The days passed, with Peter becoming increasingly anxious to get out of the city.

Exactly eight days after Peter and the others had seen that apparition that appeared to be Jesus, suddenly here it was again!

A ripple of amazement went through the room, and Peter involuntarily stood up, feeling his skin prickle into gooseflesh. They had been casually chatting about latest rumors during dinner when, suddenly, Jesus stood in the exact center of their four low tables and said, "Shalom!"

With a gasp, everyone turned to see, and some stood.

Thomas was seated across from Peter, and he too got to his feet.

The Spirit said, "Thomas, come over here and reach out with your hand and put your finger into My hands and My feet. "

Thomas, who had been the loudest of the skeptics, and who had just about convinced the staunchest of them that it was a hoax, or that they just dreamed it, went warily forward.

Reaching out, he took the right hand in his left, and, turning the hand palm upward, put his index finger into the gaping, livid wound. He gasped, eyes widening with fear, and stood looking closely into the scarred face, unable to move or speak.

"Now, Thomas, reach your hand out there and put it into My side."

The man drew back His garment, exposing a ragged incision several inches wide and very, very deep.

Thomas, moving zombielike, breath coming in quick, short gasps, a clammy film of perspiration covering his brow and upper lip, reached a trembling hand toward the wound.

Peter's stomach knotted up, and his heart beat so loudly he thought he could hear it. There wasn't a sound in the room. All were craning their necks to witness this unreal scene.

Thomas inserted his hand into the wound and thought he would faint!

The wound was huge—long and deep—and it was so cold. It felt exactly like placing his hand inside a cold cut of meat, except it was not moist, but dry. Thomas withdrew his shaking hand, and, standing with his whole body trembling visibly, drew back and exclaimed with a breaking voice, "My Lord and my God!"

As if unstopping all the mouths at once, several others said similar words, pronouncing His name, and several dropped to their knees and bowed their heads.

Jesus let the garment fall back into place and looked around on them all.

In a strong, clearly recognizable voice, He said, "Because you have seen Me, you have believed. Blessed are those that have not seen, and yet have believed!"

With that, He disappeared!

A noisy babble of voices broke out then.

Peter and John, together with Mary Magdalene, Cleopas, Luke and Matthew, talked far into the night about what would happen next.

Surely Jesus was alive! Somehow He had made good on His promise that He would not remain in that tomb for more than three days and three nights.

They began comparing.

"It was on the preparation day, right before the slaying of the Passover, remember," said Cleopas.

"Yes, and the day following was Thursday, the High Day, so we all rested, thinking Jesus was dead and buried," Mary added.

The women told how they had prepared spices and oils on that Friday, and then had rested on the weekly Sabbath as they habitually did, and had sought permission to gain access to the body before the fourth day, when it would be too late, for they felt He had not had a proper burial and there had been no preparation of the body, just a hasty wrapping in grave clothes, but no oils or spices.

"We wanted to get there before the morning and beat any curious people to the tomb, because the leaders were parading many people by every day, showing them the guards and the stone and saying Jesus was dead," said Mary Magdalene.

"Yes," added His mother. "And we wanted to get to the tomb before they changed the night guard, and when the men would be very tired and more likely to let us in without argument. It was still very black when we got there . . . " she said, and briefly repeated, for probably the twentieth time, their experiences of the next few hours.

But Jesus had not been there; the stone was rolled back, and the guards were passed out cold, and then they had seen the two angels.

Peter remembered how John had gained the mouth of the tomb just ahead of him but had stopped and tried to peer inside. Peter had rushed right on past him and entered the tomb, looking around. There were niches for several bodies, but not one in sight—just the linen clothes lying there with the napkin that had been around His head rolled up in a separate bundle by itself.

So He had been in the tomb exactly three days and three nights, then. Having been buried late that Wednesday, before the High Day Sabbath, which was the first day of the Days of Unleavened Bread, He had spent Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night and all day Sabbath until late in the afternoon, at precisely the same time of day that He had been buried, in the tomb.

