TIBERIAS

The sails are slack against the morning sun,

Whispering wavelets part to let us through.

The night was long and hard, the dawn shines blue

And gold, the nets are full, the work is done.

We yawn and stretch, and cap each brimming tun

For transport to the town, nailing it true;

Set tillers for the beach. The day is new

But we are old and tired and sere and dun.

Then on the air a smell of charcoal fire

And frying fish caresses us from land:

Who is that waving in the curls of smoke?

The bow grounds on the sand; we pull it higher,

And recognize, and run, as the raised hand

Becomes the Risen, calling laden folk.

SOMETHING FISHY

Extraordinary. In the three readings of the last few days, the three first occasions where Jesus appears outside the burial garden, the common denominator is food. Fish, to be precise. Grilled fish. OK, most of the inner circle seem to have been fishermen, and it’s all happening in Galilee, that Israeli Lake District where unsophisticated people talk funny and go night-fishing on the Sea of Galilee, alias Lake Tiberias, alias Lake Kinneret. But it still strikes me as unexpected in the story of a resurrected Man-God, mysteriously risen from the tomb during the night. Almost bathos, really. Look at the stories:

     1. The two blokes walking to Warm Springs. We don’t know what they were served at the inn when they got there with their new friend, but fish is not out of the question. In any case, it’s a meal, and it’s at the (very workaday) blessing over the bread that they recognize Him.

   2.Then, when they tell all that to the gang in Jerusalem, suddenly there He is again, among them in an ordinary way. Stupefaction all round. “Oh, come on,” He says, “It’s just me – not a ghost, the real me. Look at my hands and feet: touch them!” The hands and feet are both thoroughly solid and not a pretty sight, after those nails. And then, when they go on havering, he says, “Got anything to eat?” And guess what? Yup, grilled fish again. Oh, and honeycomb. An interesting combination, but it seems that that was what they were having for lunch. (Luke 24:33-47).

  3. Next appearance, up North. (Remember, he told the women that he would meet everyone up in Galilee?)  Simon and the boys have been night fishing and have had a rotten night. Zip. They weren’t biting. At dawn they get to the shore, tired and irritable, and there’s someone standing there who says “Hey! Try one more time, over to starboard, I bet they’ll bite there.” So, with a sigh, they chuck the net over one more time, and bingo! There’s a whole school in there, they can hardly land it. John, always quick on the uptake, says to Peter, “It’s Him!” And Peter, never one to dawdle, jumps overboard and swims to shore with a mighty splashing. And what does he find, and the others when they get there? A little fire of thornbushes and branches, and Jesus, peacefully grilling fish and saying “Come and have some breakfast!”

That image of the little beach-fire at dawn and the smell of grilling fish has stayed in my mind since the first time I heard it. So this is the Mighty Resurrection! Ayup. It could be a story from Vermont or Maine. It’s not grand, it’s not “divine”, it’s not especially moralizing, it’s not Spiritual. It’s food. It’s real.

Nothing is realer than grilled fish and bread, with maybe a bit of honeycomb for dessert. And I think that is probably the point. (The Gospels are rarely pointless.) The Risen Meshiach, Who has just changed history forever, is not a ghost. He is not a pure spirit. There is something very, very slightly strange about Him, as Rembrandt sensed (see below); He is not totally the man He had been; but man He is, real He is, flesh and blood He is. And He eats fish. Bon appétit!

INCREDIBLE!

So what about the Resurrection? There can't be many people in our Western culture who haven't heard of it. Most, these days, don't think about it and would say, if pressed, they don't believe a word of it. Those of us who claim to be members of the Christian faith, however, can't get out of it. We have to face up it; and I sometimes wonder how many of us actually really and truly believe it happened -- not as a symbol, not as a myth, not as a legend, not as an archetype, but as a real happening in a world where two astonished, dumbfounded women get to touch, with their own hands, the hands and feet of the Risen One. A world where the fishermen, sad, defeated, but getting on with the job, come back from a night catch and see a little fire on the beach with fish grilling on it and a real, solid Person sitting next to it and saying "Come and have a bite of breakfast!"

How many of us, even as we say the words of the Creed, in our heart of hearts really believe that in that simple, vast, unimaginable way, it happened? And then, the corollary: how many of us, especially those not fundamentalist evangelicals, can genuinely get our minds around the idea that when we come to our last moment on this earth we will not just wink out? And that this is because of what happened during that one real and actual night in the year -- well, 33 or 29 or so?

I grew up in an atmosphere, a culture, where when religion was discussed this sort of question was avoided. Some people were ready to say that they thought there might be "something" after death, but most just didn't want to talk about it much. Later, in Canada, I belonged for a few years to an Anglican Church where the Rector, though a fine and buoyant man, I'm sure did not believe in the Resurrection.

And yet St Paul says, "If Christ did not rise [from the dead], what we preach is worthless and your faith is worthless."(1 Cor. 15:14) That is strong stuff. I'm not sure I know anyone who has no problem with this; if I did, that would be someone I'd worry about.

Today is the day we celebrate the Resurrection -- His, and ours. I think we ought to do it thoroughly. After all, one of the Inklings, C.S. Lewis or Tolkien, once wrote that if you act as if you believe long enough, you're likely to  end up believing. And if the little worm of doubt still raises its deformed snout in us, we can truly say -- as we go on celebrating -- "Lord, I believe: help thou mine unbelief."