What To Do With A God Who Makes You Breakfast
What seems so ordinary about this moment is exactly what makes it extraordinary. Jesus is teaching his disciples a profound lesson: a resurrected life is a life that serves.
I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with a God who makes me breakfast.
No, really. What do you do when the One who created everything says, “Come, have a seat. How do you like your eggs?”
In John chapter 21, a recently resurrected Jesus starts a fire, broils some fish (side note: this is my theological basis for not eating sushi, ever), and serves up some fresh bread for seven of his disciples on the shore of the Sea of Galilee.
Aside from the obvious conviction I now feel on the days when I toss a bagel in the toaster, slap on some peanut butter, pour a glass of juice and call it breakfast—there is something really significant about this kind of encounter with God.
Jesus seems ordinary here. Ultra-human. Just a guy on the beach making breakfast.
But what seems so ordinary about this moment is exactly what makes it extraordinary. Jesus is teaching his disciples a profound lesson: a resurrected life is a life that serves.
Jesus had been executed and entombed. Left for dead, but then raised to life. And now he was appearing to his disciples on the seashore, spatula in hand.
Jesus is the most powerful man on the planet. He could have flexed that power through myriad of jaw-dropping miracles or overdone dramatics. But he’s just on the beach, broiling some tilapia for his friends.
Why didn’t he escape the tomb and head right to the temple to flip some more tables? Or try to get on Pontius Pilate’s calendar for an “I told you so!” meeting? Or just skip the pleasantries altogether, ascend to heaven immediately, and leave everyone to wrestle with their faith and his whereabouts?
Because he wanted to make sure they were clear about who he was, and thus who they ought to be.
He was God, yes. Creator. Ruler. King. Subservient to no one, yet servant of all.
If even after his brutal crucifixion and miraculous resurrection he was finding practical ways to serve his community, there are no excuses left for any of us.
Neither the greatest humiliation nor the most glorious display of power can exempt us from the simple call to servanthood.
Jesus rose from the dead with all authority and power in heaven and on earth. He had nothing left to prove. But he headed to the beach, gathered up some coals, and cooked up a simple breakfast for his friends.
No ticker-tape parades. No exclusive media interviews. No nonsense.
In all his resurrected glory, he did what he had come to do. Not to be served, but to serve. This is the distinguishing mark of a resurrected life—-service to others.
Only dead people need people to serve them. They don’t have the life inside to give anything to anybody else. But when you are made alive after being dead for so long, you get in the kitchen, preheat the oven, and set the table for anyone who needs a hot meal.
Resurrected people, I beseech you! Whatever your kitchen is, get in there and start serving up good things to the people around you.
It’s the resurrection way. It's the only way to truly live.