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The readings for today, the third Sunday of Easter, include the conversion of Saul on the road to Damascus, Jesus’ third appearance to his disciples according to John, on the shores of the Sea of Galilee, and the eschatological vision of Revelation.

There are new beginnings all over these Easter readings, and none of them is perfect. There are second, third, fifth chances, and some of them might even feel like setbacks. Still, the light streams through, the light of God’s love made manifest in the crucified and risen Christ.

In Saul’s case, the light shines through so harshly that it knocks him to the ground. Even this is mercy, because Jesus is giving Saul the opportunity for repentance, every reason to rethink his current course, full as it is with violence and threats, breathy with vengeance. Saul is given the space, the grace of three days of darkness, as though, as it were, he were to share in the three days in the tomb of Lazarus, or of Jesus, so that he might better appreciate and share in the alternative, the risen life.

Saul is not the only one given a chance to reconsider in this story. Ananias, when he is first approached to become the instrument of Saul’s conversion and healing – Ananias is reluctant. He is afraid, and he is uncertain how much he wants this man’s salvation.

I mean, we can relate to that, can’t we? We would love for everyone to be on the same page, to understand the right way, to know what we know about how the world should work, how God should work, who should be in charge. There is also a little part of us that doesn’t want our neighbours to change, to realize the errors of their ways, to become as right and as righteous as we are. Sometimes – only sometimes, and only secretly, or else on social media – sometimes we would prefer their judgement, their downfall, their continuing blindness to their salvation. Like Jonah after God spared Nineveh sulking, “I just knew you were going to be kind to them! I never should have come,” forgetting, for a moment, just how kind God was to rescue Jonah from the belly of the whale.

It is human, this reluctance, this begrudging, and so it humours me that Ananias agrees to go to Saul only after Jesus says, “Don’t worry; I’ll show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” “Well, that’s alright then,” says Ananias, and goes on his way.

But Jesus is not begrudging, nor reluctant. Jesus is more than forthcoming in reaching out to Saul, reaching into Saul, to bring him not to his destruction but to his salvation, despite all that he has done. Jesus sees how his zeal, redirected and disarmed, can be used for the gospel.

There are visions all over this story: Ananias and his vision of Saul, Saul and his vision of Ananias, Saul and his vision of Jesus. Jesus and his perfect vision. Different visions of different men, and it is only in Jesus that they are brought into harmony, and become one story, and Saul is reconciled not only to Jesus, but to the very people he had come to Damascus to persecute. He is baptized, and eats with them, and they with him – what a brilliant, dazzling image of the church.

We may not get there in our lifetime; it may take until the kingdom come, until the revelation at the end of it all that we find our true harmony with one another; it will only come through the grace of God and the example of the love and forgiveness of Jesus.

Back in Galilee, the brothers and friends had returned to their nets. They had walked away from all of the drama in Jerusalem, whether as a retreat and a respite or for good, who knows. They had gone fishing, but they were out of practice, or they were out of sorts, or they were plain out of luck; they caught nothing.

Then Jesus showed up. Just as the light was dawning, just as the sun was rising behind them, the shore becoming shadowy and obscured by the smoke of his charcoal fire, so that they could barely make him out, but there he was.

There he was, waiting for them with breakfast cooking on the fire, and grace beyond measure; their nets would not break however full he filled them. There he was, still providing for them, still tending to them and feeding them, before his conversation with Peter.

Neither Peter nor Paul would have it easy. The history of the earliest churches makes no secret of their conflict. They would persist in their different visions and take different tacks, despite the visions from God that would bring them together. Because of the visions from God, because of their experiences of Jesus, because of the love that they knew of the crucified and risen Christ, they were able, between them, to shepherd a church that would grow and multiply, that would survive hard times and persecution, that would be the source of life itself to so many people; only by the vision of Christ.

It required sacrifice of them both; the humility to see repentance as a gift, reconciliation as a grace. Saul had to stop breathing threats and murder; Peter had to take back his trifold denials; Ananias had to swallow his fear and trepidation. If they hadn’t, if they had not known and followed the Lord Jesus, none of this would have come to pass and we would not be here together today.

Still, we are a world away from that vision of the Revelation, when all will be reconciled, and all forgiven. Still, we are troubled by threats and murder, visions of what might be and what could be, who we have been, who we are called to be. How God might call upon us, like Ananias, in fear and trembling and faith to fulfill the prayers of another – it is almost unfathomable.

And still, Jesus shows up for us, not once, or twice, but early in the morning, when we can barely see him. First, he breaks the bread for us. He feeds us and tends us. Then he says to us, Follow me.