Simon, Son of John
Simon, Son of John
John 21:15-19
So, today we arrive at the end of the period of time between Jesus’ resurrection and his ascension. For a few short weeks, the risen Jesus appeared to a handful of people. Though the Gospels tell us about different encounters, they all agree that there came a day when the risen Jesus was seen no more. Jesus promised that he would be with us always but not in this same way.
How do we make sense of this? Sooner or later, if we love deeply, our hearts, just like those followers hearts, will break. The Gospels tells us that really faithful people struggled mightily when their hearts broke. That means there’s room for us to struggle, too. What the Gospels tell us is that in our worst moments, God does not abandon us—never has and never will. On the worst day of our life, God is right next to us, whispering to us, “Keep loving! Keep caring! We will find a way through this together. I am right here with you!”
We all will grieve, not because God has failed us but because grief is the price we pay for loving deeply. That’s why I want to invite you to claim how sacred the work of grief really is. We won’t ever really connect to the Gospels—to the good news—until we own our grief and own the fact that when we cry, God cries with us. Think about that…who are you willing to cry with? Who would you choose to have sit with you? You’re going to pick the people who you trust the most, the folks who are your closest friends and family. Now…imagine feeling that close to God. Imagine that it would be okay to pour out your heart and let your tears flow. Imagine that God not only so loves the world but that God so loves you—the real you—that you can be who you are with God, even on your worst day. “I will be with you always,” not the fake you or the perfect you but the you who you really are.
Jesus promises to be with us always but first…he has to leave. As with most things, the Gospels vary in their portrayals of this departure. In Mark, the first Gospel written, Jesus issues the simple commandment to the disciples to proclaim the good news to the whole world. In Matthew, written a bit later in the early church’s life, Jesus commissions the disciples more formally in words that are familiar, “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching the to obey everything that I have commanded you.” Go and make disciples. That seems a bit different than just sharing the Good News. In Luke, written even a bit later, there is no mention of sharing the good news or of making disciples. Instead, Jesus instructs the disciples to stay in Jerusalem and wait for what is coming next. Jesus says that they will be “clothed in power,” a phrase that points to the coming of the Holy Spirit, which, for me, is, in fact, how God is with us all in our most personal moments. (We’ll celebrate this next week on Pentecost.)
Let’s spend a moment though on “making disciples.” Over the centuries, this drive to make disciples has been very “institutional.” We need to make Christians out of pagans. We do that by getting them to pray a certain prayer, by baptizing them, and by telling them what they should and should not do. Honestly, some of the worst damage the church has done has been in the name of “making disciples.” How did we go from Jesus showing us the way to live to the church showing people how to be obedient church members?
Ask yourself, "What did Jesus command people to do?” He wanted us to live differently. He wanted us to forgive others, over and over again. He wanted us to feed the sick and clothe the naked and comfort those who grieve. He wanted us to include the overlooked and the ignored. He wanted us to love our neighbor and went out of his way to point out to us that by “neighbor” he especially meant the people with whom we had the hardest time. When he was asked what the greatest commandment was his answer was this: you shall love; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength and you shall love your neighbor. You shall love. The good news that we are to proclaim is that God loves us all. What did Jesus command us to do? Jesus taught us to love.
Imagine if the takeaway from Jesus wasn’t that we should get out there and convert people to our institution but that we should search every corner of the world for people in need and care for them and love them. Imagine if the message we carried to those people was not that they are in danger of going to hell in the hands of an angry God but that they are loved, unconditionally, by a loving God, and our intention is to love them that way, too. Imagine if our goal was to create a more loving world instead of simply adding more names to “Team Jesus.”
This is precisely the direction in which John’s Gospel points us. As we turn to John, you should know that there are lots of problematic things in this gospel, too. There is an anti-Semitism that is troubling, at best. A lot of things are said and done in this Gospel that don’t appear in the other three. Yet, the final scene of the Gospel of John is a breathtakingly different vision of Christianity.
