House of Hope – San Bernardino

Last Thursday Lawrence O’Donnell had a segment on Aaron Sorkin’s Broadway play, “To Kill a Mockingbird.”  In it, Atticus Finch is the lawyer for the black defendant, Tom Robinson, accused of raping a white woman, however Judge Taylor knows that Tom is in fact innocent.  The judge implores Atticus to take the case. “In his small town in the nineteen thirties of Alabama, Atticus Finch is the lonely voice telling people we can’t go on like this.”  Jeff Daniels, portraying Finch’s address to the jury demands, “The sin, the crime against God, can’t go on like this.  We have to heal this wound or we will never stop bleeding…We can’t go on like this, we know that.”  Confronting the racism of her southern society, Harper Lee in her novel raised the voice of many, “We can’t go on like this.”  “We can’t go on like this.  That is how most Americans feel in 2019.  It is a recurring feeling in American society…” [1]

Republican congressman Justin Amash, a modern-day Atticus Finch, has warned this nation, “We can’t go on like this.” — Lies.  Deception.  Nepotism.  In calling for an impeachment investigation at a recent townhall in his district, Congressman Amash, — born of the party of Abraham Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt — is the lone voice of his tribe calling for decency and Truth.  As a nation, we can’t go on like this.  God, give us more Republicans like Justin Amash.  Though I would agree with Justin on little concerning policy, I salute him for his courage and his patriotism.   This Republican is God’s gift to our nation in this time.

The words might well be God’s — we can’t go on like this.  On Easter morning, the power of Love is again let loose in human history —  because we can’t go on like this.  God can’t go on like this.  From the Big Bang of creation, from Jeremiah thundering against the usurpations of a corrupt king, down to a miraculous birth in Bethlehem — through all ages, Grace has been God’s answer to the human plight, “We can’t go on like this.”  Truth will out.  Love will trump hate.  Grace trumps evil.  That’s Easter, folks.

So it is that Jesus imparts critical, final instructions to his little community:

The glory which thou hast given me I have given to them that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and thou in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that thou hast sent me and hast loved them even as thou hast loved me.[2]

The Book of Acts of the Apostles is the continuation of this great love story.  Through the incredible happenings recorded in this first history of the Church, God’s intervention of Love continues.  “We can’t go on like this,” echoes down through our history — to which, Love is the answer.  In the most improbable ways.

This morning the lectionary gives us a rollicking good story of such improbable occurrences from Acts.  Few itinerant clergy have ever had the sort of excitement and misfortune as Paul and Silas.  They no sooner enter Phillippi when some addled, rag-a-muffin girl begins to follow them.  Exactly like a stray dog that once began to follow me home on the way from school — no matter what I did I could not shoo it away.  I didn’t want to walk too much further for fear the dog would become completely lost from whatever yard it had escaped.  But no matter how I yelled at it, or chased it, or stomped my feet, it wouldn’t leave.  I finally decided to stand still and ignore it.  The dog sniffed my pant leg and shoes, and after what seemed forever, it finally wandered off into the weeds.

So here is this young waif following Paul and Silas, all the time crying after them and making a nuisance of herself.  For days.  And days.  Yelling something about them being sent by the most high God.  Finally, Paul snaps.  In anger he wheels on her and casts out the evil spirit that had been troubling the girl.  Abruptly, it leaves her as she collapses to the ground. 

Her owners discover that she is now normal.  She’s of no use that they can no longer make money from the fortunes she tells. They drag Paul and Silas before the magistrate. This is certainly the point where no good deed goes unpunished.  The girl’s owner accuses Paul and Silas of being disturbers of the peace.  They are trouble makers.  One little exorcism, and what could possibly go wrong?  A lot, that’s what went wrong.  And next thing Paul and Silas are in chains and locked up in the furthermost reaches of the worst prison ever.

