2023-11-28 A Meditation on Immune to the Chaos

“3 Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. 4 Just as day was breaking, Jesus stood on the shore; yet the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5 Jesus said to them, “Children, do you have any fish?” They answered him, “No.” 6 He said to them, “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in, because of the quantity of fish. 7 That disciple whom Jesus loved therefore said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment, for he was stripped for work, and threw himself into the sea. 8 The other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, but about a hundred yards off. 9 When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread. 10 Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” 11 So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, 153 of them. And although there were so many, the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish. 14 This was now the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.” (Jn 21:3–14 ESV)

In the chaos that ensues, people like us lean on a shared hour, a former pleasant time, a conjunction of souls and sense of common purpose and drive. Yet the chaos: suddenly, eyes large and gaping mouths, it is the early morn post Event, post Crucifixion, post Battle Joined… and we are disparate, helter skelter, running this way and that. As though it all was a distant memory, the campfire time, the song shared, the ambient music as we all together got up to something.

Strange friends across divides and stranger inoculation, innocence unto, immune to the dissolution spirit, that false old enemy who tries to sell us on another shared storyline. A storyline less offensive. A storyline belonging to someone other than our God and Christ. A storyline featuring a different community, different prophets, different end time thoughts, different winners and goats, losers and sheep, herds differently classified.

In the chaos, no, it isn’t our manned up posts nor the adrenaline or late wakefulness into the night that brings dissolution; it is the racetrack lost sight of, the shared fellowship begun to be denied, the Christ or Friend forgotten. What we forget is that there was a time when all were singing the same song, all were on the same course of action, all were excited whilst also calm, thankful yet taking in stride, as though it is all the normalcy in the world to have this our religion and this our story shared and this our Project.

So to the late hour of watching wakefulness. To the action while still the light is with us a little longer. To the solemn Promises as we do prepare to be strong for the chaos, prepare to be those on the winning side of the great divide called denial, called hatred, called disrespect for our elders, called lack of love. Love was gifted to us; it is love that shall sing the solemn tomorrow song. Love that shall carry us and nurture us who most of all are brazen sensitive souls, bold in the trenches and for the fight, whilst never forgetting the weaned hour, the mother’s milk or father’s embrace, the nearness to a communal hearth, a drinking spout or morsel of bread that comes with it Enchantment unto our storyline and Boldness unto our near former spirits. Of the parent. Of the friend whom we just do so happen to bring to mind a bit more than one might expect. Or to the happier times, jovial hours, conjunctions not just of this friend but of a crowd of similarly-blessed, all-in, souls.

We had not the points of inheritance and pride beyond these our homely folks and siblings. We had not the cautionary legalism to distance ourselves or save out, hold out, on some further-along Inheritance, Get-up, Obligation. We were pointmen and pointwomen unto a wealth that God gives to those who labor in the wee hours asking not a thing in return but a modest stipend to sustain. We are those who wish upon a star and pray alongside a jovial friend, that our life never aim to consist of more than these our hours of Grace, of distant Vision, of Hope and assurance we shall meet for this same graceful escapade a second time. In the morrow. When all the jealous fightings subside. When we can take that would-be jealous one, and invite them in (minus the flailing injurious arms and legs that protest what they know not).