On this Third Sunday of Easter, the Gospel invites us to the peaceful shores of the Sea of Galilee, where the Risen Christ reveals himself once more to his disciples. The scene is simple, almost ordinary – fishermen returning to their boats, weighed down by confusion, disappointment, and unspoken grief. Despite having seen the empty tomb and heard the news of the resurrection, their hearts remain uncertain. Peter speaks the words of someone trying to return to something familiar and manageable: “I am going fishing.” The others follow him. And so, they return to what they once knew – casting nets, rowing through the night, relying on their skill and strength. Yet their efforts yield nothing. Their nets, like their spirits, remain empty.
At dawn, a figure appears on the shore, though they do not recognize him. He calls out with gentle direction: “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” Exhausted and perhaps skeptical, they might have dismissed the suggestion. But they choose to obey. And suddenly, the net is filled with a multitude of fish, so great that they are unable to haul it in. At this moment of abundance, recognition dawns. When John said, “It is the Lord!”, Peter jumps into the water to reach Jesus without delay.
This Gospel passage reveals who Christ is and how he continues to meet us. Like the disciples, we too have moments when our efforts seem fruitless, when we give our best yet find ourselves weary and discouraged. Whether it is in our families, our work, our vocations, or our spiritual lives, there are nights when we labor in darkness and come away empty-handed. In these moments, Christ comes quietly to the shore of our lives, not to condemn, but to encourage. He calls us to try again – not on our own terms, but with trust in his word.
The miraculous catch is not simply about success; it is about the power of obedience and the grace of renewed hope. The number of fish – one hundred and fifty-three – has long been interpreted by the Fathers of the Church as symbolic of the universality of the Gospel. It represents all the nations of the world, brought together in the net of divine love. This mission, entrusted to the apostles, remains ours as well: to gather hearts for Christ, not by our strength, but by following his command.
And then, in one of the most tender scenes in the Gospels, Jesus prepares a meal for his friends. There is no rebuke, no questioning of why they returned to their old ways. There is only fire, fish, bread, and the quiet presence of a Lord who knows their hearts. In this act, he reveals that he is not only the Risen Lord of glory but the gentle Shepherd who feeds, heals, and restores.
Saint Augustine once wrote, “Christ is not valued at all unless he is valued above all.” It is not the miracle alone that opens the eyes of the disciples, but love. In our lives, too, Jesus often comes disguised in the familiar – through the kindness of a friend, the persistence of a prayer, the whisper of conscience. And he continues to feed us, especially in the Eucharist, where he gives not only bread but his very self. This Sunday, we are invited to listen once more to the voice that calls from the shore. If we have grown tired, if our nets feel empty, if we have begun to drift toward old patterns, Jesus offers a new beginning. He calls us to cast our nets again, to trust that with him, even our failures can become fruitful. May our hearts, like those of John and Peter, be quick to recognize his presence. May we never be afraid to leap toward him with joy.
Rev. Dr. Mathew Charthakuzhiyil