Back To the Beginning

So the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord.”
When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord,
he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad,
and jumped into the sea.
—John 21:1-19

I went back to the beginning,
now that we had reached the end
and the sun kept right on spinning
over us bewildered men.
For we found the tomb was empty
that we'd laid his body in—
I went back to where he met me;
maybe there I could begin.

Without hope and without mooring
we caught nothing through the night,
but a voice came with the morning,
“Cast your nets upon the right.”
So, dawn-dazzled, we worked blindly
just to bring the nets on board.
John alone of us saw rightly:
“Peter, look: It is the Lord!”

Once, I thought it wouldn't faze me
just to walk upon the depths.
In the end, I begged him, “Save me!”
I was sinking to my death.
Now I see the friend who fed me,
and I plunge into the wave
sinking down without a tremor
like a body in a grave.

I am not afraid of dying,
now my death is bound with his.
In his mercy, I am rising
from the dark of my abyss.
Now his dawning fills my vision:
There is welcome in his eyes.
I have fallen; I am risen
in the morning light of Christ.

Christ Appears On the Shore of Lake Tiberias, By James Tissot, circa 1886/94 – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2008, 00.159.343_PS2.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10904799

Mercy

You rose, O Christ, creation's brightest morn,
but still you show the marks where you were torn.
On us who wound you still as we did then,
breathe peace again.

On Thomas, smarting raw with newfound grief,
who could not bear the burden of belief,
when he cries out at last, “My Lord and God!”
show him your heart.

And Mary, who your messenger became,
was blind to you until you called her name.
She clutched at you: Her frightened grasp release
and give her peace.

Then Peter, too, who knew himself afraid
but when the cockerel crowed three times, “Betrayed!”
whose courage died, as it lived, by the sword:
Have mercy, Lord.

And even—in your mercy's farthest scope—
on him who dangled from a desperate rope,
poor Judas, come to greet you with a kiss:
Forgive him this.

For none of us can love you as we should;
for all of us, your grief turns to our good.
On us who take our comfort in your wounds, 
have mercy, too.

The Incredulity of Saint Thomas by Caravaggio, c. 1602 – Downloaded from Google Arts & Culture using dezoomify-rshttps://artsandculture.google.com/asset/der-ungl%C3%A4ubige-thomas-michelangelo-merisi-named-caravaggio/OAEjjQkNdRL9sg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=120649550

Peter On the Deck

After he had finished speaking, he said to Simon,
“Put out into deep water and lower your nets for a catch.”
Simon said in reply,
“Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing,
but at your command I will lower the nets.”
When they had done this, they caught a great number of fish
and their nets were tearing.
They signaled to their partners in the other boat
to come to help them.
They came and filled both boats
so that the boats were in danger of sinking.
When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at the knees of Jesus and said,
“Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”
For astonishment at the catch of fish they had made seized him
and all those with him,
and likewise James and John, the sons of Zebedee,
who were partners of Simon.
Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid;
from now on you will be catching men.”
When they brought their boats to the shore,
they left everything and followed him.
—Luke 5:1-11

Who are you who can call
a catch from empty seas
to fill our nets, our boats, and all,
yet bring me to my knees?

See, I had fished all night
my gaping hold to fill,
but at the dawning of the light
my boat was empty still.

Depart from me, O Lord;
I am a sinful man.
I'd not have taken you on board
if I had known your plan.

For when you gave the word 
I cast my nets again—
and I was caught by what I've heard.
Your nets are catching men.

You draw me from my sea—
I cower on the deck
and don't know if my life will be
a voyage or a wreck.

But I'll obey the call
to cast these nets once more
and offer you, my God, my all—
not my catch now but yours.

James Tissot, The Miraculous Draught of Fishes, Brooklyn Museum – Online Collection of Brooklyn Museum; Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 2006, 00.159.87_PS1.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10195917