A Morning beside the Lake of Galilee

“After these things Jesus manifested himself Again to the disciples at the sea of Tiberias.’*

Fkom Mount Moriah a rugged path leads down to the valley. The night was clear and cool — the first week in April — and every footstep was fragrant; for the thyme and the rosemary had newly fetched up that incense which each successive spring earth yields to her Maker; and deep down in the hollow murmured a stream which told that the vernal rains were not long over and gone. From the city there rose into the sky a misty light, as from a festival; but whatever might be the stir and excitement in the streets, with white cliffs and shadowy ravmes, Olivet, lonely and silent, looked down on it all.

The Passover was finished, a new ordinance had been instituted, a hymn had been sung, and now the little company was descending this path — the temple behind them, Gethsemane before them — a sad and anxious company; J esus, sublime in His resolute purpose and far-seeing sorrow, His attendants weak with dim apprehension and that mysterious forecast, which we all know so well, of coming calamity. Kor was it reassuring when such words broke the silence — “All ye shall be offended because of me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep shall be scattered. But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee.”

You know the sequel. You know how in language the warm expression of his own attachment, although not sufficiently considerate of his brother apostles, Peter again and again protested, “Though all shall be offended because of thee, yet will I never be offended” “Though I should die with thee,

yet wni I nor deny thee.” And you know how he kept his promise. You know how his ardour carried him a little farther than the rest; how, when the others lied, he followed as far as to the high-pidest’s palace; but you know how there his courage gave way; how, at the first challenge, he exclaimed, ‘ I am not His disciple’; and how, at last, with oaths and execrations, he declared, “I know not the man.”

A month has passed on: a month which to the world has given a risen Redeemer, which to all the apostles has given again their Master, which to Peter has brought forgiveness and reinstatement in the lovingkindness of the Lord. And now the time of Christ’s ascension is near. It is a calm, sweet morning in May, and they are beside the lake of Galilee. Seven of the eleven apostles have been up all night, toiling, as it turned out, for the last time, at their old vocation of fishermen, with no success, till Jesus joined them, and in a single sweep filled their net so full that they could not draw it. The last meal that they and He had all taken together, was on that night so much to be remembered,* and since then “all things were made new.” Sin had been expiated, God’s

* On His fourth appearance (Luke xxiv. 42) He ate not with but “before” diem j and Thomas was absent.

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sacrifice on behalf of a sinning world had been offered, and the kingdom had come — the reign of God in the midst of men. And so there — not in the Holy City, nor under the shadow of Moriah, but far off, on the heathen border, in “Galilee of the (gentiles” — J esus meets His destined Evangelists; and in the whole incident there is something significant, we might almost say symbolic. They are engaged in their lawful calling, when the Master accosts them; teaching us that Christ is not ashamed of His servants because their employment is homely, or because they wear the coarse garb of the fisherman. But in that calling even experienced hands, habituated to the lake and proficients in their craft, have no success till their Master directs them where to find; teaching us in all our ways to acknowledge a higher wisdom. The race is not always to the swift; and unless the Lord Himself fill the net, the scholar, the trader, the statesman may toil all night, and catch nothing.

Yes; “the morning has now come,” and it is very lovely. Nor is it merely that the lake is glass; it is not merely that the blossomed oleanders, like willowy roses, proclaim the plenitude of summer; it is not the promise of plenty in the ripening barley and leafy orchards round them; but their world is new. Their future is unknown; His precise designs and purposes their Master has not yet unfolded; but it is enough. He Himself s here, — in His countenance no sorrow now: on His spirit no sore pressure such as human friendship can neither share nor understand. And as with gunwale still wet and slippery, the boats are beached — as on 4he pebbly strand, the embers have gone out, and their repast is finished, although a working day, it feels so Sabbath-like; for, radiant in resurrection-life, rich in that calm rest into which He has entered, no longer so careful to veil His glory, the Master is in the midst; and although little has yet been spoken, it seems as if all the holiest seasons of the last three years had come again, with a nearer heaven intermingled. It is the Lord. He lives; He dieth no more. And it is thu& that He looks: so concerned for His people’s welfare, so glad to provide the meal for the tired and’ hungry boatmen, so benignant toward them b 3 happiness: “Come and dine.” Yet the movements so miraculous: His sudden appearance, the surprising draught of fishes, the repast so strangely provided; in His graciousness such majesty, His very sweetness so awful, that none could be intrusive, nor “dursj” anyone break the silence, and put in words the question rising to his lips, “Who art thou h”* But the silence ends, the reserve is so far broken. Peter already knows that he is forgiven, but with Divine considerateness the Lord Jesus is desirous of setting him right with his brother apostles, and with Divine wisdom the Head of the Church purposes to found something on his very fall. So when Hie meal was ended, and the time was come .for free and friendly converse, the Lord addressed Himself to Peter. The very question was so shaped as to recal to Peter’s ‘mind his rash and arrogant avowal, “Although all men deny thee, yet will not I:” u Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these Vy — imply: Qg, ‘ Son of Jonas, not long ago you boasted, that if these others denied me, you loved me so much more than * See Note A. they, that there was no fear of you. What say you now? Do you love me more than the rest V And to the question thus put, very beautiful in its meekness is Peter’s answer. He is too humble now, and too modest, to make any comparison, but he must come out with the truth, and„to the Searcher of Hearts he appeals, “Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee;” and, accepting the declaration, J esus replies, “Feed my lambs.” ‘ I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not; now thou art converted, strengthen weak brethren. Take for thy special charge those who are still weak in the faith; let love find its outlet in feeding my lambs.’ *

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