Monday awakes, warm and muggy from rain that fell during the night. While the sun is trying hard to break through the clouds, it’s not quite succeeding – as though the clouds are saying “It’s our turn! You got Saturday!”
Sometimes anthropomorphizing the weather is incredibly satisfying. It is perhaps easier to cope with clouds and rain if I can attribute human characteristics to them!
But the real thing is that Monday awakes. It wakes from a summer weekend of wonder. It wakes from a Sunday of liturgy and rest to a day of work. It wakes from leisure and reading to schedules and to-do lists. It wakes with stubborn resolve saying “You will pay attention to me. You can’t afford not to!”
Monday also wakes with an invitation – an invitation to breakfast.
While I rarely eat breakfast during the weekday, on the weekend I love it! I love sitting with a beautiful breakfast and hot coffee.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus gives an amazing invitation to his disciples. He says to a work-weary crowd “Come have breakfast”.
The verse comes after Jesus has been crucified and has risen, appearing to different people. First he is seen by Mary, then by the disciples and finally by others. He’s on the banks of the Sea of Galilee watching the disciples fishing in a boat. They have fished the entire night and they’ve caught nothing. Their nets and stomachs are empty. But this man on the banks of the sea tells them “Just try it one more time.”
Just one more time.Just do it one more time!
So they do it. Weary, frustrated, hungry – they still try one more time. And the result does not disappoint. They catch so many fish that they can’t even bring the full net in. It’s too heavy. You can picture it – fish jumping around in the net, strong men trying with all their muscles to hold the net but they have to throw some back.
And that picture is amazing – this picture of trying one more time and succeeding! Just one more time – and it happens.
But the compelling part of the passage is on shore where Jesus takes the fish and fixes it for them – those hungry, weary humans; those men whom he has eaten with, walked with, and stayed with for three years. He knows them. He knows their frame, he hears their hearts – and he invites them to breakfast.
“Come and have breakfast!”*
The words are said with full knowledge of all that the invitation means. Come rest. Come sit. Come and be filled. Come – have breakfast!
It’s an early morning here in Boston. The quiet of the city morning is broken by a raucous group of homeless who are waking to the day. Except for coffee shops and the Walgreens that boasts a 24-hour day, all businesses are still closed, their doors closed until the business day begins.
And I have an invitation to breakfast from One who will give rest on a weary Monday.
Maybe you haven’t fished all night – but maybe it’s something else. Maybe your worries have kept you up during the wee hours, your mind occupied with so much that concerns and hurts you. Maybe something else has kept you up all night – tears flowing because it’s safe when no one can see them. Maybe grief and loss; maybe worry over children; maybe fear of the future. No matter what it is that has kept you out all night, with nothing to show for it but bone-weary tiredness, you have an invitation to breakfast from One who gives rest.