Then, Peter thought, that stone was not rolled away to let Jesus out; it was rolled away to let John and him in.

He discussed this with the others, and they began talking about His ability to appear and disappear right through stone walls.

"Then He must have actually gone right through the stone walls of the tomb," because He was already risen—gone—by the time Mary got there, and that was still hours before daylight!" Peter said.

The others agreed, with much shaking of heads and talk about miracles.

Mary said Jesus had told her, "Fear not, and go and tell My brethren that they should leave now and go up to Galilee and there they will see Me."

When Peter heard that, he was relieved. He wanted quit of this city, and nothing could be better right now than going back up to Galilee. He had intended doing so as soon as it was safe to travel, and was about to leave on his own. But now Mary said the Lord wanted them to go up there.

Galilee. The sea.

It had all begun there. Peter remembered that sun-swept morning when the Lord had walked by and said, "I know you! You're Simon, Jona's son, the fisherman. Come with Me and I'll make you a fisher of men."

Peter remembered the feelings he had experienced that day when Jesus had come striding along the quay followed by a large crowd and asked Peter if He could use his boat so He could escape the crowd and speak to them in safety. That was after the near disaster in Nazareth when he had tried to begin His public ministry there and had nearly died—after Peter had left Him once in disgust and in fear.

He remembered that time up on the heights of the Syrian mountains when Jesus had spoken so sharply to him about his doubts and about the time He had so gently thanked Beth and the children for their hospitality. It all came flooding back; Jesus asleep in the 'tween decks and Peter screaming, "Lord, we're about to drown! Don't You care?" and Jesus, telling Peter to go and catch a fish and that he would find a coin in its mouth.

Peter longed for the windswept vista of his whole life's experience, the Sea of Galilee, and the swoop and plunge of a solid boat under his feet. He longed for the time to sort out his thoughts aboard the boat, working, tugging, hauling, straining until he thought he would drop, with the shimmering, blinding reflection of a perfect noonday sun bathing his body with sweat. Galilee, the Galilee of his youth and of the times with Jesus that He treasured the most.

Suddenly he straightened, threw down the iron he had been using to toy with the coals of the fire and said to them all, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going back to Galilee—right now."

That was the only cure for him—back to his boat, back to where it all began. And if he would glance over the thwarts on some moonlit night would he wonder if he saw an almost ghostly figure walking toward him? If he were to cast a hand line over the side, would he catch a fish with a coin lodged in its throat? If he were to work all day and then find a violent storm carrying him away, would the winds suddenly calm and the waves cease, and would he see Jesus coming to him across the water?

Peter was disgraced. He knew the others were murmuring about him, even though he had confessed only to John and Andrew his foolishness in his disclaimers (and had cried out to God for forgiveness for saying what he did), but he couldn't just stand around forever now—now that it was over.

Besides, there would no doubt be retaliations, and what about aged old Jona and his wife and the children?

"I'm going fishing," he said again, and walked away from the fire to begin arranging his pack.

"Surely you're not going to start tonight?" Andrew asked.

"Yes—now—tonight—I'll not wait another minute," Peter said.

"Then I'll come with you," said his brother.

Peter was flattered and grateful. Was it simple nostalgia? Why was it so important suddenly to go back to Galilee? He supposed it was because, like a wounded animal, he wanted to creep back into the arms of his own family, take up the tasks of his daily life the way it had been before this incredible three and a half years, see if the simple things of life—Beth and the children, his nets and the boats, the strain of working his muscles every day, rising well before sunup and working at his trade—didn't prove to be a healing to his bruised spirits.

Besides, hadn't Mary said Jesus told them to go to Galilee?

Peter's thoughts pulled and tugged at his conscience during the entire return to Galilee. He couldn't sleep well, tossing and turning and muttering in his sleep. He would wake up several times at night with a foul taste in his mouth, eyes like some wayward camel had kicked them full of the sand of the road, struggling to go back to sleep.

Even homecoming was a disaster.