This place is a real hell hole.  It’s dark and dank, the smell of excrement, vomit and mold are overwhelming.  Definitely, not the Ritz.  Crowded with sweating, unwashed bodies it’s hot and humid.  Stifling.  Their new companions are less than desirable.  Downright argumentative.  Nasty wretches.  The worst thugs.  Within minutes their few possessions have been taken from them, and one prisoner has almost choked Silas to death.  Only the intervention of some huge guy speaking a language they didn’t understand had saved them. 

As they cowered in a corner, hoping to avoid notice, they eventually dozed off.  Terrible dreams.  Paul, dreamt of being back on board the little skiff that had landed them on the beach.  Gently rocking back and forth, when suddenly he came to.  Prisoners were shouting and running to and fro as the walls creaked and the floor buckled.  Silas grabbed his arm, drawing him near.  This was the end.  They commended their souls and bodies to God as the prison continued to rock.

Finally, the commotion subsided as shaking ceased.  Next, they heard the frantic guard come running into their midst.  They could barely see the sword he drew in the dim torch light. He raised it as if to impale himself, but before he could complete the fatal plunge, Paul had grabbed his arm.  The man pleaded with the two to let him die.  He would surely be held responsible for any escaped prisoners.  Death by torture would be far worse than a quick death here and now.  “You don’t know these people.”  He begged Paul and Silas to let him die.  Paul and Silas quickly looked around and a mental count revealed that, miraculously, all prisoners were accounted for.  “Don’t harm yourself, everyone’s here.  Several have injuries but no one’s missing.”

The jailer fell on his knees, grabbing Paul by the legs.  Paul and Silas began to testify to the goodness of God and gave God credit for their preservation.  Other prisoners began to gather around the two men and the jailer as Paul continued his witness.  Late into early morning Paul related the story of Jesus of Nazareth and how misguided men had killed him, but that the story had not ended there.  Out of the tragedy of a shameful death an incredible power had been let loose — a revolutionary Spirit of Love binding all together as one.  A new community. That is why Paul and Silas had not escaped and had pleaded with the others to remain.

That night the jailer took Paul and Silas to his house, where by candlelight he related to his wife, servants and children the wondrous events that had transpired.  He had the two men’s wounds cleansed and bandaged.  By this time all present were asking how they could be part of this miraculous family of Jesus’ followers.   On the spot, water was brought and all were baptized into a new way of life.  And that early morning the Church grew by just a little bit more.

Through gracious acts of love and self-sacrifice, the community of Jesus followers attracted more and more followers.  Soon, the entire town.  That all might be one!

And now, here we are.  This very same power of Love has been let loose down through the years and centuries – though we fail to recognize its origin.   This is the same Power that drove the Renaissance and Enlightenment.  The same Power behind and within the idea of our modern democracies.  It is born of the idea that everyone counts and that we are all bound together – that all are sacred vessels of One Divine Love.  That we all might be one!  Yes, even with the created order – thrips and opossums.

Even when we lose the vision and our unity is shattered, Jesus prays in the wreckage that we all may be one.  Even when the operating ethic is me first and if anyone else survives it’s mere coincidence — Jesus yet prays that we all may be one.  Love is the answer.

My Quaker friend Anthony has a bumper sticker on his car that proclaims, “War is not the answer.”  The imp in me always wants to subvocalize, “Well, what’s the question?”  Actually, it’s about the answer.  Love is the answer — if anyone cares to know.  Love is the answer.

The other day on the PBS Newshour, Judy Woodruff had a segment born of just such understanding.  It featured a Sacramento restauranteur who had become quite distressed over the several suicides of some of his colleagues.  This tragedy jolted his mind to the realization that the restaurant business is extremely stressful.  We can’t go on like this.  That was his realization.  We can’t go on like this.  And someone needs to care.  Love is the answer.  In my business we are family!

Amidst all the hubbub of his busy kitchen, he had not taken notice as to how his staff was coping.  He had no idea how his employees were doing.  Or not doing.

