When We Don't Know What to Do, Jesus Comes Anyway
A Lectio Reflection on John 21:1-14
A Gospel of Return and Recognition
There are more days than we'd like to admit when our heart feels like it's wandering without a map. Moments when the light we thought we had seen grows dim, and we return, almost instinctively, to what is familiar—not because it gives life, but because we don’t know what else to do. The disciples went fishing. It was what they knew. The Resurrection had happened, yes, but it hadn’t yet become real to them. So they returned to their nets, not out of great purpose, but out of habit. Maybe it was out of confusion or quiet despair.
Isn’t this often our way too? When we’re uncertain, tired, or afraid to face the deeper questions stirring within, we go back to old routines, old comforts. Not necessarily because they satisfy, but because they are known. We long for familiarity.
But then, in the stillness of this ordinary, exhausted return, Jesus comes. Quietly. Simply. “Children, have you caught anything?” he asks—not with blame, but, as always, with familiarity. And then He invites them to act in a way that feels small: “Cast the net on the right side.” Not a grand miracle. The disciples—professional fishermen could cast nets in their sleep. Not a thunderous revelation. Just a simple instruction.
It’s that simple, familiar gesture that opens the way for the extraordinary. The nets are suddenly overflowing, and with that comes the moment of recognition: It is the Lord. The eyes of love can finally see what had been hidden in plain sight.
This Gospel is not only about fish or even failure—it’s about Jesus returning to those who felt lost, those who were tempted to believe that their story with Him was over. This is a story of restoration, not reprimand. Not to condemn Peter for his denial, but to renew the bond between them, gently, over a shared meal.
And what of the 153 fish? It’s a curious detail. Theologians and saints have puzzled over it for centuries—St. Jerome suggested it represented all the known species of fish, a sign of the Church's universal mission. St. Augustine, never one to shy away from a good mystery, saw it as a symbol of the fullness of the Law and the grace of the Spirit. And then there’s the Venerable Bede, who crafted a whole beautiful (and honestly quite complicated) numerical formula to explain it. Maybe he was right. Or maybe it’s simply this: a quiet reminder that nothing in our lives—not even a net full of fish—is random or overlooked. Every detail is seen, known, and counted by the Lord. When He is present, even the smallest things are wrapped in meaning.
In the end, this story is about recognition. About realizing that Christ meets us in the ordinary, in the habitual, even in the tired moments when we’ve come up empty. He comes not with fanfare, but with quiet love, inviting us to trust once more, and to discover, even in the small, familiar acts, that He is there.
“It is the Lord.” May that be our response too, whenever the quiet miracle of His love breaks into the weary places of our lives.
© 2025, Lawain McNeil, Mission Surrender, LLC.
So true!