Everyone was full of questions, Beth included. The rumors had reached Galilee about Jesus' death well ahead of them, and the villages were rife with stories about the mysterious black day and the earthquake, with some of the people claiming some of the saints had been resurrected and had appeared personally to relatives.

Leave it to some detractors to brace Peter and Andrew: "Well, whatever happened to that new government you were talking about?" and, "Hey, I thought you guys would be heading for Rome with an army by now."

Peter sought solace on the boat. Where had Jesus gone? Peter didn't know. He only knew he thought that was really Jesus they had seen following the strange events of that weekend when He had materialized right there in the room. He had even appeared to Thomas and told him to put his hand right into His side and to feel the wounds in His hands.

Why, He had even showed all of them the wounds and had said, "Why are you so alarmed? Why all the reasonings and arguments? See, these are My hands and My feet. It's Me. A spirit has not flesh and bones, as you see I have. "

He had asked for something to eat, and they had given Him a piece of broiled fish and watched Him eat it right there before them.

It had been eight full days after that event, Peter remembered, when Jesus had again appeared to them inside closed doors, when Thomas had finally been convinced.

When Peter had said he was going up here to Galilee to go fishing, Thomas had said he was coming along, and so had James and John, Zebedee's sons

(for their father was working with Peter and Andrew's father, Jona, in their fisheries business), and two of the other disciples. Even old Nathaniel had joined in.

With the men in place and the nets readied, they left the shore that late afternoon, intending to fish all night if need be, for the family needed the revenue from a good catch.

As the faint rays of early light painted the distant shore, they were working close to the north beach, casting and hauling again and again, tired from the night's work, and they hadn't caught a single fish.

With the growing light they saw a man standing on the beach.

The slightest sounds carried an incredible distance in this early dawn, with the sea as smooth as glass, no thermals yet disturbing its surface.

"Children, have you anything to eat?" the man called out to them.

"No," several of them called back, supposing it was an early-morning purchaser trying to buy fish, which was not uncommon.

"Then cast the net on the right side of the boat and you will find some," he said.

Puzzled, they wondered if the man had seen any fish rise, feeding. They were casting on the left side, away from the shore. Could he possibly have seen some fish feeding from that distance? They gathered in the net and cast it out the right side.

Peter ran aft, passing Andrew, who ducked under him to crisscross their lines and close the mouth of the net, and then four of them hauled away on the lines. They were using a cast net with its small floats and weights, and it took dexterity and skill to close it at the right time. As they began to haul the net, they saw the flash and dull, silvery sheen of many struggling fish! The net was sluggish and incredibly heavy, and it took all their strength to haul it close to the boat. And there, struggling in a flashing, shimmering mass, was a huge school of fish! The fish were large, larger than they were accustomed to catching, and the sodden weight of the mass of fish was too much for them to haul across the thwart and into the boat.

John was peering intently at the man on the shore, following their struggles, and Peter looked over at him, giving his line to Andrew.

"Peter, it's the Lord!" John said.

Peter gasped and, turning for his light, inner clothing (for he had been fishing naked, not wanting to ruin his clothes), he quickly put them on, cinched up the cord about his waist and, running along the boat, hit the water in a flat dive and began rapidly swimming toward shore.

The others grabbed the painter and hauled the little dinghy close to the larger boat and, snubbing the net lines around the cleats, piled into the dinghy and began to row ashore. The whole process took only minutes, but Peter was already only a distant splashing dot in the water, swimming with powerful strokes toward the land.

Peter felt weeds scrape his feet, and then sand. Gaining his feet, he hurled himself through the shallows, splashing out onto the beach, his brown beard dripping water and his feet becoming encrusted with the sand and small pebbles of the shore, running wetly toward the Man John had said was the Lord!

It was He!