Who had had a girlfriend or a lover breakup, or an ill child?  Who was under financial stress or had received an eviction notice?  Who had come to work addicted or depressed?  He just didn’t know.  No one probably knew.  But these twenty-some people were his family.  He did care about them.  Love is the answer, but there was no time for that.  Not in a hectic kitchen or on a busy floor.

After talking with some psychologists and other helping professionals, he instituted a program among his employees called, “I’ve Got Your Back.”  Using a system of color-coded cards that folks drop into a box as part of their shift check-in, someone would know.  He now had an idea of how many had come to work sad or under stress.  How many were happy, or dealing with some really bad stuff? 

He also had some staff in each shift trained as peer counselors – people who were safe to talk to.  People to share even the worst news or feelings with.  These were employees trained to read body language, to sense who was not okay.  This man’s restaurant now, in fact, has begun to behave as a caring family.  Yes, Love is the answer.  You know that, just to hear his employees talk about what has changed at work.

This restaurant owner’s goal is to spread his program to restaurants all across the country.  But why only restaurants?  Why stop there?

It is my hope that we import this same gracious gift to House of Hope – San Bernardino.  We bring it to our staff.  Love is the answer, just as it was in that dank prison cell over two thousand years ago.  Born of deep subterranean tremors, Christ’s church will continue to grow in love.  Even on an intense recovery ward.

Love is the answer to the despair of “We can’t go on like this.” 

At St. Francis we gather weekly because we know that we can’t possibly go on like this.  No more.  The world can’t go on like this.  Our country can’t go on like this.  We gather to remember and to remind one another around this table that Love is the answer.  Self-giving, sacrificial love.  Love powerful enough to interrupt busy date books and impact checkbooks.  We come to remind one another that we don’t have to go on like this — a Power greater than ourselves has our back.  Whoever you are, and wherever you are on life’s journey – we’ve got your back.  That’s Jesus’ story and he’s sticking to it.  So are we.  Amen.

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[1] Lawrence O’Donnell, “The Last Word,” MSNBC (May 30, 2019), Jeff Daniels plays Atticus Finch in Aaron Sorkin’s “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

[2] John 17:20-26

Year C, Easter 7, June 2, 2019

A Sermon Preached at
St. Francis Episcopal Mission, San Bernardino

Acts 16:16-34; Psalm 97; Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21; John 17:20-26

The Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

We live in an age of discontinuity.  The old verities that once guided former generations are now up for grabs.  The traditional jobs that provided a lifetime of security are in short supply while the gig and sharing economy has for many been a race to the bottom.  No benefits.  No pension and no living wage.  Bill Clinton’s mantra for success – play by the rules and work hard these days does not necessarily guarantee much of anything.  If you are born poor, the overwhelming odds are that you will die poor.  Churches that once dominated the skylines in our large cities now stand mostly empty on Sunday mornings.

Change.   Change is the one constant.  And Love is the other constant.  Hear some of the final farewell words of our Lord from the gospel of John:

“I give you a new commandment that you love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Love can be a soft mushy word.  Lots of feeling but little substance.

“I give you a new commandment that you love one another.”  Certainly, it is essential that the Church, the Body of Christ be one of affection and deep concern for one another.  But too often, being human beings, we so invariably fall short of that.  Bickering and snark can rule and destroy the community.  Paul in Corinthians, complains about the strife that has consumed that community over speaking in “tongues.”  Strife consumed the early church over the inclusion of, and table fellowship with, the Gentiles, the so called “uncircumcised.” 

So, what does this Love look like?  It is something that goes beyond tribe and kin.  Let me tell you what this Love looks like

The other night we had at Pilgrim Place two of the great hymn writers of the church, Jim and Jean Strathdee.  They were our musicians at the church I served in the upper Mojave Desert, Ridgecrest United Methodist Church.  Yes, I was under Methodist management at the time.

