounds and to familiar territory. It is almost as though Peter's statement: ‘I am going fishing' is a declaration that the whole episode of his discipleship is over. He wanted to return to where he had been before Jesus turned his life inside out.

The misty morning on the Galilean shore reminds me of camping days of my youth. One would peel back the canvas and look out at a hazy morning where figures in the distance were indistinct, only shapes, only a hint of who or what was there. Surely this is how the seven disciples saw the figure at the water's edge that day.

It is the voice of Jesus, the instruction and the authority that resonate with them. They follow obediently, putting their nets out on the right side. The catch is manifold; too large to handle. Then the revelation is complete, the disciple whom Jesus loved recognised his Master. ‘It is the Lord.' However, Peter is the first to go to greet him, rushing to his Lord, lacking none of his earlier impetuosity. The patient, other disciple draws the boat to the land. Next follows a moment of truth: the followers are confirmed as co-workers with Jesus. The instruction had been given, they had obeyed and he told them to bring the fish, which they had caught, to be cooked for breakfast: a communal sharing of their joint activity.

Have you ever imagined what must have been going through the minds of the disciples as they ate the freshly cooked fish and listened to the lapping of the waves? Doubtless a host of memories came flooding back. Nathanael, we are reminded, came from Cana. Surely the generosity of a catch of 153 fish must have helped recall the first public miracle, when the huge jars of water were turned into sumptuous wine? James and John could well have been dwelling on a similar occasion when again they had failed to catch fish but Jesus' command to change their strategy, yielded a catch which caused their nets to break. Perhaps too, for Peter, the warmth of the fire recalled the denial of his Lord in the High Priest's courtyard before the crucifixion.

The Psalm for today gives us a deeper understanding of that love. The power and strength of the Father's love is seen as it soars to the sky. But it is also a love with the hallmark of humility. It stoops to mankind and creates a refuge under his wings. This love commands us to feast at his table, just as the disciples did on the shore of Galilee. It is an overflowing, generous, giving love that continues to be outpoured. It is this love that Jesus gave to his disciples on that misty morning: full, free, stooping to meet their needs, understanding their heartache, questions and loss.

Max Lucado describes the Father's love like this:

God's love never ceases. Never. Though we spurn him. Ignore him. Reject him. Despise him. Disobey him. He will not change. Our evil cannot diminish his love. Our goodness cannot increase it. Our faith does not earn it anymore than our stupidity jeopardises it. God doesn't love us less if we fail or more if we succeed. God's love never ceases.

What then has this story to say to us, here in Sherborne on the evening when we reflect on the past year of our Church's activity and find the pattern for the future? Could God want us to listen more attentively to his voice? Does he have a new direction, new strategies, for us, so we can fulfil our desire to be ‘fishers of men and women'?

Whatever the future holds, it is good to be reminded of the wonder, the acceptance, the freedom of being immersed in the love of Christ. It is only in that humbling acceptance of all that God wants us to receive that we can truly be his people, his heart, pulsating for a hurting world.

Amen.