The Gospel today is full of a strange mixture.

Failure.
Weariness.
Embarrassment.
And then, suddenly, abundance.

The disciples have gone fishing.
Peter says, “I am going fishing,” and the others go with him.
It is a very human moment.

They do not quite know what to do with themselves.
They have seen the risen Lord.
They know something immense has happened.
And yet they are still in between.
Still waiting.
Still uncertain.
So they go back to what they know.

And they fish all night. And catch nothing.

That matters.

Because this is not only about fishing.
It is about the whole human condition without Christ.

Effort.
Activity.
Movement.
And still empty nets.

That is true of more than fishing.

It is true of much of life.
People work.
Strive.
Plan.
Chase.
Build.
Fill their days.
And still, at the end of it, there is a kind of emptiness.

Movement without fruit.
Labour without abundance.
Nets without fish.

Then, at daybreak, Jesus stands on the shore.

That detail matters too.

At daybreak.

Night is ending.
Light is appearing.
And the risen Christ is standing where they cannot yet clearly see Him.

He asks them: “Children, have you any fish?” They answer: “No.”

It is a small word.
But an honest one.

No.

No fruit.
No catch.
No success.
No illusion.

And that honesty matters.
Because grace begins to enter when pretence stops.

Then He says: “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.”

And they do.

And suddenly the nets are full.

That is the whole Gospel in one movement.

Without Christ: labour without fruit.
With Christ: abundance.

Not because the disciples suddenly become skilled.
Not because they work harder.
But because the risen Lord directs them.

That is one of the great Easter lessons.

The Resurrection is not just proof that Jesus is alive.
It is the revelation that all fruitfulness in the Church comes from Him.

That is exactly what Peter says in the first reading.

He and John stand before the rulers and elders.
They are questioned about the healing of the crippled man.
And Peter says with complete clarity:
it is by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead.

There is no hesitation there.
No softening.
No embarrassment.

The same Peter who denied Christ now speaks openly in His name.

Why?

Because Easter has changed him.

The Resurrection has not merely comforted Peter.
It has remade him.

And then Peter says the line that the Church can never stop saying:
“There is salvation in no one else.”

That is the scandal and the glory of Christianity.

Not that Jesus is one helpful teacher among others.
Not that He is one spiritual path among many.
But that the risen Christ is the only Saviour.

The empty tomb does not simply mean Jesus was vindicated.
It means He is Lord.
And if He is Lord,
then everything — preaching, sacraments, mission, hope, salvation — depends on Him.

That is what the miraculous catch is showing in picture form.

The Church will not bear fruit by her own cleverness.
Not by organisation alone.
Not by effort alone.
Not by returning to what feels familiar.
Only by obedience to the voice of the risen Christ.

And then the beloved disciple says:
“It is the Lord!”

That is a beautiful moment.

The empty nets are the first sign.
The abundance is the second.
And then comes recognition.

That is often how Christ works.

He is there before we see Him.
He speaks before we recognise Him.
He acts before we understand.

And then, suddenly, the truth becomes clear:
It is the Lord.

Peter immediately throws himself into the sea to get to Him.
That too is Easter.
The man who once stood warming himself at the enemy’s fire now hurries toward Christ.

Then they come ashore.
And what do they find?

A charcoal fire.
Fish laid on it.
And bread.

The risen Lord is already there preparing food for them.

That is a deeply moving detail.

They have failed.
They have been empty.
They have needed Him for everything.
And still He feeds them.

This is not only a breakfast by the sea.
It is a revelation of the heart of Christ.

The risen Lord is not done with His disciples.
He does not humiliate them for their weakness.
He provides.
He feeds.
He gathers.
He restores.

That is the Church’s life after Easter.

The Lord who died and rose
still stands on the shore of His Church.
Still directs.
Still provides.
Still fills empty nets.
Still prepares food for His people.

And this becomes very practical for us.

How many people live with empty nets?
Busy, but barren.
Religious, perhaps, but still dry.
Trying hard, but getting nowhere.
Working in their own strength and wondering why there is no peace, no joy, no depth, no fruit.

The Gospel says: listen again for the voice of Christ.

Because fruitfulness is not first about effort.
It is about obedience.

And how does the risen Lord still feed His people now?

In the sacraments.
In His word.
Above all in the Eucharist.

The Christ on the shore preparing food for His disciples prepares His Church still.
The table by the sea points us toward the altar.
The Lord who gave fish and bread gives now His own Body and Blood.

So the question today is simple.

Are we trying to live by our own strength?
Are we working with empty nets?
Are we going back to what feels familiar without asking what Christ is asking of us?

Or are we listening for His voice?

Because Easter means this:
the risen Christ is not absent.
He stands on the shore.
He speaks.
He directs.
He fills what is empty.
He feeds His people.

And this too must be said clearly: “There is salvation in no one else.”

Not in ourselves.
Not in the world.
Not in our plans.
Not in our strength.

Only in Christ.

So today, be honest enough to say with the apostles:
“No.”
No fruit.
No strength.
No sufficiency in ourselves.

And then be obedient enough to cast the net where He tells you.

Because the risen Lord still does what He did that morning:
He turns emptiness into abundance,
failure into fruit,
and hungry disciples into those who are fed and sent.