Easter 3 2013

Easter 3, 2013

Our Gospel reading today is perhaps one of my favorite stories in the New Testament. It’s one which occupies an importance place in our understanding of redemption. It shows us how even though the redemptive work of the Cross was made complete; there were still other matters yet to be attended to…

Throughout the Sundays following Easter, we’ve been reading accounts of how Jesus appeared regularly to different groups after the resurrection. Each time there is a little more revelation about what his resurrection and all the rest means.

However, other than Jesus’ interaction with Thomas (that we read about last week) there doesn’t seem to have been all that much inter-personal interaction with that original group of friends who Jesus called at the very beginning. After all, we’re told that Jesus would appear to gathered groups of believers, but it’s not clear how much this close circle of Jesus’ friends actually got to interact with the risen Lord.

So, from this we might assume then, that Peter and the rest of these guys were doing ‘all right.’ All of them but John and some of the female disciples had run away when Jesus was arrested. But now that Jesus was back from the dead—things were alright.

Peter denied knowing Jesus three different times the same night he promised never to forsake him. But now that the Lord was appearing in his resurrected body to the faithful—things were alright.

 After the resurrection there were people like Thomas who couldn’t believe it. Jesus came, and everything was alright.

There were questions if the resurrected one was just a ghost. Jesus showed up and ate fish with them—and everything was alright.

But for all of these appearances, Peter and the rest were never forced to come to terms with all that had happened. I would imagine that beyond their introspection, they never resolved their own guilt about events that led up to the crucifixion.

However, Jesus was alive—so (again), everything was alright.

As things must have begun to settle out after the resurrection of Jesus, we find Peter deciding that it was time to go back to work…back to the grind. And this small group of disciples decide to join him; and they spend the morning fishing.

Now whether they were preoccupied with their cooler, or they just weren’t very good at fishing; they had not caught many fish. But once again, Jesus shows up, everything is good.

When Peter realizes who Jesus is, he hurriedly puts his clothes on, and swims to shore to find that Jesus had been making breakfast. This, of course, is where everything begins to become a little tough.

 As I mentioned, we’re not told that the closest of Jesus’ disciples ever really had any intimate time with him. After the resurrection, it seems like they have to share him with all of these ‘other’ followers who Scripture and history seem fit to leave unnamed.

Things weren’t the way they had been at the beginning when Jesus called them. After the events of the Passion, we can easily assume that these men had been changed forever. But again, there’s no sense that they really had to face Jesus—never had to face themselves.

Yet, here he was, Jesus—the only man who really had first right to hurl accusations at them for their betrayal and their fickle hearts. And instead of judgment, he’s brought breakfast.

This is the point, I think, that gives this story so much punch. Because like any of us, these men probably expect to pay for their mistakes and failings with hard knocks. And maybe that would be easier to deal with than this brutal grace…this breakfast.

Instead of finding the assumed punishment for their faults, they find themselves fully embraced in forgiveness. But the hardest part of this, is of course accepting one’s self as being accepted fully by that grace in spite of our own guilt and grief.

This is a powerful lesson in and of itself—but the reading doesn’t stop there.

Jesus goes on to talk to these fully absolved, fully forgiven friends of his. Most specifically, he turns to Peter, the “Rock”, and asks him: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Peter of course answers that he does—but Jesus asks him three times, just in case Peter had forgotten that he’d betrayed Jesus three times. Each time Peter says “yes”, Jesus tells him to care for his sheep—and finally he says, “follow me.”

There is a whole lot in this passage that we could spend a ton of time on—and if I ever do, I’ll warn you all to bring a snack. We could even probably spend the better part of the day just talking about the significance of Christ’s ruthless grace that seems to redeem us, and leave us with the weighty decision to accept it or continue to punish ourselves…

And while that grace is part of this, what I’d like to talk about is how we respond to such an overwhelming gift as grace. What is the proper response to being given the unbearable gift of complete forgiveness as the Church—a group of people living in this age after Christ’s resurrection?

To begin with, I’d like to look again briefly at this subject of grace. Often when I talk about grace, I try to pair it with words like brutal and ruthless—something I learned from the wonderful writer Brennan Manning, who passed away just a couple of days ago. The reason for this is because we often get the idea that grace isn’t costly—there’s this misunderstanding that grace means we get off scot-free, and never have to deal with our wrongdoings. But this isn’t grace.