There were livid marks there, on the face, and all about the scalp and cheeks, and the livid hues of deep wounds could still be seen on the hands. He was looking steadily at Peter with an enigmatic smile; Peter was trying to find words to say, choking with shock, wonder, surprise. His mind reeled with the miraculous fact that this really was Jesus—Jesus Christ of Nazareth! He had appeared before, several times, and here He was again, clear up here in Galilee! As Peter was about to speak, he heard the others scraping the keel of the dinghy onto the pebbly beach and the splashing and thump of their oars as they ran it ashore.

Peter followed the Lord's glance and saw that they had been unable to bring the net aboard the dinghy, preferring to tow it along behind them, for it was so heavy. Jesus gestured toward them, and Peter ran to help. It took all of them to drag the net ashore, where the fish were slithering about, flopping and struggling, and making the net move like some live thing.

Hauling the boat even further, they opened the net, spilling out the fish and heaving them into the boat, counting as they did. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, went the count, until they had counted one hundred and fifty-three! All of them large, the greatest catch Peter could ever remember! Why, salted, smoked or sold fresh, this would prove a real windfall to their families! Any one of those fish would make a good meal for two people!

Strangely, Peter noticed that Jesus already had a fire going, a grill laid out over coals resting on smooth rocks, and there was a fish already broiling over the coals, and bread! Where did it come from? Peter was afraid to ask, moving as if in a dream, wondering, and with scalp tingling, his pulse pounding.

Peter and Andrew deftly slit open and cleaned three of the largest fish, and before long they were sizzling pleasantly over the fire, the odor of hot, fresh bread mingling with the smoke, making Peter's mouth water. Their conversation was strained, perfunctory. The weather, the boat, the lake, the catch—many exclamations about the size and the number of the fish—yet none of the disciples dared ask directly, "Lord, is it really You?" even though every one of them wanted to.

Jesus was tending the fire and turning the fish.

In due time He brought bread to the others, where they were seated about on the beach near some large rocks and logs, and said, "Come, and break your fast."

They ate in silence, casting furtive glances toward Jesus now and again, watching Him eat and staring at the livid wounds.

As they were gathering), up the scraps and throwing them into the fire, stirring it up to burn the leavings, Peter was stunned when Jesus straightened, looked right at him and asked, "Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jona, do you like Me more than these others?"

"Yes, Lord. You know I like You," Peter said, hugely embarrassed.

"Simon, son of Jona, do you love Me?" Jesus asked the second time, using a stronger Greek word that meant more than "like," but which meant deep love.

Now Peter thought he knew what was coming. Here they were, standing about over a fire! The last time he had been standing over a fire and had seen Jesus was when they were buffeting Him, slapping Him around, spitting on Him and cursing Him, and while he, Peter, had cursed soundly, denied Him to that chambermaid.

Three times he had repeated the denial.

Now Jesus was asking whether he, Peter, "loved" Him.

Of course he loved Him. But it embarrassed him to think in such terms, though it seemed to come easy to John

Now here he was, staring at Jesus over a fire, and Jesus had said, twice, "Then feed My sheep."

Peter knew He meant those who were following along with them, the other disciples, and the mysterious "other sheep" of whom Jesus had spoken so long ago.

Peter's scalp prickled with apprehension, and he dug his toes in the sand, looking down, as the inexorable third question came.

"Simon Peter, do you deeply love Me?" Jesus asked.

"Lord, You know that I do love You," Peter answered again.

"Then feed My sheep! Peter, when you were young," Jesus continued in a sober tone, "you dressed yourself and went wherever you wished. But when you are old you will have to stretch forth your hands and another will dress you and take you where you wish they wouldn't. Follow Me."

'"And what shall this one do?" Peter asked, thinking about John, who had leaned on Jesus' breast at that last supper together.

"If I decide that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me."

Peter raised his big head, feeling the morning breeze gently moving his beard and causing Jesus' robe to flap slightly against His legs, with their livid, purpled scars. He looked at the disfigured face, remembering. He saw the jagged wounds in the hands and feet, and looked at the deep scars across the nose and eyes that made Him look differently, almost like an older, wasted man who would be a gardener or a graveskeeper.

