Breakfast with the Risen Lord

It was one of those dark and gloomy nights. The Disciples of Jesus gathered in the dark room. They had probably been skipping meals. They can only think of one thing. Everyone is waiting for the other to start a conversation. Because they all know that when that topic comes up, nobody will want to take the blame. A Man was crucified three days back. But they don't know exactly when. They had not been counting. But it seemed like ages, like a sleepless night that refuses to end. And now they hear that this Man has risen again. How could they know it was not a dream? The tension was so terrific that they were not even sure where the line between sanity and insanity was drawn.

Peter slowly gets up. He is unusually slow that night. He is one of those characters who have to be talking all the time. And when he is not talking, he needs to be involved in some other activity. That's why he could not tolerate the silence anymore. The stillness was unbearable; it was like a union between silence and terror; the eerie union between the silent onlooker and the terrorist who commits the crime. And this crime was committed in silence. To him the stillness of that night was like a string stretched so tight. Too tight and sharp, that if it was stretched tighter, it seemed that it might break with a noise like thunder and lightning right in his ear.

"I'm going fishing", declares Peter in a deep and formless voice. The others mechanically and slowly follow because they have no other choice. After all, this was the only thing they best. They moved toward the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, walking as men who have no purpose or aim walk, men who go where their feet take them. They had been to this shore a thousand times. So they walked this shore again, naturally.