Before I knew it, Peter had leapt headfirst into the water. With complete abandon and zero flotation devices, he literally threw himself into the sea. It brought back memories of that other time, and as I steered the boat back toward the shore, I began to laugh. I shouted out as I passed him floundering, “Guess it only works once, huh?” He offered a dripping grin and continued plowing toward Jesus.
Because that’s who it was again, of course.
With one hand guiding the boat, I shielded my eyes from the sun, and I could see him, grilling. He gestured at me with his hands, a sort of “What are you waiting for?” invitation, and I couldn’t hit the beach fast enough. The sand sprayed when I landed (Peter hauling it 25 yards back in the sea) and I ran. Seriously, I ran, thinking I felt more like a kid now than I ever had before.
And thinking maybe this was the posture of that childlike faith of which he’d spoken: running headfirst into his waiting arms.
He embraced me with one of his wild-bear-hugs, and I pounded him on the back, laughing.
“Fish. Again?! This stuff is like manna with you.” I stepped back and found my place on a seasoned log.
“At least you know what it is,” Jesus chuckled, holding up a finger and grilling with the other hand. “As they say, ‘The Lord provides in mysterious ways.’”
And then Peter burst from the sea and launched himself across the beach. He tackled Jesus before the poor guy could even shift position, and the two tumbled into the dry tufts of grass, spilling sand all over the fire and the food.
Their laughter echoes in my ears even now.
It was after the meal when Jesus asked Peter the question. Three times. And it was much later than that when I remembered the widow at the temple treasury.
I went to sleep still fumbling with the memories: images of copper coins from years ago and Peter’s eyes shimmering just over the flames of our reunion fire that morning…
The widow’s coins were all she had, and Peter gave his life. Faith is not appropriately catalogued information; it is how we give.
Of our time. Our energy. Ourselves.
As I lay on the sand that night, I dreamt of the woman and her coins. In my dream, those copper discs spun in circles on a stone table, chasing each other like the sun and moon. The widow stood at a distance, watching as temple leaders groped at the spinning offering – watching and flinching as their fingernails splintered against the stone. The money in their purses jingled as they bloodied their hands in pursuit of all she had. She turned and walked into a flurry of pelicans dotting the horizon as my dream evaporated in the orange haze of a coming sunrise.
And when I woke, I was like, “Huh. Pelicans.” I’ve never been able to shirk the image.
After a moment, I rolled over to see Jesus standing at the water’s edge with Peter. The same orange glow of my dream zig-zagged against the water’s surface. The two men looked out across the waves as they spoke; then, Jesus gave Peter a hefty pat on the back and turned back toward camp. Peter remained alone at the edge of the sea. With my mind still on the dream, I welcomed Jesus, and I asked him if he remembered the widow. He said he did.
“I had a dream last night. She was in it.”
Jesus reached to fill a cup of water and nodded.
“I remember you said she gave all she had. And I remember yesterday you told Peter…and in the dream she stood in silhouette against an orange sunrise…and Peter…he’s standing there now too.”
Jesus looked at me and nodded again; he let his eyebrows raise in invitation.
“I guess I don’t get it. I’ve never been very good with dreams. How can it be that they both get credit for giving everything. I mean…she gave coins…and he gives blood?”
Jesus swallowed, sighed, and looked back at Peter who was making his way toward us.
“And you may never die,” he said. And then he winked, and I allowed a chuckle. “Okay, John. Anticipate different harvests from different fields; different fruits from different trees. Would you expect wheat from a vineyard or grapes from a sycamore? Different recipes require different measures.”
I remember now, even forty years later. I looked at him, and he shrugged. Then he stood and walked toward Peter, offering him a hand. You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.
But if you walk with Jesus, you won’t feel like you need to anyway.
John 21 • Luke 21:1-4