Breakfast with Jesus on the Beach

I was sitting in my regular pew with Nancy Dillion in the row in front of me and Joe Monti in the row behind me. Nancy was just back from vacationing with her family in Hawaii and of course, anyone who’s ever sat in front of Joe knows they can sort of hide their own off-key singing in the shadow of his booming baritone voice.

Tim Black, who I’ve come to think of as St. Dunstan’s own personal seminarian over the last three years, read the Gospel. It was John 21:1-19, about Jesus showing himself to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias. They were Simon Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, the sons of Zebedee and two unnamed disciples, maybe women—who knows?

Anyway, they were all going fishing. They didn’t catch a thing and then around daybreak, they saw Jesus standing on the beach. After a little back and forth, Jesus, now sitting by a charcoal fire says, “Come and have breakfast.”

Now I know “Come and have breakfast” is certainly not the point of that Gospel reading. But this morning, to me, it was. What rang so clearly was that as the sun was rising, the disciples were starting their day in a pretty good way—having breakfast with Jesus on a beach.

That was not at all how my morning started. I woke up too early and rather than get up and do something useful, I laid in bed and let my mind wonder aimlessly to worrisome topics.

I complained to myself about how I’d actually gotten the house clean and the dog had stained the bed spread I just got for Wolfie for the summer, something quilted but light and made of cotton. How do you get stains out of cotton that isn’t white? Bleach works on white cotton obviously, but the new bed spread is sort of a lighter Master’s green.

So petty worries. Like potato chips, just one on top of the other. Then where was I going to find the right size trays for Vincent’s wedding reception? And as the unsung mother of the groom, why should I be worried about trays anyway?

So rather than get up and face my grumpy self, I rolled over instead. I didn’t have to leave until at least 8:30 because today was the annual Parish meeting, meaning I’d go to the regular service and stay afterwards for potluck. Then I overslept. Didn’t have time to pick up something for the potluck from the grocery store. Grabbed a salad from last night out of the frig, an extra avocado, tomato and some ranch dressing and ran out the door. I did this quickly knowing that I was going to be about 30 minutes late for Sunday School, which was Craig Withers talking about his work in world public health with the Carter Center, something I’ve really been looking forward to. I caught the tail end.

But as I’m sitting there in my pew, that breakfast with Jesus thing continued to resonate, even as Patricia gave this great sermon about the reading that pointed out that the most unlikely people can be good disciples and leaders. The most unlikely people can heed Jesus’ directive to Simon Peter to “Feed my sheep.”

Instead of absorbing the true message, I’m thinking about that old saying that the beginning of the day is a pretty good indication of how the rest of the day is going to play out. It’s supposed to apply to relationships, so if you start out in a rocky relationship, for instance, there’s not a lot of reason to think that it’s going to be any different with time.

So I’m sitting there thinking if I had had a better start to the day, like the disciples did a couple a thousand years ago, having breakfast on the beach with Jesus, I might actually be able to pay attention to the sermon. I bet after they started their day like that, the rest of the day was incredible. I bet they were all glowing. I bet the air smelled fresher and the sand was cool under their feet and the sky looked a little bluer.

After church, we had our potluck. I wasn’t feeling very chatty. I ate three different kinds of chocolate dessert as I listened to the foodies at my table trade cooking and dining tips. Peachy said she liked to eat just about anything that didn’t move, to which Nancy Dillion replied, “What do you think a fork is for?”

We all laughed. But my mind still wandered in a very self-indulgent way. While Patricia gave the report, she brought up the fact that Tim will be leaving us soon because he has just one more week of seminary, then he’ll be getting a job and being a priest full time somewhere. It conjured up images of the times Tim invited and re-invited me to Sunday School, how he’d dug up the liturgy for my mother’s house blessing last Easter.

Someone asked if we’d be getting another seminarian (see I’m not the only one who takes ownership). In my less-than-good spirits, my knee-jerk mental reaction, “Nope, that was a one time deal.”

To my surprise, Patricia told us actually there were two candidates that the school had asked her to consider. Even as Tim is leaving, there’s a great likelihood that another student will come. It is possible that we’ll take pride in a few years as this now unnamed seminarian is ordained at the Cathedral as a Deacon. We might smile seeing a fresh white collar, feeling somehow that we were part of the process that brought our seminarian to this point.

And from there, despite the fact that my day did not start out with Jesus on the beach, my mood began to improve, or rather that fever of general irritation broke. Patricia asked us to look for examples of renewal this year. And since she said that, I’ve had a hard time on that front, not looking, but finding. Would another seminarian count as renewal?

Now I’m in better spirits. It’s almost 5 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. And I know that every day we have a chance to make a better day, to begin again.

But I’m now firmly against that saying about how your day starts so goes your life. And that applies to days, and habits, and forgiveness and getting along with other people. Because most of us don’t get to start our days having breakfast with Jesus on the beach, we just have to begin where we are and have faith that things will get better.