As part of our vespers service that evening Jean told the story of her mother, Inez Stevens.  Early in their marriage Jean’s father was in the navy.  Lou was stationed near Pearl Harbor when the Japanese bombed it on December 7^th, 1941.  For six months she didn’t know what had happened to her husband.  There was absolutely no word.  In the meantime, Inez was a teacher in the San Joaquin Valley of California.  Many of her students were Japanese.  She loved those children like they were her own.  Many of those families were completely mortified at what their home country had done.  Their shame was more than they and their children could bear.  Yet, when those families were deported to concentration camps, Inez and Lou made arrangements to safe-keep the farms of two of those families during the length of their internment.  After the war, upon their return, she and her husband turned the farms back to them.  This was a gift freely given. 

Fast forward many years to the memorial service held for Inez.  One of the largest contingents at the service were her former Japanese students.  They had never forgotten that bond of affection and the righteous deed that Inez and Lou had done for their community.  By far the largest amount for a fund in her memory came from the Japanese community.  Friends, this is what Love looks like.

“I give you a new commandment that you love one another.” 

What does Love look like?  Paul says that this Love is patient and kind.  It does not insist upon its own way.

I have lately had to take St. Paul’s tutorial on this love.  On every trip to West Virginia.  Early on, our fellow, Scott, who takes care of the farm and now is organizing for House of Hope – Ohio Valley, cautioned me, “You know, John, a lot of these people here voted for Trump.”  And those of you who know me, know that I can be as rabid a partisan as any.  I’m definitely not a fan.

Let me tell you what I am learning about what this Love looks like.  On my part, it has meant a lot of listening.  It means deeply hearing the struggles of many working in an economy of low wages, part-time jobs and no health insurance.  No retirement package.  It means deeply hearing the struggles of families caught up in addiction to painkillers and meth.  It means hearing the despair of communities that have lost the next generation for lack of employment.

And in the end, I know exactly why they voted for Trump.  In my heart, I cannot blame them.  I understand.  Many feel as though this nation has abandoned and disrespected them.  Left them behind.  Let me tell you what Love looks like.  It means the willingness to feel, and take into our being this pain.  This is what I’m learning.  This is what that sort of Love looks like.

So, when I head out to West Virginia, when it comes to politics, I have to say that I’m agnostic.  The only important thing is the work we are doing to combat opioid addiction.  That’s it.  Nothing else counts.  I’m learning that that’s what Love looks like.  “Love one another.”  This is the listening we will have to do as we approach the 2020 election if we are going to have half a chance of making our democracy work.  We are going to have to find those areas where we can work together and let all else rest.  And I’ll try to be on my good behavior.

What does Love look like?  It looks a lot like the effort a group of us put in a week ago at the Cathedral Center.  Six of us represented St. Francis at the Episcopal Enterprises Academy.  For most of us, it meant getting up early, early to brave the 10 Freeway morning rush hour traffic.  It meant spending a good eight hours in class.  It meant homework.  It meant digging in and really working on what our mission might be here in San Bernardino and how we might financially support it with some entrepreneurial activity that would pay the bills but also benefit those we are called to serve.  That’s what Love looks like.  It can involve tedium and some stress.  It isn’t always fun.  It’s often hard work.  And sometimes even drudgery.

In the Inland Empire, in San Bernardino, as in West Virginia, many feel left behind in this new gig economy.  Blight and crime infest many neighborhoods.  Wages are stagnant and our homeless population grows.  Entire families are destitute on the streets.

The other Sunday, at the conclusion of coffee hour, a young fellow came into our midst.  He was a mute and could only with great difficulty understand what was spoken to him.  But we could communicate through writing.  I can imagine how embarrassing it must have been for him to ask for food for his family.  No, he didn’t want cash.  He only wished for someone to take him to Food for Less and buy the few items on his list his wife had given him.  I had no difficulty whatsoever understanding when he mouthed the words several times, “Thank you.”  Yes, Love looks like food.  This man is no longer a stranger.  He’s our brother in Christ.  That’s what love looks like.

