21:9 When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread.

10 Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.”

11 So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn.

12 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.”

Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord.

 Again Jesus takes the role of a lowly servant. Perhaps his disciples remembered Jesus’ action on the night that he was betrayed, when he

got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself (John 13:4)

and washed their feet.

This time, no one objects to being served by their Master. In fact, no one speaks at all. They are stunned into silence. Even though this is the third time the disciples have experienced the risen Presence of Jesus, they still cannot take in the reality of what they are perceiving. The mystery of Jesus is overwhelming.

The passage of centuries has not made resurrection any more comprehensible or easy to assimilate. Facing the final events of Jesus’ life and the stories of his resurrection, we are pushed to the limits of our human capacity for understanding. These events as told in the Gospels do not lend themselves to rational analysis. The world of resurrection is not a world we can navigate with the tools we are accustomed to using to find our way through the details of our regular day.

I cannot think my way to resurrection. I can give no scientific proof for resurrection. I can only decide to either open my heart to the beauty and light that are carried in these stories, or close my heart and walk away from it all as if it were a sham.

Whatever I decide in the face of these miracle stories, my decision will shape my life. If I walk away, I resign myself to a life of surfaces, a life of the mind and the emotions but nothing more. If I decide to open to the possibility embodied in the events as the Gospel writers convey them, I open to an enchanted universe filled with mystery, beauty, awe and wonder. I embrace the possibility of possibilities I cannot begin to imagine or grasp with my rational mind.

It feels safer to stay with the ordinary, the predictable, the world of understanding and reason. But, it also feels impoverished. I sense a loss when I try to dismiss the numinous dimension to which these stories point. And so, I travel on with faltering faith and try to hear the voice of truth speaking to me in these troubling unusual tales.

What helps me open to the possibility of realms other than the rational, physical, time-bound dimension of circumstance?

What happens when I allow my heart to open to the possibilities that extend beyond the narrow confines of my mind?