A Jesuit Catholic University
in Omaha, Nebraska, since 1878

[265] Acts 4:1-12 Ps 118:1-2+4, 22-24, 25-27a John 21:1-14

Weekly Guide for Daily Prayer The Daily Reflections

“So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn.” (Jn 21:11)

Each time I read the Bible or hear the readings at Mass, I am struck by the enduring value they leave in my life and their ability to be meaningful in all times and stages. Having lost my father a few months ago, I read today’s gospel with a lens of grieving—one that I have never before experienced in such depth—and in return, this passage speaks to me as a message of hope in new ways that I did not pick up on with my last reading of it.

Anyone who has grieved or even just suffered in general, knows these feelings: Feelings of being lost in darkness, feelings of exerting every ounce of strength just to smile, just to continue on with a normal life, feelings of confusion, uncertainty, and sometimes hopelessness.

We are told that grief and suffering are parts of human life, that they are a journey we all have to walk through at some point. It’s easy to feel like this journey is a long, unmarked trail winding its way up steep slopes and barren chasms, through thick darkness—a trail we are thrust onto without any sense of where to go or what to do.

The journey of grief and suffering —in all of its confusion and ensuing sense of helplessness—might also be like casting your fishing net in the middle of the ocean, waiting up all night, and not catching even one fish come daybreak. Futile, frustrating, hopeless, endless.

And yet, Jesus comes with the hopeful rays of dawn to change our perspective as we walk through this journey. This passage in John paints a picture of the disciples, his beloved friends, spending all night fishing and gaining nothing for their efforts. At dawn, Jesus stands on the shore but the disciples do not recognize him. If grief and suffering are like spending multiple nights in a cold, rickety fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, casting a net, and not catching any fish, than perhaps we can understand why it would be hard to recognize Jesus—who is hope, love, and meaning—after undergoing this ordeal: it wears you out after a while, makes hope hard to find in the dark.

Though they do not recognize him, Jesus desires to help his friends. Upon hearing that they have not caught any fish, he instructs them to cast their net on the other side of the boat. Jesus comes at the break of dawn (hope breaking through the darkness) and tells his friends that if they simply shift their nets to the other side of the boat (change their perspectives) than all will be well. Easier said than done, I know, but I am convinced that even in our darkest nights on the sea, when our nets feel most barren, Jesus longs to bring us hope and joy if we are but open to Him perhaps changing our hearts and minds.

For me, this change in heart has been how I pray through grief and suffering: I have learned not to ask Jesus to take away the pain I feel, as tempting as that is; rather, I ask him to give me the grace I need to carry it, to draw closer to him, to serve others even more, despite my heartache. I ask him to make me open, to help me trust that the dawn is breaking through the darkness, that there is purpose in my pain.

Perhaps the last part of this gospel is the part that stood out to me the most and one that I think draws on the idea of faithful endurance in times of grief and suffering. Ordinarily, I would read the verse, “So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn,” to mean that the disciples were blessed with an enormously large amount of fish, an amount that would not be humanly possible to contain (Jn 21:11). However, as I read this gospel through the lens of grief, the idea of the net not being torn brings me hope.

Despite the net having to hold such a heavy burden, it is not torn. Even though we may feel like just breathing takes monumental effort when we go through grief or suffering, Jesus reassures us over and over again that he will never give us a load we can’t carry. We will not be overcome. The journey of grief and suffering is long, dark, and confusing, yes, but we will not be crushed by its burden. We will not be torn. We will find the dawn shattering the darkness, our hearts will grow stronger in love for Christ and each other, and we will once again be filled with abundant joy (that’s where the fish come in!). If we can hold fast and continue to open our hearts to Christ through this journey, then Jesus tells us, all will be well.