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

All the talk of the saints gathered up in the bosom of God — all the talk of God wiping away every tear – all the talk of making all things new – it all rings pretty shallow if folks don’t see any signs of newness and hope right here and now.  They’ve got to see and taste it.

As Mark Twain once quipped that would be a little easier to believe in the possibility of redemption if the redeemed looked a bit more redeemed.

Friends, you and I are, most likely the only copy of gospel Love most people will ever see.  As has been said, you and I are the hands and feet of Christ.  You and I are the mind of Christ.  You and I are the beating heart of the gospel Love we proclaim each and every Sunday.

Let us give thanks for those blessed exemplars like Inez and Lou Stevens who have paved the way, who have shown us what this Love looks like.  Let us learn for our own time the new duties and the sublime joys of this gospel Love.

This Sunday after church, I’ll be with Nan Self, a mentor and part of the campus ministry team that is responsible for me even being in the church.  Today Nan celebrates her ninetieth birthday.  She is another blessed disciple who has also left it all on the field.  Through her ministry over the years, the whole body of Christ has been built up and glorified.  Happy birthday, Nan.  Thanks be to God for your example of gospel Love.  Nan, you are what Love looks like. What does this Love look like?  Let me tell you what it looks like.  It looks like a community gathered around this altar remembering a teacher, a friend, a pioneer, who says to those assembled.  “This bread is my body broken for you.  This cup is the cup of the new covenant poured out for you and for all.  Broken and poured out for the knitting up of this broken world.  This one Lord left it all on the field.  And in his fellowship is our most exquisite joy and purpose.  Amen.

Year C, Easter 5, May 19, 2019

A Sermon Preached at
St. Francis Episcopal Mission, San Bernardino

Acts 11:1-18; Psalm148; Revelation 21:1-6; Luke 13:31-35

The Rev. Dr. John C. Forney

I have a wonderful friend in Wellsburg who runs what our House of Hope team thinks is the best restaurant in town.  Nicol and her husband are the owners of The Dovetail – dovetail as in wood working.  It is a joint that is made up of interlocking fingers if you will.

Nicol has quite a bit of experience running kitchens, having managed them in several large institutional settings.  She and her husband Rob are a couple of the hardest working folks you’ll ever meet.  She is up early, early in the morning to make sure breakfast is going smoothly.  The Dovetail is a place of wonderful dishes, and in the morning the oatmeal covered with baked apples is to die for.  Along with the coffee.

Unfortunately, Wellsburg isn’t large enough to support the Dovetail the way it should.  As hard as Nicol works, she and Rob barely keep their heads above water.

This is the story of many people these days.  Yes, the economy is booming and unemployment is at its lowest since the late 60’s.  But most workers have seen far too little to show for their efforts.  So it is with many of our clergy.  Pastoral work is a lot like housework.  It’s never done.  Yet in an age that sees less and less need for what the church offers, the long hours most pastors put into their work seem to bear little fruit.

In our gospel selection from John, Peter and some of the disciples have gone out fishing.  Maybe, after the utter disaster of the past few days, they had given up on the disciple thing.  Maybe they were just at odds about what to do.  Anyway, Peter had announced, “I’m going fishing.”  The others decide to tag along.  But they catch nothing.  I have certainly been on plenty of fishing trips like that!

The fishing business has been so unrewarding that now they’re fishing at night to try and survive.  And for all their efforts, in spite of their all-nighter, they’ve caught nothing.  That’s when a stranger a ways off on the shore calls out to them, “Hey, guys!   Have you caught anything?”  Who is this busybody?  What does he care?  “No,” they have to admit.  For all their effort, they’ve come up empty handed.  There’s not even a single catfish in the net.  Zip.  Nada.

At this point everything changes — this intruder has the nerve to tell them how to do their job?  “Try casting your net on the other side of the boat.”  Yeah.  Right.  Sure.  But, having nothing to lose, that’s exactly what they do. Maybe it’s an authority they sense in his voice.  And surprise upon surprise.  The net is now so full of fish they can barely pull it back in.  About this time, they recognize that in the guise of a stranger, they’ve encountered the risen Christ.  And the confirmation is abundance. All in all, one hundred fifty-three fish.  But we’ll get back to that number later. 

