Come And Eat

Part 1 — Hunger and Disorientation

There is a particular kind of confusion that comes after everything you hoped for has already happened.

It is not the confusion of despair.

It is not the confusion of disbelief.

It is the confusion of now what?

That is where John 21 begins. The resurrection has already occurred. The tomb is empty. Jesus has appeared. Death has been defeated. And yet the disciples are not triumphant.

They are disoriented.

John tells us they return to fishing.

This is not backsliding. This is not unbelief.

This is what human beings do when the future becomes unclear — they return to what is familiar.

Fishing is muscle memory. Fishing is competence.

Fishing is something they know how to do when everything else feels uncertain.

And they fish all night.

Night in John’s Gospel is rarely just about time.

Night is often the space of misunderstanding, fear, and incomplete vision.

They work hard. They do what they know. They apply skill and effort.

And they catch nothing.

Which is exactly how many faithful people experience the aftermath of loss, failure, or even success.

You do what you know. You keep moving. You stay busy.

But nothing fills the net.

Some of the most dangerous spiritual exhaustion doesn’t come from rebellion — it comes from faithfulness that no longer knows where it is headed.

These men are not far from Jesus.

They simply don’t know how to locate themselves anymore.

And that is often where grace meets us.

At dawn, someone stands on the shore.

John is careful: they do not recognize Him.

Jesus is present before He is recognized.

That alone is worth lingering over.

He does not announce Himself.

He does not reclaim authority.

He does not demand acknowledgment.

He asks a question. “Children, have you any fish?”

It is not an accusation.

It is not sarcasm.

It is an invitation to honesty.

And their answer is brutally simple. “No.”

No excuses.

No explanation.

No theology.

Just truth.

That one word is the doorway into everything that follows.

Grace does not require eloquence.

Grace requires honesty.

Jesus tells them to cast the net again.

Not because the technique is magical — but because obedience, even when tired, creates space for gift.

The net fills.

Recognition follows provision.

It always does.

But notice this carefully:

Jesus feeds them before they fully recognize Him.

Grace precedes clarity.

Belonging precedes understanding.

Relationship precedes resolution.

And then — before any conversation about the future — Jesus prepares breakfast.

---Part 2 — Why the Risen Christ Eats

One of the quiet shocks of this passage is not that Jesus appears again. It’s what He does when He appears.

He eats.

That may not strike us as unusual at first, but for the ancient world—and for the way religious people often think—it is deeply significant.

If you were inventing a resurrection story, you would probably not include breakfast.

You would include light.

You would include power.

You would include transcendence.

You would include something unmistakably otherworldly.

But John tells us the risen Christ builds a fire, cooks fish, breaks bread, and eats with His friends.

Why?

Because resurrection is not an escape from the physical world. It is the redemption of it.

In the ancient imagination, spirits did not eat. Ghosts did not chew. Visions did not share meals.

Eating is stubbornly physical. It requires a body. It assumes hunger. It involves time, touch, smell, and presence.

By eating, Jesus is not just proving that He is alive. He is declaring what kind of life resurrection brings.

This is not salvation as escape from humanity. This is new creation.

The risen Christ still inhabits a body. Still bears wounds. Still participates in ordinary human life.

Which means creation is not disposable. The body is not a mistake. And everyday life is not beneath the concern of God.

Christian hope does not move away from the world. It moves toward it—healed, restored, and reconciled. That matters, because one of the lies sin tells us is that we are on our own.

Sin destroys relationship and leaves us alone in a world that tells us,

“If you don’t look out for yourself, no one else will.”

That lie thrives where life becomes abstract—

where faith is reduced to ideas,

where spirituality is disconnected from bodies, meals, and shared time.

Jesus answers that lie not by arguing,

not by explaining,

but by sitting down to eat.

And notice what He eats. Fish.

Not sacrificial meat.

Not festival food.

Not temple imagery.

Just breakfast.

That tells us something important.

Resurrection life is not lived in constant ecstasy. It is lived in ordinary faithfulness.

Grace does not require a special environment. It meets us where we already are.

These men are fishermen. This is their world. Jesus does not shame them for returning to it. He meets them there.