麻豆社

Good morning.

This heatwave has divided the country in two. Those of us who鈥檝e made it to the beach. And those who wish we had. When do we decide on Britain鈥檚 Best Beach, Simon Jack asked on Wednesday. We鈥檙e enjoying the descriptions too much, Martha Kearney said鈥� both stuck in London, poor things.

How do we decide? Best view? Best sandcastles or rock pools? Best swimming or surfing? Best ice cream!

Perhaps the most-read beach scene ever must have been remembered with deep poignancy by an ex-fisherman in particular, facing torture and a terrible death for his faith鈥� just as he鈥檇 been told he would, on that beach on the Sea of Galilee thirty years before.

He鈥檇 been at his lowest. Had recently lost, not just his beloved leader, but with him all inspiration and purpose. Worse, as his friend had faced trial and execution, he鈥檇 let him down: not once, but three times. He鈥檇 now reverted to his old job. And just spent all night fishing鈥� and catching nothing.

鈥淭ry the other side!鈥� Some know-it-all shouted from the beach. Thanks, mate. But they did鈥� and immediately hauled fish in.

鈥淚t鈥檚 him!鈥� Someone realised. Impetuous to the point of idiocy, our protagonist put his coat on, before jumping into the sea.

The barbecue was already lit for breakfast.

Their relationship had come full circle. His friend called him by the name he鈥檇 had when they鈥檇 met: not Peter now, but Simon. Asked him three times if he loved him, wiping out his three bitter denials. Repeated the first words He ever said to him: Simon, follow me.

Then told him he would end his life impotent and powerless. And yet Simon Peter left that beach reinvigorated, fired up all over again.

He must have thought it the most important beach in the world, facing his ordeal at the end of his life. The beach where he told his Master he loved him.

I have a best beach, the best in the world to me. Not because the sun sets the sea on fire every evening to the West. Nor because the dawn dances a white gold path across the water to the East. Not because the frothing waves are the wildest and most exciting; the sand best for sculpting; the samphire and crabs the most delicious.

But because here my parents loved me, in my pram shaded under the fuchsia bush. Here I discovered the best treasure, in my Golddiggers class at the Beach Mission: my Bible. Here I brought my love, when we met; here our children played; and now their children too. Here we brought my father, into his second century, to remember his own childhood.

Here, at my best beach, I鈥檝e been loved by the most important people in my life.

As Simon Peter was.

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