When Your Nets Are At Their Emptiest

Once, I met up with a friend after a very long time apart. Years had passed since the last time we had seen each other in person, and though we had maintained contact, this was before social media where I could also keep up with her appearance.

When I first saw my friend, I nearly missed her. I let my gaze slide right by her and kept looking, because I didn't recognize her. She approached me and caught my attention again. "Tamara?" 

And then it was all squeals and giggles and hugs and "How are you doing?" and joy. She looked different from what I remembered, certainly. Time and years have their effects, but at the center, at the core of who she was, she was still my good friend. 

Like one of those Popples from the '80's (come on, y'all, don't tell me I'm the only one who loved those things), the inside became the outside once we looked past the outward appearances.

John 21:1-14 gives us another joy-filled friend reunion. Peter's going fishing again. This time, he's accompanied by his buddies, Thomas, Nathaniel, James, John, and two other unnamed disciples.

Like a bookend to a story, at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, Peter fishes all night and catches no fish, so Jesus tells him to toss his nets on the other side. So many fish swim into his nets that his boat begins to sink. Now, at the end of Jesus' earthly ministry, once again, those nets stay empty all. night. long.

When morning comes, the disciples have got to be exhausted. They've been awake for hours and hours, dragging nets through empty waters, catching nothing but floaties. As the sky lightens and the sun peers over the horizon's edge, they eye the shoreline as they sail toward it. 

There's a Man standing there watching them. Peter glances at James, his eyebrows raised in question. James shrugs. No clue. 

The Man yells across the water, "Friends, don't you have any fish?"

"Nope," they yell back. Their empty nets lie deflated on the boat's deck, the evidence of business gone sour, the promise of an empty purse to take home to family.

"Well, then," is His predictable (to us) response, "throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some." I can almost picture a twinkle in His eye, a half smile, like He's issuing an inside joke. We've done this before, guys. This is fun. I'm glad we have the chance to do this one more time before I go.

The disciples obey. The passage doesn't elaborate, but I've got to wonder what they're thinking. It's only after the fish swim into the nets that John recognizes the Lord. But surely, they've got to realize how similar this situation is to the first time they'd met Jesus. What's running through their minds?

Sure enough, so many fish swim into the nets that the men can't lift them into the boat. John gives us a precise number: 153 fish. 153 large fish. A great day's wages for these fishermen.

John yells, "It is the Lord!" 

I love Peter. Y'all know it. I've said it so many times, but I have to say it again. Peter is me in so many situations. Here, he stands up, too impatient to wait until the boat can actually make it to shore, wraps his outer garment around him (Jews regarded greetings as religious customs, and so, if he had not been wearing all his clothes, he could not have greeted Jesus. He was, as my grandma used to say, in 'a hip and a hurry' to meet his Lord). He jumps out of the boat into the lake.

Peter has jumped out of a boat before on this same stretch of water. Before, when he'd hit the water, he'd had a solid landing. His feet had hit the roiling surface, and the water tension held him stable as he walked across the water to meet Jesus. Then... he'd taken his attention off his Lord, looked around at the maelstrom, and sunk (Matthew 14:22-33).

Now, on this morning, there's no doubt in Peter's mind, not even a shadow. Enthusiasm is written all over his actions. On this day, however, Peter jumps into the water. There's no surface-walking here. I don't know if the Lord intended a spiritual lesson in this action or not, but to me, this is such a great example of Peter's all-out, no-holds-barred fervor for the Lord. "Not just my feet, but my hands and my head as well!" 

"Not just my feet on the water, Lord, let me roll in it! Let me submerge myself! Let me take all my garments into it!" Every last part of Peter hastened toward the Lord. I'm not discounting the other disciples' fervor, but Peter's was something special.  

The disciples have breakfast together. They bring the fish they've caught, fry up some of them, and have a wonderful time of fellowship and talking and eating.  

Here's something I found intensely interesting. John 21:12 says: "None of the disciples dared ask Him, 'Who are you?' They knew it was the Lord."

Jesus must have looked very different from how these men had known Him. They were Jesus' best friends, guys who had stuck with Him through thick and thin for three years. They knew Him. 

And so... when He ate breakfast with them, they still knew Him... but apparently, they did not know his outward appearance.

The other day on Facebook, I posted the words of a young boy, the son of a good friend. He had been reading, and he glanced up and said to his sister: "Do you know that the moon doesn't have any light of its own, but it reflects the sun? Just like we are supposed to reflect Jesus' light! We don't make any on our own."  

I sat there for a full minute in awe at the truth of the statement. And then I thought: This is all about our heart's condition. We are known for the light we reflect, that is, we are known for reflecting the light of Jesus. It doesn't matter in the least what we look like on the outside. It's Jesus inside us, His Holy Spirit, that people recognize. He turns us inside-out. "The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7).

Jesus sees Peter racing toward him, floundering exuberantly through the water with his sodden garment streaming behind him, and Jesus loves the heart that drives Peter there. Jesus looks at John and hears the joy in John's voice when he cries out: "It is the Lord!" and Jesus loves the heart that cries out the words.

Listen, y'all, here's the thing. I've felt unseen. Have you? I've felt completely unrecognizable to my Lord. Maybe you have, too. Sometimes, I've wondered if anyone understands the work I've done, the effort I've expended through the long night as it seems I've fished and fished, and nothing happens. Have you felt that, too? 

It's super easy to throw a pity party. I have. My pity parties aren't fun; there's no pizza, games, or laughter. There's moping and bitterness and lots and lots and lots of Why-Me's.

But Jesus recognizes my heart, even in the middle of the night when my nets are the emptiest. And when morning comes, He stands on the shore and calls me in for breakfast with Him. When I open my eyes, I recognize Him, too, the inside of Him, His heart.

And -- I've gotta say -- that leap from the boat is the most fun thing ever. "Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning" (Psalm 30:5).