How often it is that strangers on the shore alert us to God’s abundance.  Alert us to the presence of divine possibility.

Many of the people I’ve encountered in my trips to West Virginia, though they live sparse lives, experience an amazing abundance in spiritual gifts.  The comradery around a campfire, in family connections and in community gatherings — there’s an abundance that can’t be measured in dollars and cents.  Friendships are deep and rich. And church is often at the center of lives that are well-lived.  In new found friends, over and over I’ve been alerted to an abundance I would have overlooked. This has been the case with our Wounded Warrior project we hold on our farm.

Our little church of St. Francis may never reach its glory days of the 60s and 70s, but we do have an abundance of joy in one another.  We have abundance in the vision of reconfiguring our campus for mission, as we seek to walk with the addicted and homeless. 

Abundance comes in guises we often fail to recognize.  It’s not necessarily about number, what can be measured.  It’s about the quality and the timelessness of events.  The Bible calls this quality Kairos time.  The fitting season – when time is right.  Fishing is like that.

There’s the old saying that any days spent fishing are not deducted from one’s allotted lifespan.  Days spent fishing are days of “miracle and wonder,” as Paul Simon put it.

When I was in about the second grade my family went on a summer trip to Ensenada, Mexico.  I was somewhat upset because the trip was during the time of my birthday.   I was very disappointed that I wouldn’t have any friends over for a birthday party.  I remember my parents assuring me that we would do something special for the day anyway.  They wondered what I might like to do.  I hadn’t the slightest idea.  What did I know?  I had never been here before.  I didn’t know anyone here.  It seemed that my parents had spent most of the time during the drive down in an ugly family fight.  I was most unhappy.

As we drove through the town of Ensenada, we passed all these fishing boats and rows and rows of fishing poles with signs advertising fishing trips.  I immediately knew what I wanted to do for my birthday.  I wanted to go fishing.  My mom knew nothing of fishing and somehow, between my mom and dad, it was decided that he would be the one to take me out on a charter boat.

I remember waking very early.  It was cold and foggy as we walked along the beach front.  I could taste the salt air.  When we approached the boat, the smells of diesel and fish also permeated my senses.  It was an old wooden boat that creaked as it moved with the gentle swells in the harbor. 

Several of the crewmen spoke English and, as I was the youngest on board, they adopted me as their mascot.

As we were leaving the harbor that morning, I remember my dad sternly warning me, “Don’t look down at the water; look at the horizon.  That way you won’t get seasick.”

It seemed that it took forever to get out to the fishing area.  On the way, we stopped by a boat and picked up a load of little fish that we would use for bait.  By the time we had arrived at the fishing grounds, my dad was not feeling too well.  He said that he was going into the cabin to lie down. 

The deck hands helped me bait my hook and showed me how to cast out from the boat.  Within a very short time I had caught my first fish.  They helped me get it over the rail of the boat and off the hook.  It was the biggest fish I had ever seen as it flopped about on the deck.  And to think, I had actually caught it.  Looking back on the episode now, I realize that it was only a medium sized sea bass.  Probably not that big at all.  But to a young fellow, it looked like it might have hooked Moby Dick or Jaws..

We continued to fish into the afternoon.  I caught fish after fish.  By the time we headed back into the harbor, I had quite an impressive gunny sack full of them.  It was so full that I couldn’t begin to lift it.

As we arrived back at port, I saw my mom and brother waving at the railing of the pier.  All I could do was to point to the huge sack of fish.  About this time, Dad appeared from the cabin of the boat.  By his acrid breath I could tell that he had been seasick.  He really didn’t look too good.  As a big orange sun was setting into the sea, I rushed up the gangway to Mom with Dad trailing somewhat unsteadily behind struggling with my sack of fish.  The first thing I blurted out was, “Mom, Dad didn’t look at the shoreline!”  Even, Dad, woozy as he was, cracked a smile.

