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An Unexpected Breakfast with Jesus

After this Jesus revealed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he revealed himself in this way. Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples were together.

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.

Just as day was breaking, Jesus stood on the beach; yet the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, "Children, have you any fish?" They answered him, "No."

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, for the quantity of fish.

That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his clothes, for he was stripped for work, and sprang into the sea. But 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.

When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish lying on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught." So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three of them; and although there were so many, the net was not torn.

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. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. (John 21:1-14, RSV)

Although this passage would soon become quite significant to me, I didn’t think much of it the first time it was read to our group during the Sabbath 2000 retreat. For one thing, it was a Wednesday morning—8 a.m. (Way too early for writer-types to act perky.) Secondly, when Sabbath director Mark Yaconelli slowly and meditatively recited the passage, I was sitting in a tiny, circular chapel with about 50 youth workers—each of whom were there for probably 50 different reasons (to learn spiritual exercises, refresh their souls, commune with God in nature, or—as Mark happily put it more than once, experience "a lotta nuthin’"). And I was ruminating on my own reasons at the time.

They were simple: Get the scoop on Sabbath and—if you have time or energy left—participate a little.

I got just a bit more than I bargained for. (More on that later.)

Silence Is Golden
The two main things that initially struck me about Sabbath were the times of silence and the "no name tag" policy. Both are very unusual for professional conferences—and especially those involving youth workers.

Each day, from the time we woke up until lunch, we were to observe silence. No talking. I wasn’t sure why this was, but being a natural observer, it was easy for me to sink into the background, shut up, and watch this phenomenon unfold.

Immediately following that first morning chapel—when the bunch of us walked along dew-soaked paths to breakfast—it suddenly dawned on me like the distant, yawning sun: Gone was the social "requirement" to make small talk as part of a large group. With no verbal communication for four to five hours, attentions have no choice but to turn inward—and upward. The proof was right in front of me: A roomful of rabble-rousing youth workers lining up to consume food (of all things) and not a peep!

Our mornings, as a result, were spent focused on our own souls in communion with God. Jesus now could enter through doors we always kept shut due to our habitual participation in "normal" activities — like conversation. (I now believe wholeheartedly that the path to spiritual enlightenment is forged most deeply when we question that which we assume is normal.)

Several participants told me later that the silence was far from burdensome. In fact, they loved it. Not only that—they were bummed when lunch came and the talking resumed! Mark later revealed to the group that the "no name tags" policy was hatched from the same seed as silence: We weren’t supposed to focus on each other at Sabbath. It didn’t matter if we didn’t know each other’s names. We were there to individually—and selfishly, I might add—get intimate with God.

Funny. I grew up believing silence is bad. That silence means you don’t share your feelings, that you’re afraid to show who you are, that you’d rather be alone. But Sabbath turned that notion on its ear: Silence is indeed a form of communication. And between you and God, it’s probably the best form of communication.

"Repeat after Me..."
Another oddity was the emphasis on repeating Scriptures and prayers. Like its close relative silence, the idea of repetition—especially when it concerns activities like prayer—is like kryptonite to the evangelical world. (You know, we’re not supposed to rattle on mindlessly like the pagans.)

Well, I discovered another new truth at Sabbath: There’s a big difference between mindless and mindful repetition. The John 21 passage—Jesus appearing to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberius—was repeated several times a day, each day of the retreat. In fact, that was the only Scripture passage we read as a group over the course of the four days. Therefore something new stuck out each time that passage was recited—that Jesus calls his disciples "children," that the disciples caught no fish all night, that the disciples didn’t recognize Jesus at first. It’s a short passage—and certainly not as popular as the rest of the chapter (in which Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him)—but I learned that it’s incredibly full. And I learned that such a passage must be repeated so that the subtle truths will eventually reveal themselves.

Something from Nothing
One of the handful of spiritual exercises we took part in was based on an aspect of the John 21 passage: That the disciples caught no fish all night—and only after Jesus told them where to fish did they fill their nets.

Now "creative exploration" activities don’t excite me a whole lot. (Okay, I’d probably rather chew glass.) But this one seemed fairly painless: Write the word something on one side of a piece of paper and the word nothing on the other side, then take some time and list things in your life—or not in your life—on the appropriate sides. Before I knew it, my pen was filling both sides of the page—and I received more unexpected revelations.

