104/365 I'm going fishing

He stands there pompously proclaiming the gospel--he can even make Simon Peter sound like an effete snob: "I'm going fishing!" is said like one might tell a 4 year old that one is about to eat one's broccoli and one is very proud of this fact and thinks the 4 year old ought to do the same. A false excitement.

Not at all like the Sunday three years ago when Fr. Bill read this, visiting that Sunday (also a first communion Sunday, I remember). "I'm going fishing" was read with this tone of mixed regret, disgust, and a sort of hopeless helplessness. That Sunday (and I was not a big fan of Bill usually, especially when his homilies turned dark and dreary and filled with depressing poetry) I heard Simon Peter and understood. I could live and breathe in that moment of humanity. I've never read this passage the same way since.

But this time, the deacon stands there with his hands folded like how you'd teach a 2nd grader to go to communion, like a precious moments statue of a small child praying, and he's reading this gospel like he's telling a story to small children who just wouldn't understand. Not just "I'm going fishing" but all of it afterward when John points and says it's the Lord and Peter jumps into the water to get there. Peter, and I know I'm not original for saying this, is for me, the most human character in the gospel stories. He blurts. He says what's on his mind right then. He broods and lies and runs ahead to find the ending of the story. I love him. And so I found myself standing there remembering how this story goes instead of listening to it.

"Peter do you love me?" he says, syrupy. Christ is not some blond blue eyed soft around the edges greeting card. Look, oh look, Dick, look at Puff. Look at Puff. Puff is funny. Funny, funny Puff. THAT'S the tone. Finally. I remember children's primers and first grade attempts at inflection and that's what's going on at the ambo. Look, congregation, look at Peter. Funny, funny Peter.

I think about Peter, who would be drenched, standing on the shore eating bread and fish, with all these words in his head and nothing to say and then that question: Peter do you love me? In front of all the people he's supposed to lead, but why, why is he the leader? Stop asking me these questions. You know the answers.

The gospel of the Lord. We sing the Alleluia and I watch the deacon begin to withdraw from the ambo and Fr. Miguel meet him halfway at the altar. At least I won't have to go relieve Mike in back and take Leo and sit outside and ignore the homily. Funny, funny deacon. Sit, deacon, sit.