Friday in the Octave of Easter

 Lectionary: 265

When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.”

In the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, there are only three references to charcoal, and two are in the Gospel of Saint John. The first is found in Chapter 18, and the scene is Herod's courtyard:

Now the slaves and the guards were standing around a charcoal fire that they had made, because it was cold, and were warming themselves. Peter was also standing there keeping warm.

The charcoal fire in chapter 22 immediately recalls Peter's insistent denial of knowing Jesus. Smells are often powerful reminders of ancient memories; the smell of burning charcoal must evoke in the apostle's mind his remorse, shame, and guilt about that terrible evening. 

The unnamed beloved disciple, whom we presume is Saint John, was with Peter on both occasions. He was acquainted with the high priest and used his personal connection to arrange for Peter's admission to Herod's courtyard. Though John seems to have a particularly affectionate relationship with the Lord and is the first to believe in his resurrection, he is nonetheless standing with Peter by both charcoal fires. He may be a guilty bystander for his silence when Saint Peter was twice challenged with knowing the Accused. He said nothing when he might have spoken up. 

Scripture scholars regard this twenty-second chapter of Saint John's Gospel as an epilogue to the original text; it was probably written by another author and appended at a later date. It is nonetheless canonical -- that is, it is truly God's word -- but we wonder what to make of it. 

Perhaps this story concerns the atonement every disciple must make after they have turned to the Lord for mercy. We have sinned against the Lord and the Gospel we love. We freely confess our sins and remember them with bitter regret. Years after we have adapted to the blessed way of life, after all the old, compromising relationships are finished, acquaintances are forgotten, and sinful habits unlearned, many still feel the sharp pang of remorse. "What was I thinking? How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I know better?" 

We cannot carry that load into eternal bliss. God's perfect beauty and sovereign authority cannot be content with partial atonement. More is demanded of us than just regret for our past. The Lord God deserves and demands nothing less than perfection. The reconciliation which Jesus has effected by his passion, death, and resurrection must complete the story of our lives. They must become gospel stories. 

The Sacrament of Penance has been called confession. Protestants use the same word with a very different intent; it means the public acknowledgement of knowing and loving Jesus Christ. Where Catholics confess our sins, Protestants confess their faith. 

But Catholic confession should finally mature into a Gospel proclamation: I was lost but Jesus found me; I was dead but I arose. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is -- or should be -- a happy occasion when we celebrate with joy the mercy of God. I have done wrong; I know, and I own it. But the Lord in his mercy has exposed my sin and insistently brought me back to grace. 

The Hound of Heaven does not allow us to wallow in remorse. He insists that we rejoice in the memory of sin which is now coupled with, and encased within, gratitude for God's mercy, healing, and joy. Every time I remember the sins of my youth I should feel elated at how the Lord brought me back. 

Every Christian's personal story is a gospel, but it's not about the individual. It's about the victory of Jesus Christ over sin and death.