My "nothing" side was filled with deep longings yet unfulfilled—things impossible to hold, things I can’t control, things too difficult to define. They’re elusive, like ghosts—illusions almost. In short, they can only be fulfilled by God. Conversely, my "something" side was filled with things I can easily replace—things I literally can buy. Temporal items I can manipulate and hang on to if necessary.

Mike Yaconelli (Mark’s dad) led the morning meditation that preceded this exercise, and his words rang fresh and true as I reflected upon what I’d just learned: There was a purpose to the disciples catching nothing. It was so they could have something—but only from Jesus. Their efforts came up empty, but that’s so Jesus could be the one to fill their nets. That’s what Jesus wants for us, too: He wants us to stop trying to fill our nets with our desires. He alone wants to be the one to provide for us. He wants us to recognize him on the shores of our lives.

Spiritual Direction
After a good two hours of free time (another refreshing aspect to the Sabbath retreat), we gathered for our first spiritual exercise—Lectio Divina. It began with Mark reading part of the John 21 passage three times in a row, continued with us focusing on words or phases from the passage that mean something to us, and then ended after we meditated on what God might be trying to communicate to us individually. (My attempts weren’t very successful—my mind wandered a bit too much.)

Then we met in spiritual direction groups. This was my first encounter with a spiritual director, so I was glad that six of us were together, taking 10 minutes each to share whatever we wanted to talk about with the director (there was no discussion allowed among the group). It wasn’t so much a counseling session as a reflection session. Mark joked at the beginning of Sabbath that—according to Eugene Peterson—spiritual directors have two rules: 1) They don’t know anything; 2) They don’t care. So the spiritual directors did little more than notice what we were saying, how we were saying it, and reflecting back to us those observations—staying indifferent so that God could be the real spiritual director.

During my one-on-one time a few days later, after nearly an hour of me rambling about my life, my spiritual director asked only one question: Have you talked to God about that? I shook my head and chuckled. "Well..."

"Eat This Bread..."
Each night ended as it began—with a chapel service. But the evening service also contained a short sermon (15 minutes) and communion. The worship all week was quite powerful in its simplicity and (surprise!) repetition.

A lone guitarist led us through a few songs, none of which contained more than two verses each. They were easy to pick up—but only because the verses (i.e., the songs) were repeated over and over again. Perhaps that approach wouldn’t fly in many churches, but I found that the fewer the words, the more powerful and meaningful the impact. We were forced to concentrate — then images that really stick with your spirit can come forth.

After we received communion and repeated a simple refrain (I can still hear it, "Eat this bread/drink this cup/come to me and never be hungry again...") I literally felt filled by Christ. I realized at that moment that I didn’t need—or want—anything else to fill me. I realized that so much of my life is spent seeking after things besides Jesus to fill my soul. I know intellectually that’s foolishness—that nothing can fill me like God can. But what I learned anew is that I so often look elsewhere because I don’t trust God that he loves me enough to fill me—and I suspect many of us feel similarly if we’re really honest. So it was important for me to feel God filling my nets at that moment.

Some Reporting Job!
By the middle of the first day, I stopped taking notes. By the second day I stopped checking my phone for messages. By the third day I’d blown off making calls for a freelance writing assignment—due the day I was to return. Before I knew it, I was a full participant in the proceedings—and with no clue how I’d communicate what went on at the retreat.

But somehow it didn’t matter. I felt so peaceful, so quiet, so slowed down that I knew the work waiting for me wasn’t going anywhere. I’d get it done sometime. Somehow. Who, after all, is the one who fills my nets?

FYI: If you’re interested in attending one of the Sabbath retreats next spring, keep an eye out for developments by surfing to Sabbath. Locations and dates for Sabbath 2001 should be announced sometime this fall. (Act quickly though...spaces are very limited.) The Sabbath retreats are subsidized in part by the San Francisco Theological Seminary’s Youth Ministry & Spirituality Project, Youth Specialties, and Upper Room Publishing.

Dave Urbanski is the editor of Youthworker journal.