It is the Lord!

John 21:4-7
Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!”

I love the weeks after Easter, when we normally read about Jesus’ resurrection appearances. Each of the different encounters of the Risen Christ with the disciples seems to me to be restorative. They are encounters filled with love, with forgiveness, with passion, giving back to the disciples all that they lost in the trauma of the events surrounding Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and crucifixion.
This year, somehow, I can’t quite get to that restorative place of the post resurrection Christ. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure that I’ve even reached Holy Saturday, never mind the empty tomb.
Sure, I proclaimed: “He is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia” - last weekend. And, at least for a moment, there was joy. But that joy was fleeting as the light was dimmed once more by the trauma of a world in lockdown. And I wonder if this Easter is more authentic than any other I have experienced.
Because the love, the light, the forgiveness and the restoration are the things that I crave more than ever before. It’s not that hope and joy are absent but that they look so different this year, quieter, subdued, perhaps more real and more precious, grounded in small things that have taken on a new significance. It’s the uncertainty and unpredictability that surrounded the disciples that are the emotions that we inhabit today. Indeed, it seems that discombobulation has always been the lot of God’s people - in wilderness, in exile, in inhabiting and affecting the cultures that surrounded them, in waiting for the revealing of God and of learning anew how to be God’s people in a strange land time after time. Always called to dwell and grow in liminal spaces, to make sense of God’s presence, to discern God’s faithfulness and leading. Like all liminal dwelling, it’s too early to sketch what comes next, though many will try. This isn’t a time for planning our next moves, of who we might be when we emerge, it’s a time for being, in these moments. Recognising what we value, caring for the most vulnerable, garnering strength and understanding, sharing the confusion that accompanies our faith, these are the tasks of these days. And, if we struggle to see resurrection amidst all the death, if we’re left peering into the tomb trying to make sense of it all, not yet ready to greet the risen Christ, far less have breakfast with him, we are not failing. Christ himself waits with us, hunkered down, exhausted and broken too. Christ sits amid the debris of burned down candles that struggle to point to the light. Christ enters our lived reality, shouldering our sadness, strengthening our compassion, infusing our tears with the balm of healing, making no demands. And, when we persist in faith, resurrection will come, tiptoeing in, silently making its presence felt, a flash here, a glimpse there, until eventually the flame burns steady again and we are ready for breakfast, ready to hear how Christ will commission us to live into a changed world with the wisdom of all that we have learned on our way from the cross to the empty tomb. Until then, Christ waits with us.

This Easter, Lord Jesus

We encounter you

not in a garden early in the morning

but at all hours of the day and night

in every hospital

and care home

in makeshift wards

and mortuaries

in the guise of 

nurses and doctors

of cleaners and porters

of technicians and drivers

of chaplains and administrators

This Easter, Lord Jesus,

We glimpse your wounds on display

not in a locked room with a select few

but in Intensive Care Units

where people struggle for breath

where machines aid breathing

where angels bring comfort

with or without

the equipment

and protection

that they need.

This Easter Lord Jesus

We see you breathe your peace 

not behind closed doors 

but on all those who need comforted

Loved ones who cannot be together

Those who have no opportunity

to say goodbye

denied the ritual 

of last offices of love

On carers who are overwhelmed

by the demands of their role

yet keep on going.

This Easter Lord Jesus

you walk with us

not on the road to Emmaus

but through every emotion

and question

and cry of despair

You listen without dismissal

carefully holding

all that we share.

This Easter, Lord Jesus

we recognise you 

not in the breaking of bread

but at every table 

where families gather

forced together

or kept apart

and in every means we have

of maintaining relationships

and of staying connected

You continue to surprise us 

Risen Lord

Turning up when we least expect you

in places we would never imagine 

May the light of resurrection 

Pierce the darkness

in us 

and in our world today.