He seemed to hear the dull smacking sound of that cutting whip that lashed at Jesus as he had stayed outside, by that fire. He remembered bitterly his denials of Jesus and how he had wept afterward.

He gazed at this Jesus—this Christ, this Man who was God—who had been scourged, crucified and killed, and who had walked out of a tomb through solid stone!

He thought back to the time when he had seen Him fall under the weight of that big stake, and how Peter had raged within himself when he saw the Roman soldier reverse his spear and jam it up into this same Jesus' side.

And there was the very wound, visible now and then as the freshening breeze opened Jesus' garment a little.

He remembered Jesus' blunt, work-roughened hands touching a little child's sightless eyes, and the sound of His voice when He prayed. He remembered the tone of command at Lazarus' tomb, and the way He had wept at Mary's and Martha's disbelief. He thought back to the vision on Hermon, and the times up on the Sidonian seacoast, and at Sychem, and over in the Decapolis and down in Judea.

It all came flooding back now, the whole three and a half tumultuous, triumphant, disappointing, exciting, frustrating years. Jesus asleep, and arising out of His robes to go away and pray. The sound of His voice singing around their camps, and how the others would fall silent, enraptured to hear His strong baritone singing David's great psalms and the songs of the common folk; how Peter would see tears glistening in the eyes around the fire as He sang of their people, their families and their Galilee.

He thought of the times when He had turned stormy at the disciples for suggesting some mischief, like calling down fire on the Samaritans, or at Peter for grabbing Him and shaking Him for saying He would be arrested and taken; the way He had walked in and taken Peter's mother-in-law's hand when she was sick with a fever, and how the fever had left her immediately, and she got up to help Beth with the meal. How He had been so preoccupied and had tried so desperately to communicate what He must have been feeling on that last supper they had together Just before His arrest, wanting them to understand, to share.

Peter looked at Jesus, remembering.

Jesus Christ of Nazareth, the very Son of the living God, was standing here before him, standing on the sands of the sea where it had all begun, where He had come walking up and told Peter, "Follow Me, and I'll make you a fisher of men!"

And to think I can't even catch a fish without Him! Peter thought ruefully, remembering the whole night's hard work and Jesus telling him where to throw the net.

He understood the big catch now, understood he couldn't do anything without Jesus standing right there to guide him, it seemed.

Jesus had said, "You follow Me."

Peter lifted his eyes to the shimmering sea, the pale shore lost in the distance, to the hills of Galilee. He smelled the morning breeze and looked at the little clouds forming, marching slowly across the sky. He knew now that the road would be long and tough.

He knew now that Jesus wanted him to go back down there to Jerusalem and wait for a great miracle from on high. He knew now, without the remotest shadow of a doubt, that he would catch those men, that he would feed those sheep.

He found his vision swimming. Jesus stood waiting, a faint smile, a knowing look of compassion on His cruelly marked face.

He stood like a proud warrior, wearing His scars of battle like medals, like honors. He was Jesus Christ. Jesus of Nazareth, the Jesus who was the very Son of the living God, and He was telling Peter to feed His sheep, to follow Him wherever He would go and whatever He would do.

Peter looked down, and the tears splashed over his beard.

He raised. his big head, brushing a hand across his eyes and feeling the breeze in his hair and his clothing, looked at Jesus across the small fire. He would do it. He would go. He would feed those sheep.

"I'll follow You, Lord," he said, his voice breaking.

With that he turned, unfastened his belt and took his Roman sword from his waist. He took it by the haft and, striding to the water's edge, hurled it as far as he could. The sun sent winking lights from its sharply honed blade as it spun around and around and splashed into the water.

Peter tossed the horsehide scabbard onto the fire.

He walked to Jesus, gently put an arm around His shoulders and said, "I'll follow You, Lord, wherever You go. "

The two of them turned and walked slowly down the beach together. The others stood silent and watched.

Suddenly, Peter was walking alone!

He turned, came back to the fire and said gruffly, "Let's go home and pack. We're going back to Jerusalem."