Last week, we watched as Jesus appeared on the beach at dawn. Seven of his disciples have had the worst night of fishing ever. All Peter wanted was to “go back to the office” and have things feel normal. His office just happened to be a boat and “normal” would have been actually netting some fish. Imagine how annoying the other disciples must have been through that long night. A normal catch of fish might have allowed him to feel competent and maybe even pay his dues when he showed back up at the village he abandoned: “Sorry I was gone but, hey look, here’s some fish!” None of that was going to happen…
Instead, at some “stranger’s” behest, they throw the nets off the other side and all hell breaks loose, which is sometimes what happens when God shows up in the middle of our chaotic mess. There are 153 huge fish in the nets in no time flat. It’s “all hands on deck” at that point which is problematic when most of the other “hands” don’t have a clue what they are doing. (I like to imagine that what ensued was the first meeting of the “Advice Committee” a committee which every church has had since, where people offer unsolicited advice to everyone else about what they should do.) One of the disciples connects the dots and realizes that the annoying guy on the beach needling them is Jesus. Peter, gets fully dressed (I smell a cover up!), throws himself into the water, and swims to shore as if his life depended on it because it kind of does.
In a detail that goes mostly unnoticed, when the disciples get to shore, Jesus already has a fire going and has bread and fish prepared. (If you’ve ever camped, you know that this would make Jesus the most desired camp mate of all time—the guy who not only has the fire ready but the food cooking, too!) The point is that Jesus didn’t need their catch. There was already going to be enough for breakfast. Still, Jesus tells them to bring a few more fish over, just the same. In that moment, everyone knows who they are sitting with. They know that Christ is present. And yet, no one dares to say his name out loud. (Stop and think about this restraint. So many Christians have insisted that others say the name of Christ. Christ insists that everyone be fed and in the fullness of that moment, the love that is created in the sharing is enough.)
That might have been the end of their time on the beach. In fact, it is the end of our time with the other six disciples. Our focus moves to the moment that unfolds between Jesus and Peter. Remember, “Peter” is the man’s nickname, given to him by Jesus, to signify his foundational place in the movement to come. He will be the rock. The problem is that Peter is broken just like all of us. He can be too bold. He can say too much. He can be too demanding. After all of his failures in the last week of Jesus’ life, Peter is now his own worst enemy. (There’s nothing worse than when the person who can’t stand us the most is…ourselves.) Having denied ever knowing Jesus three times, he’s now awash in shame and guilt. In his eyes, he’s done the unforgivable. If he’s ever going to be a leader again, he’s got to forgive himself. And it’s possible that Peter is the kind of guy who has never forgiven anyone…
So, after breakfast, Jesus turns to Peter and says, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” At this point, Peter must have cringed. “He called me Simon. He hasn’t called me that in two years. And that question… ‘Do you love me more than these?’ Which ‘these,’ Lord? Do I love you more than 153 fish? I loved you enough to leave fishing behind three years ago. Do I love you more than I love these other disciples? Yes, I do, especially after a fish-less night with them in a boat. Do I love you more than these other disciples love you? I don’t know anything anymore.” Peter answers Jesus, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”
Jesus answers him, “Feed my lambs.” If you love me Peter then live that love. Care for my people. Turn that love into action. Make that love, not your failure, be the focus of your life.
Jesus asks the question again: “Simon, Son of John, do you love me?” This is the exact same question. Peter had to squirm. “Simon? Hey, Jesus, it’s me…your best friend, Peter!” (Is there anything that makes us angrier than the person who makes us look at what we are desperately trying to avoid?) “Jesus,” Peter insinuates, “Let’s cut to the chase here. You know that I love you!”
Jesus answers him with almost the same answer: “Tend my sheep.” The point here is the same: if you love me, then get over yourself and get on with the business of loving your neighbors. Forgive yourself and “tend” to someone else’s needs.
Finally, Jesus asks the same question a third time: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” In the silence, Peter’s heart breaks. You might think it was breaking because he didn’t think Jesus believed him. If someone we loved kept asking us whether we loved them, we’d feel pretty hurt and figure that they don’t believe us, right? But that’s not what’s happening here. Peter suddenly realizes this. Instead, Peter, having denied ever knowing Jesus three times, is faced with Jesus, acting three times, as if he doesn’t know Peter.
Peter says, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
Imagine how loaded that first statement is: “You know everything…” You know that I’m a hot mess. You know that I failed. You know that I denied you. You know that my bruised ego and my broken heart have me paralyzed. Yet, still, for what it’s worth, you think I have worth and that means the world to me. Still, you love me and you know that I love you.
Jesus looks him in the eye and says, “Feed my sheep.” Peter, you know that I love you. I’ve already forgiven you. It’s time now for you to forgive yourself. There are still people to be fed and comforted and cared for and loved. So, I’ll lead and you follow me. I will be right beside you the whole way. This ends where it all began, my friend: “Follow me…”