Sermon at The Church of the Holy Apostles, New York City,
April 25, 2004, The Third Sunday of Easter, Year C
by The Reverend Barry M. Signorelli

Acts 9:1-19a
Psalm 33
Revelation 5:6-14
John 21:1-14

             Be present, be present, O Jesus, our great high Priest, as you were present with your disciples; and be known to us in the breaking of the bread…Amen.

 “Breakfast on the beach” — that’s what Mother Liz called it.  It was ten years ago, and we were discussing the Rededication Service, when we would return to this sacred space after rebuilding from the fire.  That service, by the way, took place on the Saturday after Easter III, so next weekend is the tenth “liturgical” anniversary, if not the exact calendar date.  At any rate, we were debating which gospel would be most appropriate for this special occasion, and I remember Mother Liz urging us to use the Gospel reading we’ve just heard: “Breakfast on the beach.”   

I’d never heard it referred to that way, and it somehow struck a pleasant chord.  It is, after all, a very pleasant scene: a sunrise meal by a campfire on the shore of the Galillean Lake.  It evokes a feeling of warmth, comfort, security.  The guys had been out all night, trying to catch some fish – and with little success, we hear – when a figure on the beach gives them luck on their final cast and then greets them with a roaring fire and an offer to cook them food after a long night of hard labor. 

It made sense as the Gospel for our return home: our return to the place from which we had fed so many, the place in which our understanding of hospitality had taken root and grown.  It makes even more sense to me today, after a decade of seeing how really simple it is to arrange a meal with Jesus. 

But you know, there is something that troubles me about this story.  The writer tells us that when Jesus shouted to them from the shore, they didn’t know it was him; fair enough.  And after the “remarkable” suggestion about where to cast the net, it was still a guess (perhaps divinely-inspired, but still a guess) that the figure on the shore was Jesus.  But even when they get there, and they see the fire, and food already prepared, and have obviously had a chance to get a good look – they kind of still don’t know if it’s Jesus!  Remember, it said: “Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ because they knew it was the Lord.”  Well, if they knew it, why would they need to ask him?  That’s really weird…. 

Of course, there were a lot of times when the disciples didn’t recognize the Risen Lord.  Mary Magdalene in the Garden on Easter morning, for example, or the two disciples on the road to Emmaus.  At other times, this Risen Jesus can walk through walls, appear and disappear at will, yet others can touch him, and he can eat fish!  He’s neither spirit nor flesh, at least not in any sense that we could make of it, and yet he’s real and continues to change lives.  This is not Jesus who was crucified, simply plucked out of the grave; this is Jesus who has returned from beyond death, showing the fullness of Creation that is possible in God’s love. 

I grow tomatoes on my deck every year, and last year I was so proud, because for the first time, I grew my plants from seed started in the middle of winter.  (I planted them in the middle of a snowstorm, actually!)  The plants did beautifully; all season as I picked tomatoes, I would think, “I remember when that big old plant only had three tiny leaves on it….”  Just the other day I was looking at the huge mass of dead vines left over from last fall, and I marveled that all of it had grown from those tiny little seeds I’d started in the middle of a snowstorm.   

What rises is different from what was buried.

So how can we recognize the Risen Jesus?  How did they know it was Him?

Mary Magdelene knew it after her grief overcame her upon finding her rabbi’s body gone; the one she supposed was the gardener heard her anguish and said her name – and the compassion in that voice opened her eyes.  The disciples were huddled in fear, but they knew who it was when he appeared and gave them the shalom, the Peace.  Two disciples debated with him all day on the road, but when he broke bread with them, then they finally knew him.  And in the loving offer of a meal prepared after their long night of hard and fruitless work, the fishermen did not have to ask who it was, because they already knew.

Jesus is known when hospitality is shown. 

Hospitality is at the very core of Creation; we describe how life can only occur in an “hospitable” environment.  Well, God created such an environment of hospitality just so that the world, including you and me, could come into being.  God extends the divine hospitality even to those who refuse to acknowledge or believe in a deity; God’s hospitality is unconditional, like God’s love.  It has to be that way, in order for life to be and to grow.  Hospitality can’t be selective, but rather must be offered without qualification, or it is meaningless.  In the desert societies of antiquity, hospitality from others could mean the difference between life and death; mutual self-interest demanded that hospitality be a universal practice. 

In our divided society, there are so many different battle lines drawn, over issues of war, politics, economics, sexuality, class, and on and on....And in many Christian circles, the debate is colored by all-too-often accusatory challenges of “what would Jesus do?”  The arguments, on both sides, can often be grounded in rigidity and exclusiveness, framed by a seemingly black-and-white perspective.  In the most radical manifestation of such an environment, nothing much can change, ever.  The parties are locked into solid, static positions that at best end in stalemate, at worst, in war.  Very little, if any, ground is yielded on either side.  Order and orthodoxy, the radicalism of the right or the left, become the only choices.  You pick which side God is on, and you join it.  End of story. 

But what if we really did follow Jesus’ example of hospitality, and applied it to the people we love to hate (and would hate to love)?  What if we ignored the expectations of our self-absorbed society and extended our hospitality to everyone, as if their survival – and ours – depended upon it?  What would it mean if Jesus wanted me to help ensure the survival and comfort of those who despised me?  What would happen if I offered to cook my enemy breakfast on the beach? 

I don’t, after all, have to love my enemy to do that.  I don’t even have to trust him; and I might very well be afraid of him.  But all of what Jesus was and did tells me that it is meet and right to show my enemy the dignity and care that is due a sister or a brother, for we are both children of God.  If I continue in my fear and loathing, then nothing will change; if we can find common ground in mutual hospitality, then anything is possible.

As Ananias found out.  He had every reason to want to avoid Saul – just suppose the conversion didn’t take, when the scales fell from Saul’s eyes, who’s the first criminal he’s going to see?  But Ananias overcame his fear, stilled his doubts, and trusted that by offering hospitality he was making space for God for work in.  In the matrix of hospitality, love can grow because it is the natural result of God’s will; and living in that love helps us see farther and deeper, as if scales were falling from our eyes.  We get changed by that; and in the process, the ever-present Christ is made known more and more.

Usually it’s not that easy, of course; there’s always the danger that a proffered welcome may be rejected, or that an invitation may be ignored.  But then, sometimes seeds fail to sprout, too, but we don’t stop planting them.  Hospitality is the basic fabric of God’s Kingdom; whenever we welcome another we open the door to grace.  Try it: it needn’t take much – we’re not in the desert, and you don’t need to offer your last drop of water – but even a smile or a kind word could be as good as an oasis with date trees to someone parched for comfort.  Keep the fire burning on the beach so that you’ll be ready to feed whoever comes to you in need; as you do, you may become aware that someone else is with you.  You won’t have to ask who it is.

For He is risen indeed.  Alleluia.

Amen.

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