Breakfast on the Beach

This is the sermon preached on May 4, 2025 at Beechmont Presbyterian Church, based on John 21: 1-19

The Quiet Power of a Having Breakfast

One of the things I love most is going out for breakfast with my mom. It reminds me of vacation—but not the kind where you’re rushing from one thing to the next. It’s the kind where you sit down, enjoy your food, put your phones away, and just talk. You talk about the food, your plans for the day, or sometimes nothing at all. You enjoy the company, the meal, and the rare feeling of being up early enough to beat the brunch crowd.

Biblical scholar Jennifer García Bashaw calls John 21 the epilogue of the Gospel. The resurrection has already happened. The dramatic scenes are over. And here, we find ourselves at a quiet sunrise on the beach. We might wonder why this extra chapter was added after what felt like a clear ending.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe resurrection joy doesn’t always come with thunder, angels, or footraces to an empty tomb. Maybe sometimes it shows up in the ordinary—a charcoal fire, some fish and bread, and a simple breakfast.

Tired Fishermen and Empty Nets (vv. 1–3)

In this story, the disciples aren’t preaching or healing. Some of them were fishermen before they followed Jesus, and now they’ve returned to what they know—back to the ordinary, back to fishing. It’s a reminder that not every moment in life is dramatic or historic. We can’t be “on” all the time. Sometimes we need to rest, to do something familiar, to find comfort in the quiet routines that help us recover from life’s confusion and pain.

Life isn’t all triumphs, either. Sometimes we work hard and come up empty. The disciples fish all night and catch nothing. They have nothing to show for their effort. And this isn’t the first time that’s happened to them—we may be reminded of another fishing story, the one in the Gospel of Luke. This moment in John is different.

And that’s important—because even in this ordinary disappointment, Jesus shows up.

Jesus at the Fire (vv. 4–9)

But what’s truly miraculous about Jesus’ appearance isn’t just that he shows up—it’s how he shows up. He doesn’t start with blame. He doesn’t say: “Children, you have no fish, have you? That happened because you left me during my suffering. That happened because you didn’t believe Mary Magdalene. That happened because of Thomas.”

No. Jesus doesn’t come to rebuke.

He comes to cook.

Jennifer García Bashaw points out something I hadn’t noticed before: Jesus already has breakfast ready. He isn’t waiting for them to haul in the 153 large fish and fry them up. He says simply, “Come and have breakfast.”

In the face of failure, Jesus feeds.

In the face of hunger, Jesus feeds.

In the face of fatigue, Jesus feeds.

In the face of doubt, Jesus feeds.

In the face of fear, Jesus feeds.

One of the deepest joys in this story is found in the cooking and the feeding. The fish the disciples catch will sustain their families. But this meal, this beachside breakfast, is already prepared. Jesus provides rest, and celebration, and a reminder that resurrection includes time to sit, to eat, and to be loved.

A Conversation of Grace (vv. 15–19)

One of the things I love to remember about communion is this: we are being served so that we can serve others.

I grew up in a church where the elders would serve communion. They didn’t do it because they had big titles or more authority. They did it to remind us—and themselves—that they had been chosen to serve with joy. That’s what they were called to do. As someone who is ordained as a ruling elder, I have never forgotten that lesson.

That’s why it’s so moving to see how Peter is restored in this story—not through a lecture or a list of corrections, but through three invitations to love and serve:

“Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”

Many biblical scholars note that Jesus asks Peter three times to undo the pain of Peter’s three denials. And through this moment of grace, Peter is re-called officially into the community—not just forgiven in private but restored in public.

And I say “officially” because Peter is never truly cast out. The other disciples didn’t leave him behind. They went fishing together. Grace was already present, but Jesus now makes it clear: Peter is forgiven, he is included, and he is needed.

As Jennifer García Bashaw puts it, Peter’s narrative is wrapped up—his failure is met with love, his questions answered with purpose.

And in this, we learn a resurrection truth: joy is not found by going back to what was, but by moving forward—into renewed strength, renewed calling, and renewed community.

The Theology of Small Things

There are several lessons we can learn from this story. In a world where everything feels historic, hysterical, catastrophic, or universally urgent, we are often pressured to live in constant reaction—anxious, overwhelmed, and afraid.

But the Gospel invites us to resist that pressure.

Instead, we’re called to center ourselves in the ordinary: breakfast, walking, breathing, listening to the wind in the trees, holding hands, fishing, cooking—living each moment as a sacred and joyful gift from God.

In a world that keeps pushing the narrative that everyone is your enemy, and that retribution is the only way forward, we are called to lift up a different truth: that hospitality, forgiveness, and rest are not signs of weakness, but forms of resilience and resistance—against exhaustion, despair, and hate.

These are Christ-shaped practices. And whenever we walk in them, we can hear Jesus calling, “Follow me.”

And when we follow, we find healing. We find restoration. And we find the strength to resist the darkness—and live in the hope of the dawn.

Invitation: Practicing Resurrection

I didn’t know about Jeffrey Brown’s book Darth Vader and Son until this week. As a Star Wars fan, I had to do something related to it on May the Fourth, and this is what called me.

In the book, Brown imagines an alternate reality—an Episode 3½—where Darth Vader is raising little Luke and Leia. It’s hilarious to see Luke trying to use the Force to sneak some cookies, or Vader saying, “I am altering the deal. Pray I don’t alter it any further,” when Luke wants to go somewhere Vader does not want to go.

But what really caught my attention was the cartoon of Darth Vader and Luke sitting down to have breakfast. The sheer ordinariness of the moment—a father trying to get his son to eat—reminded me of one of the greatest cinematic stories of grace: when a son chooses to forgive the very image of evil because he believes redemption is still possible. “There is still light in him,” Luke says. And he’s right.

So let me ask you:

• Is there someone you need to share a meal with this week?

• What relationship in your life is waiting for forgiveness, or a fresh connection?

• Where might you choose rest instead of more hustle?

• Can you cook instead of rebuke, so that grace has space to grow?

There are many challenges ahead of us. But this passage reminds us: Jesus is already there, at the edge of a disappointing day, ready to care for us, to feed us, and to strengthen us—so we can rise and live another ordinary or extraordinary day.

And so, in the spirit of grace and joyful rebellion:

May his force be with you… always.