I’ve always found the accounts of Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances extraordinarily pregnant. In all of them the atmosphere is so strong that it reaches across time and space to burst through the text and draw us in, making us privileged guests at this most singular event, inviting us all with profligate generosity to the wedding banquet, just as his blood was poured out for us all. The Spirit is not bound by space or time, and love is stronger than death. Like a magic carpet, love draws us in the spirit through the portal of the text to a beach by the Sea of Tiberias early one morning, long ago in the days when Judaea was a Roman province.
A group of men sit around a charcoal fire sharing a breakfast of fish and bread and watching as the mist slowly disperses into the pale golden sunlight. The smells of charcoal and fish mingle with the smells of salt water and the men’s bodies. Beneath the sounds of eating and talking, the water laps rhythmically on the smooth sand. Slowly, imperceptibly, it turns from silver-grey to blue. The caress of the light makes it glisten with joy.
Mini-Interruption: then is now.