This sermon was preached for a Liturgical Leadership class on Wednesday, February 27 in All Saints' Chapel, Church Divinity School of the Pacific. The readings for the sermon are: Acts 9:1-6, (7-20), Revelation 5:11-14, John 21:1-19, and Psalm 30.
There's a whole bunch of miracles packed into this Gospel scene. There's Jesus appearing after his death, that's a big one. Then there's the miraculous catch of fish after a night of empty nets -- one-hundred and fifty-three of them, which commentaries say represent all of the 153 different species of fish you can possibly find in the Sea of Galilee. There's Jesus' voice traveling hundreds of yards over wind and waves to reach the disciples.
But there's another miracle tucked in here, so tiny, so inconsequential, that it's easy to miss.
“And though there were so many, the net was not torn.”
Throughout the Gospel of John, we can trace this theme of unity:
Jesus’ high priestly prayer that the church may be one.
Jesus’ seamless tunic that remains untorn.
This unbroken net.
There are moments in our church life when that unity can seem like an impossible dream, or maybe even a harmful one. There are times when we cannot for the life of us imagine how it could be possible to hold all of God’s abundance and diversity together and not split apart at the seams. There are times when holding together feels like we are flailing fish crashing against each other violently, inflicting desperate wounds with our fins and tails and scales.
In our struggling, in our conflicts, it can be easy to forget that the unity of the church is not unity for unity’s sake. We have been caught up together by Jesus, plucked out of our lives and bound up together for a purpose. Even as we discern what that larger mission and purpose is together, we remember, too, that following Jesus looks and sounds different in each of our lives. We need look no further than the diversity of reactions to Jesus we’ve seen in the post-Easter narratives we’ve encountered so far:
There’s Mary startled in her weeping, who clings to Jesus in the garden.
The disciples, huddled in fear, who rejoice at his appearance in the locked room.
Thomas, reaching out his hands, yearning to believe.
And Peter, enthusiastic, reckless, who throws on his clothes and dives into the sea.
Today, we even met Saul on the road to Damascus, who is so overwhelmed by Jesus, he is struck blind for days and completely reverses his life’s trajectory.
Jesus comes to the disciples in their grief, in their fear, he comes to them at their everyday labors and in their travels to undo his work. He comes as a gardener, breakfast chef, and a flash of light. And he has a message for each of them. Go spread the news, he says to Mary. Do not doubt but believe, he says to Thomas. “Feed my sheep,” to Peter. “Get up,” to Saul.
What would we have lost if we had just one story of the post-resurrection Jesus? Or just one message of who to be in reaction to Jesus’ sudden appearance? What do we lose when we say to each other: there is only one proper way of living out this life in Christ. Or, there is only one mode of reacting to Jesus arriving in your life that’s compatible with Christian teaching.
The story of the Church would be incomplete without each of these Easter moments, just as the net would be not be full without that one-hundred-and-fifty-third fish. This Church, this Body of Christ, needs each of our stories, as different as they are. When we piece the stories of our encounters together, that’s when we can discover a fuller, richer image of Jesus. When every voice is honored in the whole, that’s when we can be guided by our true unity of purpose.
There's a whole bunch of miracles packed into this Gospel scene. There's Jesus appearing after his death, that's a big one. Then there's the miraculous catch of fish after a night of empty nets -- one-hundred and fifty-three of them, which commentaries say represent all of the 153 different species of fish you can possibly find in the Sea of Galilee. There's Jesus' voice traveling hundreds of yards over wind and waves to reach the disciples.
But there's another miracle tucked in here, so tiny, so inconsequential, that it's easy to miss.
“And though there were so many, the net was not torn.”
Throughout the Gospel of John, we can trace this theme of unity:
Jesus’ high priestly prayer that the church may be one.
Jesus’ seamless tunic that remains untorn.
This unbroken net.
There are moments in our church life when that unity can seem like an impossible dream, or maybe even a harmful one. There are times when we cannot for the life of us imagine how it could be possible to hold all of God’s abundance and diversity together and not split apart at the seams. There are times when holding together feels like we are flailing fish crashing against each other violently, inflicting desperate wounds with our fins and tails and scales.
In our struggling, in our conflicts, it can be easy to forget that the unity of the church is not unity for unity’s sake. We have been caught up together by Jesus, plucked out of our lives and bound up together for a purpose. Even as we discern what that larger mission and purpose is together, we remember, too, that following Jesus looks and sounds different in each of our lives. We need look no further than the diversity of reactions to Jesus we’ve seen in the post-Easter narratives we’ve encountered so far:
There’s Mary startled in her weeping, who clings to Jesus in the garden.
The disciples, huddled in fear, who rejoice at his appearance in the locked room.
Thomas, reaching out his hands, yearning to believe.
And Peter, enthusiastic, reckless, who throws on his clothes and dives into the sea.
Today, we even met Saul on the road to Damascus, who is so overwhelmed by Jesus, he is struck blind for days and completely reverses his life’s trajectory.
Jesus comes to the disciples in their grief, in their fear, he comes to them at their everyday labors and in their travels to undo his work. He comes as a gardener, breakfast chef, and a flash of light. And he has a message for each of them. Go spread the news, he says to Mary. Do not doubt but believe, he says to Thomas. “Feed my sheep,” to Peter. “Get up,” to Saul.
What would we have lost if we had just one story of the post-resurrection Jesus? Or just one message of who to be in reaction to Jesus’ sudden appearance? What do we lose when we say to each other: there is only one proper way of living out this life in Christ. Or, there is only one mode of reacting to Jesus arriving in your life that’s compatible with Christian teaching.
The story of the Church would be incomplete without each of these Easter moments, just as the net would be not be full without that one-hundred-and-fifty-third fish. This Church, this Body of Christ, needs each of our stories, as different as they are. When we piece the stories of our encounters together, that’s when we can discover a fuller, richer image of Jesus. When every voice is honored in the whole, that’s when we can be guided by our true unity of purpose.
Comments
Post a Comment