A writer for the satirical website The Onion once published a fake press release for an imaginary snack food. The product, he wrote, was designed to ease what he called "the hideously bleak emptiness of modern life." Participants in taste tests, the release claimed, testified that "the satisfying crunch distracted them from the parade of tears that is life."

The fictional spokesperson summed it up: "We're selling the salty, unctuous illusions of happiness."

It is satire. But it is sharp satire — because most of us recognize the impulse. We reach for something to fill the emptiness. It might not be a snack cracker. It might be another hour of scrolling, another drink, another purchase, another distraction. Anything to quiet the ache for a little while.

The disciples had their own version of this in the Gospel of John. After the resurrection — after everything — they went back to fishing. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of aimlessness. Maybe just because the familiar felt safer than the unknown. We learn that they fished all night and caught nothing.

Jesus met them in that emptiness and offered something real: "Come and have breakfast." Bread and fish on a charcoal fire. Simple, nourishing, present. Not a solution to their confusion. Not an explanation for the empty nets. Just presence — warm, unhurried, enough.

That is worth some reflection. Because most of us, when we are empty, are looking for answers. Jesus tends to offer something different — not an answer but a presence. Not a resolution but an invitation. Come. Sit with me. You are not alone in this.

Most of us already know, somewhere deep down, that the things we reach for in our emptiness won't ultimately fill it. We know. And yet we reach anyway. The invitation is simply to reach in a different direction.

Peace, genuine peace, is not found in the salty unctuous illusions. It is found in the presence of the one who meets us in our emptiness and says — simply, quietly — come.

Prayer: Holy God, we confess that we reach for the wrong things when we are empty. Forgive us for the illusions we pursue. Draw us back to the one thing that actually satisfies — your presence, your peace, your voice saying come. Come. Amen.

‍