Together we all walked back home.  For that moment we were a happy family.  It was the best birthday ever.  Nearing our cottage, we passed what seemed to be some shacks.  Even as young as I was, I realized that these were a pretty poor houses, not at all like ours back home.  I had bad feelings about it.  I remember my mom and dad talking to one of the guys standing out in front in a language I didn’t understand, and pointing to the sack of fish.  I was upset when they then gave away almost all of the fish.

Coming up to the patio out in front of our place, my dad explained that these people didn’t have much and their families would certainly appreciate the fish.  Besides, we could only eat a few of them.  No use wasting them.  My mom didn’t like them at all because she said that they smelled up the place.  To my mind, they were they were the most delicious fish I had ever eaten.

Later on, I came to realize what a gift it really was for Dad to have taken me.  Now I, like him, only have to experience the boat going up and down about three times before I’m hanging on the rail feeding the fish.  He knew that he was going to be absolutely miserable and yet he took me anyway.  I now realize what a sacrifice that was for him.

One of the lessons that I have taken from this first fishing trip is that God’s abundance is seen in the sacrifices we make for one another, the big and small ways we go out of our way just because we know that the gift of time or presence will be important to another person. We are Christ to one another in this gift of self.

That day, though I didn’t have the words for it then, I knew that I and my family had been blessed in a way I would never forget.  Life was full and overflowing with goodness.  Abundance.

In our Gospel story from John, we have a continuation of appearances by the Resurrected Christ.

In the risen Christ we experience forgiveness as well.  Why is it that Peter is asked three times if he loves the Lord?  It is to undo the three-fold denial at Jesus’ trial.  Peter is now reclaimed and sent out as an embodiment of the same Easter abundance.

Likewise, as we experience forgiveness for the daily stupid and carless things we do and say, we are restored to gospel usefulness.  Abundance brought so often by a stranger on the shore of our life.  Christ in the guise of a stranger, an interloper.

In the abundance of fish, the Beloved Disciple recognizes the man.  “It is the Lord.”

The net is so full of fish, 153 in all – large fish – that all the disciples come out to the boat to haul it in.  When they get back on land, they saw the charcoal fire with fish and bread roasting on it.  Jesus invites them to also bring over some of the fish they have just caught.

This is a story about abundance and sharing.   John wants his community to know that they will recognize the Risen Christ in the abundance God provides when life is shared.  That’s it.

I could go on at great length about all the theories of the 153 fish.  Looking at the commentaries, there are all sorts of speculations about the significance of this number.  But, I fear, you might have as much trouble staying awake hearing about them as I did just in reading about them.

So, if anyone asks you about the meaning of the 153 fish, just tell them, “Fr. John had nothing profound to say.”  Our salvation does not depend on knowing the significance of this number.

However, John in his Gospel has something most profound to say about abundance, and this revelation has a lot to do with our salvation.   Christians, when gathered together, will experience the Risen Lord in the daily abundance that God provides for us when it is shared.  In the sharing we will know his real and living presence. 

When we gather around this altar, let us remember this teaching.  Food is basic.  It is to be shared.  It is our very Lord who said, “I am food.”  In the sharing of this bread broken and cup poured out, he is present to bless and encourage us. 

In a similar way long ago, I experienced God’s goodness to me on my birthday – in the abundance of a monstrous gunny sack full of fish that were shared with those who had none.  (There had to have been 153 of them!) And in the abundance of love that permeated our family dinner that evening, I now know Christ was present.

Amen.

Third Sunday of Easter
Strangers on the Shore

Acts 9:1-6, [7-20]; Psalm 30; Revelation 5:11-14;
John 21:1-14

Preached at St. Francis Outreach Center, San Bernardino;

 The Rev. John C. Forney
May 5, 2019