Read the Lectionary Texts

Last Sunday, everybody was concerned about the lake.

According to the police officer who surprised us all by casually strolling down the aisle after the 10 o’clock service—like he was about to join the choir—Tellico Lake was rising faster than the dam could spill water. With somewhere between five and nine inches of rain since the previous Thursday, there was a real fear that the already-swollen lake might rise another five feet.

After church, our family took a ride through several of the lakefront neighborhoods. We saw lots of flooded docks and soggy backyards. Then we headed over to the Fort Loudon Dam—apparently along with half the congregation. It felt less like a crisis and more like a field trip. Some folks were being interviewed by Channel 10 News while others just stood, watching massive columns of water thunder through the gates of the dam into the turbulent Tennessee River below. It was quite a sight!

So there we were, a churchful of people, all concerned about the lake. But as I stood there, watching this powerful display of nature, I found myself asking the same question I’ve asked in quieter, more personal moments:

“Where is God in all of this?”

You and I both know that life is full of moments when we become alarmed and anxious. Our plans spring leaks. Our routines are disrupted. Our calendars get rained on—sometimes literally. And the lakes of our lives overflow with sorrow, loss, sickness, or plain old stress.

Where is God in all of this?

Well, a long time ago, a small group of people found themselves asking a very similar question while standing beside a lake of their own. They were followers of Jesus, but their hopes had been dashed on Good Friday. These were brokenhearted people. Grieving. Wandering. Wondering what to do next. All they really had left were some fishing boats and memories.

And in that moment, the Gospel of John gives us an amazing image.

Jesus is cooking breakfast on the shore.

I mean, really? That’s the comeback? The risen Christ is having a fish fry?

Take a look at the story. Jesus isn’t preaching a fiery sermon. He’s not levitating above the water in a glorious light show. He’s flipping fish on the grill like a short-order cook at the Galilee Waffle House.

Where is Jesus in their moment of confusion?

He’s right there. On the shoreline of their fear, their grief, their dashed hopes—cooking breakfast.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I didn’t see Jesus at Tellico Lake last Sunday. Nobody spotted him in a rain poncho, flipping catfish in a cast iron skillet, whistling a hymn and asking, “Coffee with that?”

And yet… maybe we weren’t really looking.

Sort of like the disciples, who didn’t recognize him either.

Where is Jesus in THIS moment?

That’s the question we need to be asking—not just during floods, but every day. Because the answer John gives is powerful:

Jesus is not in yesterday’s experience, but in today’s reality.

The disciples were stuck in yesterday. We all do that. We think back to the time when our faith was fresh and strong—when God felt near and answers came easy.

I once sat in a small group where we were asked to talk about our journey with God. And let me tell you, everyone became a historian. Childhood Sunday school stories, life-changing youth retreats, miraculous answers to prayer—yesterday, yesterday, yesterday.

Then the leader asked, “Where is Jesus in your life today?”

You’d have thought he asked us to solve a calculus problem. There was fumbling. Eye contact disappeared. One guy suddenly became very interested in his shoelaces.

Let me ask you: Where is Jesus in THIS moment of your life?

John says He’s right here. Not up there. Not behind you. Here. Right in the mess, the fog, the questions—cooking breakfast.

That’s one of the greatest truths you can learn: that God isn’t just the God of memory, but of presence. Not only of miracles, but of mundane moments.

And that leads us to Peter.

Remember Peter? Mr. “Even if everyone else bails, I’ll stick with you, Lord!”?

Yeah… that guy.

Three denials and one rooster later, Peter’s boldness had deflated faster than a bounce house at closing time.

And now, after the resurrection, Peter finds himself face to face with Jesus again.

“Peter, do you love me?”

Talk about awkward breakfast conversation.

There’s a quiet dance happening in this exchange. In the Greek, Jesus uses the word agape—a perfect, divine love. Peter responds with phileos—a more human, brotherly affection. It’s like Jesus says, “Do you love me with all your heart?” and Peter answers, “I really like you… a lot.”

But here’s the beautiful part: Jesus meets Peter where he is. He doesn’t shame him. He doesn’t say, “Well, come back when you’ve got agape-level love.” He accepts the love Peter can offer, and then He says, “Feed my sheep.”

Not “go sit in the back row for a while.” Not “wear a name tag that says ‘Former Denier.’”

No. Jesus forgives Peter—and gives him a job.

This is grace in action. Forgiveness isn’t just a warm feeling. It’s freedom with purpose.

Garrison Keillor once told the story of Larry Sorenson, a man in Lake Wobegon who got saved 12 times in the Lutheran church between 1953 and 1961—despite the fact that they never gave altar calls! He wept buckets of tears at the communion rail, Sunday after Sunday, much to the dismay of the pastor who was usually preaching about stewardship.

Eventually, Keillor writes, “Even we fundamentalists got tired of Larry.”

Then he adds, “God didn’t mean for you to feel guilty all your life. There comes a time when you should dry your tears and join the building committee and grapple with the problems of the church furnace.”

In other words, get up from the altar and grab a hammer—or a spatula.

So where is Jesus in this moment of your life?

Not in yesterday’s failure. Not in yesterday’s storm. But in today’s forgiveness, and today’s call to follow.

In fact, that’s the very last thing Jesus says in the story: “Follow me.”

He doesn’t say, “Worship me from afar.” He says, “Come close. Live like I do. Show up on somebody else’s shoreline with some fish and some bread.”

Because the world is full of hungry people—hungry for presence, for grace, for second chances. And your job, my job, is to show up and cook breakfast.

Where is Jesus in this moment of history?

Right here.

Can’t you smell breakfast cooking?