 Because even though grace is a gift that we can never hope to fully understand, it is all the same a gift that leaves us powerless to help ourselves. Grace is always the best response to our failings because it means we have to see ourselves as we really are. We have to recognize within ourselves where our actions have harmed others, broken relationships, or even damaged another’s faith…

That’s difficult; and that is why real grace is anything but cheap. It’s also why we have such a hard time receiving grace when it’s given to us. So, this is why I say that it is ruthless and brutal, all the while understanding it’s such an amazing gift, as well.   

Now the way in which we respond to this grace is really the difficult part. Some of us might realize what we’ve been given in Christ’s forgiveness, and feel so utterly terrible about ourselves that we never enjoy the gift—and certainly not the giver.

Others of us might receive the gift of grace in the same way we might an inoculation, or a flu vaccination. We know we need it, and once we’ve gotten it injected; we’re good to go for a while. We’re glad we have it, but other than making sure it’s up-to-date, it otherwise never really effects our lives.

But for those who really get it—like really get it; grace can be such a powerful experience of freedom that they cannot help but be changed completely. And for these people grace leaves them wondering always what is next in this relationship with God. More importantly, when this zeal is tempered, those who truly experience grace find themselves asking what is being asked of them in this relationship with God.

If we were to take our Gospel reading today as a schema for this continuum of experiencing grace and responding to it; we could look to the conversation between Jesus and Peter as a guide.

Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” and each time, Peter responds “yes,” and “yes,” and “yes” again for each time that Jesus asks him. But for every affirmation of his love for Jesus, Peter is asked by Jesus to “feed his lambs”, “tend his sheep” and “feed his sheep.”

In other words, Jesus calls Peter, who he knows loves him, to a much deeper service of caring for his little group of faithful ones—this group who would one day become the Church.

We have to wonder, if Jesus is the Good Shepherd, why he would ask Peter to tend the sheep. Perhaps it’s because not even Jesus could do the work of the Church on his own.

What is perhaps a little overwhelming, though is that this story is so very applicable to believers today. When we talk about faith in Christ, we talk about relationship. When we talk about our Baptismal Covenant, we talk about service to the world in the name of God. And when we talk about the Church, we talk about people who make up the living Body of Christ: the Hands and Feet of Jesus in the world.

Just in these three areas, we can hear the echo of Jesus’ words to Peter: If you love me, feed my lambs; if you love me, tend my sheep; if you love me feed my sheep. He says, “follow me.”

“Follow me.” A difficult command in light of an even more difficult grace, but it’s by this grace that we’re offered loving relationship in Christ and in the Church. And it’s because of this grace that we should be compelled to be engaged in the life of the Church.

 While Jesus comes to find us to offer us this grace, he doesn’t “do” grace to us. In the same way, God doesn’t “do Church for us”—again, because our response to grace is response to a relationship; and relationships require responsibility: the responsibility is to show-up. Because if we don’t show up, the sheep aren’t tended, and if the sheep aren’t tended, then we are no longer vital or necessary…things that the Church must be, or continue to face steady decline.

The point of all of this, I suppose, is much more easily stated than it is perhaps implemented. But what we’re called to as the Church is engagement beyond just having Church done to us… What we’re called to in our Baptismal Covenant—what we promised—is that we will actively find our place and take part in the life of the Church. We even promise to help others to do the same thing.

We affirm in our worship that we are here because we’ve been called to the resurrected life in Christ, and celebrate our redemption. But then, (the most important part of the service): we go into the world to love and serve the Lord.

The question that we’re faced with then, if we’re as honest with ourselves as grace demands, is whether or not we’re showing up. Are we tending the sheep by finding our place in the life and ministry of the Church? And if we aren’t, what does it mean to love Christ and follow him?

What does it mean to have ideas for ministry and have no one to help with them? What do we communicate when we talk about desire for fellowship events and no one shows up to them? How do we expect formation and educational opportunities to happen or continue as long as only a few people are participating? How are we tending the sheep, and if we’re not, what is the necessity of the Church?

These are just a few questions that require a lot of soul-searching for each of us, I think. Especially since it is a question for each one of us to answer for ourselves.

Jesus says to those of us who love him: tend my sheep. “Follow me.” Two simple, but devastating commands to the Church…

They’re difficult things to wrestle with, I know, but believe me when I say the message is being delivered by someone who is still trying to deal with the meaning of this ruthless grace in his own life…and definitely trying his best to tend the sheep and follow Jesus whom we all love.