and dine_.--John xxi., 9, 12.


I can not read these words without indulging for a moment in a
reminiscence. Not long ago, in the early morning, while all the world
slept, I stood beside the Sea of Tiberias, just as the morning mist
lifted, and watched a single brown-sailed fishing-boat making for the
shore, and the tired fishermen dragging their net to land. In that
moment it seemed to me as if more than the morning mist lifted--twenty
centuries seemed to melt like mist, and the last chapter of St. John's
gospel seemed to enact itself before my eyes. For so vivid was the
sense of something familiar in the scene, so mystic was the hour, that
I should scarce have been surprized had I seen a fire of coals burning
on the shore, and heard the voice of Jesus inviting these tired
fishermen to come and dine.

Now if I felt that, if I was sensible of the haunting presence of
Christ by that Galilean shore, how much more these disciples, in
whose minds every aspect of the Galilean lake was connected with some
intimate and thrilling memory of the ministry of Jesus.

Christ once more stands among the common things of life; the fire,
the fish, the bread--all common things; a group of tired, hungry
fishers--all common men; and He is there to affirm that in His
resurrection He had not broken His bond with men, but strengthened
it--wherever common life goes on there is Jesus still.

I. Notice the words with which the story opens, and you will see at
once that this is the real clue to its interpretation. "When morning
had now come, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples knew not