At dawn the disciples saw Jesus standing on the beach, but
they couldn't see who he was. “I’m tired of hearing it,” Peter yells, “I’m tired of defending what I saw, what we all saw. He is alive, and he is the Messiah. He will tell us what to do when the time is right. All this doubting, all this confusion, I don’t want any part of it anymore. Keep on talking. I’m going fishing!”
He storms out of the house, mumbling angry words as he leaves, “Don’t understand. Not worth the time. Blind. Deaf…”
Those who were debating the meaning of the most recent appearance are rather shocked.
“I was just asking questions,” Philip says. “We see him, and still don’t know what to do. Is this the time for the kingdom? Is this something else?”
“Maybe the time for questions is finished for now,” 
Thomas says, standing up. “I think we are being given the answers, only we’re not patient enough to wait, nor wise enough to listen. We want to know more. Know more than we need to know. I’m going fishing with Peter.”
You have questions too, only it seemed debating them today had gotten you nowhere. At this point either you accept and wait, or…
There is no other choice. The confusion of ignoring what you know to be true is crippling. You want to believe, and the choice to believe is before you. This will leave a lot of unanswered questions, to be sure, but you were never told you would have all the answers, only that you were being led towards the answers.
Jesus has not let you down before this, even if he hasn’t exactly acted according to your time or your way of doing things. He has a plan, a purpose, which he knows, and which he wants you to know. And he asked you to wait. He came and told everyone what the task entails, and now he wants everyone to wait and to be patient.
Others want to keep talking, keep the words going in order to assuage their own impatience. The room feels small now. You feel constricted in the walls, an oppressive air is all around.
“I’m going fishing too,” you say and walk out, following Thomas.
Others come walking behind you. James is one of them. You hear his distinctive strong voice. You turn and see John next to him. Those who have made their decision, or maybe those who would rather wait by doing something active rather than talk.
It is late and dark out. You follow Thomas, for you certainly don’t know the area. James and John, and the others walk with you. Everyone is silent now, letting the quiet of the evening settle into disturbed souls, disturbed by unresolved hope, unrealized potential. You all want to work, to pour yourselves into the tasks at hand, only there is no task yet, no place to start. At least you can catch some fish. Waiting by doing work is always a noble task.
You had slept all afternoon in the heat of the day, so it felt wonderful to be working alongside the others, straining your muscles. You never had fished for anything before, but the others, they knew the craft… at least it sounded like they did. The nets remain empty.
At midnight, Peter orders that the boat be moved to a different part of the lake, where, as he put it, “the fish are plentiful, an easy catch.” Nothing.
By three in the morning you are exhausted. Still nothing, not even the smallest fish is swimming where you can catch it.
Not twenty yards away you see the splash of a fish jumping out of the water, seeming to mock the efforts.
Rather than alleviating the frustration you all become more irritated. Not even this simple task is working out. Nothing you do is of any worth. James snaps at Peter, getting into an argument about where the fish go at night, each telling the other why they are wrong.
Thomas is sullen, quiet, sitting in the bow, staring out into the darkness. You tug on the nets, again. No weight at all. Nothing.
Morning comes. The light in the east grows from a dark blue to light. Wispy clouds float overhead. Sea birds call each other. A flock of gulls comes at the first light, flying over, expecting to pick off unattended fish. They crowd around, diving and rising, with clear frustration realizing we had nothing for them to steal. You see them fly to a ship in the distance, where their frenzy shows a crew which had made a good catch.
You throw down the line in your hand and sit down. Thomas and Nathanael had already stopped. The others see you and sit down as well.
“I suppose we’ll go back. Not much to show for our night, eh,” says Peter, trying to have some sort of humor.
No one answers or looks his way.
You stare at your knees.
The boat turns. Peter handles the tiller and the sails. It is a light wind this morning, barely a breeze. The going is slow.
Twenty minutes later you look up. The shore is about a fifty yards away now and a man is standing there.
“Friends,” he yells, “Have you caught any fish?” You see him laughing. Has he been watching all night?
No one appreciates the mocking. Words mumbled are best left that way.
“No,” James yells back.“No we haven’t.”
“Throw your nets over the right-hand side. That is where the fish are.”
James looks at Peter. Peter shrugs.
“Why not?” John says.
You help pull the empty nets in from the left and throw them out over the right rail. Almost instantly, before you let go, the nets tug with weight. There must be a whole school right there, one which eluded you all night.
The net fills within moments. You and the others strain to pull it back it.
John is not helping. He’s staring at the shore.
“It is the Lord,” he whispers. You barely hear him.
“What,” bellows Peter.
“It is the Lord,” he says again.
Peter lets go. You and the others strain to pull the extra weight, barely getting the fish inside. The net holds up under the strain, though it looks like it will tear apart any moment.
There is a splash, you turn to look. Peter is swimming to shore, unable to wait any longer.
Andrew takes over, issues commands, showing the non-sailors what to do. Once the fish are in the boat, a wind from behind picks up. It is a fresh breeze moving the boat quickly to shore.
The boat is beached. James jumps off and towards Jesus. Peter is standing there, dripping wet, a large towel around him.
And there is a fire, a nice fire, with fish cooking over it. The smell of fresh baked bread fills your nostrils. You are very hungry and the meal is almost ready.
“Bring the fish you caught,” Jesus says, again laughing. Everyone laughs with him, the irritation of the night completely washed away. Peter, with renewed zeal, jumps into the water, up to the boat, and helps pull in the net full of fish.
“Now come, have some breakfast,” Jesus says. He serves a wonderful breakfast made by his very real hands. There is no doubt now, this is Jesus, just like he was. He serves you and the others the breakfast he made, and it tastes wonderful. He eats too, and laughs, making fun of your night, encouraging all at the same time. This is Jesus, and he is as real as anybody. How could you have doubted?
My dear Jesus I offer you my life. You are the one who calls and who leads. When I walk on my own I am lost, ineffective, unable to succeed. With you I triumph, finding more than I ever hoped, finding joy and delight. May I trust you enough to act in obedience, to wait with patience, to work with zeal. Teach me to trust, help me to hear. Thank you for your life, for how real you are. Thank you for calling me, and helping me to do all you ask of me. I am not alone, it is you who calls and enables. For that, and so much more, I praise you.