When the road
behind us feels like a long silence, when everything falls apart, we often slip
back to what is familiar, the boats, the nets, the night that promises. That’s
what the disciples did. They returned to fishing because that is something they
could still understand. But even there, even in the heart of what once gave
them purpose, they found nothing. That silence of the sea was not just around
them, maybe it echoed inside them too. They were tired, disappointed, wondering
where to go next. Because once you’ve walked with Jesus, old ways no longer
satisfy.
As the sky
turned to gold and the darkness lifted, Jesus stood at the shore, calling out
with tenderness: "Children, have you caught anything?" as if to say:
You are still mine. You are still loved. Something in that word loosens their
fear. When he tells them to cast the net on the right side, they don’t argue.
No "Why?" No "Who are you to say? “Just a silent, trusting
obedience, the kind that rises when hope is too fragile to speak. And suddenly,
abundance fills the emptiness they carried all night.
It is John, the
beloved, who first whispers the recognition: “It is the Lord." Peter
doesn’t wait for the boat or the others or even his doubts. He puts on his
outer garment hurls himself into the sea. And what did he find? A fire. Warm
bread. Fish already cooking. Jesus had prepared breakfast. To remind them: “I
still need you. I still delight in you.”
Sometimes, when
we feel most lost, love is already waiting at the shore, with breakfast, with a
quiet call: “Come, there is still love for you. There is still purpose.” where
failures are fed, fears are clothed in tenderness, and the only qualifications for
mission are love and longing. In our lives too we all go back to fishing
sometimes. But love never leaves us there. Love stands on the shore at every
grey dawn, ready to call us children again, ready to begin everything anew.
Lilly Pushpam PBVM
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