It was the last Eucharist of our pilgrimage
on a sunlit terrace ten yards from the lake.
It might have been where he first saw Peter.
It might have been where he summoned James and John.
It could have been after he had risen
and was waiting for them with a hot breakfast.
No matter how we’d called to mind these scenes,
this morning shocked us out of our conjectures
with a stark reality of beauty.
The lake was calling just as he would have called;
the voice was strong and unmistakable,
bright as the risen sun on the early water:
he was commanding us to become alive,
to expect our living to be more abundant,
to expect the changing glory of the water
to be our glory, as it was his glory.
We gathered round a simple, small table,
waiting with cross, water, bread and wine,
where two sparrows price one farthing perched.
At first we feared they might be shooed away,
but God be praised! they left of their own accord.
It seemed they’d brought an unexpected blessing;
they too, with us, were living a slice of Heaven.
Galilee
Sylvia Read