わが岩、わがあがないぬしなる主よ、どうか、わたしの口の言葉と、わたしたちの心の思いがあなたの前に喜ばれますように.
I have this friend who works with me at the Cathedral. He is a Lutheran pastor and his name is Matthew. He is quite popular, both because he is a good pastor, but also because he is charming and very good-looking.
We do not have much in common. We agree on very little. Sometimes he drives me bananas. He’s also one of those people who is not afraid of feelings. I have yelled in his face when I’ve been upset with him and he will receive it wholeheartedly and we will still be friends afterwards. His eyes become intent as he receives whatever is given with deep listening.
I was once with him for a small weekday service. He’s an engaging preacher. I can’t remember the passage, but I do remember him asking the small group of faithful, “What is the Gospel?”
A silence unfolded that was only slightly awkward.
He asked again.
Someone felt brave and said, “Accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Saviour.”
“No,” he said. “That’s very important, but no. That is not the Gospel.”
Someone else said, “It’s justification by faith. Accepting and believing that Jesus Christ died for our sins so that we may gain heaven.”
“No,” Matthew said again, firmly. “These are all important, but they are not the Gospel. Do you know why? Because they involve doing something in order to receive something. The Gospel is not about that. The Gospel is about accepting the fact that Jesus has already accomplished our salvation. It is our task to live as though we believe this, in gratitude for his grace.”
He looked at us with that intense look and said, in paraphrase, “You’re going to have to figure out how to deal with the fact that there is nothing more for you to do.”
A seventh day of rest. A seventh year of jubilee. That is the Easter Gospel. Nothing left to do. Only love.
Some people, when they hear this, get mad – like the older son in the parable of the Prodigal Son. They think it’s a free ride.
And yeah, it is. In this era of late-stage capitalism, blatant wealth-hoarding, working to the bone, open scorn and violence toward the poor, I think we can stop pretending that we’d kick a free ride out of bed.
But if you think accepting that freedom is easier than working to the bone for your bread, it’s really not.
Loving community is a much taller order than you think.
It means accepting that we are enough. It means accepting that there is nothing we can do to earn or buy love.
And that is not something most people are prepared to do.
The disciples are fishing on the Sea of Tiberias, the very place where once they gathered with thousands to receive miraculous unending bread from Jesus.
Jesus, ever the mystic, appears at daybreak – because of course he does – and engages in delightful love games with them, filling nets which were empty all night, rendering any skill they have as fishermen worthless. The Beloved Disciple tells Peter, “It is the Lord!” And Peter, ever the holy fool, puts clothes on...and then jumps in the lake.
Get you a friend who’s so stupid in love with you they jump in the lake with all their clothes on even when they’re mere seconds from shore.
It’s 100% Peter as we know him – rash, impulsive, audacious. The Sufi poet Attar (as translated by Sholeh Wolpe) writes that those who seek God with all their hearts can afford to be audacious:
“You’re so giddy with love, you can walk on water.
Good fortune to you. May you prosper
in your boldness, for you’re like a lunatic on fire.”
We know Peter walked on water briefly, but lost his nerve. This time, he doesn’t care whether he walks or drowns!
They find Jesus there, as he once appeared to fishermen in other Gospels, only now he is tending a fire. A charcoal fire, in fact.
Because Peter is there, so it has to be.
When was he last at a charcoal fire?
We’ll come back to that in just a minute.
The mystical command “Come and see” which was once offered to disciples shifts, because now disciples have become apostles. Now the command is “Come and eat.”
Apostles live in the light of sabbath, in the fragrance of jubilee. We have time to eat and bask in the light of the Beloved, who does not have to steal away at daybreak because we are in the marriage bed.
Nothing to do. Only love.
But lest you think this is cheap grace, as Bonhoeffer so lyrically describes it, know that sabbath and jubilee are not just fun and frolic. The work of love requires radical honesty, radical self-knowledge, and radical acceptance of the love of others. And I think the latter is often the hardest of all.
Back to Peter, and the charcoal fire.
Over a charcoal fire, Peter fulfilled Jesus’s prophecy of betrayal.
Three denials, in response to whether he was a disciple: “I am not.”
Over a charcoal fire, Peter is offered redemption.
Here, barring a slight change in the last response, same deal. Identically worded: “You know that I love you.”
Threefold invitation to forgiveness. Threefold acceptance. Threefold invitation to redemptive action and responsibility, both of which mirror Jesus’s own ministry as the Good Shepherd.
The curse of Peter’s denial is lifted.
Beautiful...and terrifying. Like resurrection, this is a complete overturning of how normal human relationships work. And yet, of course, it’s not, because human beings do this every day, to their destruction and their flourishing. We accept abuse without accountability because we are afraid to upset a relationship that matters to us even when it’s toxic. We also forgive when we recognize that our dear ones are human and make mistakes.
For good and for ill, we forgive. Jesus does too, so God does too. Thankfully, in this instance, Peter overflows with gratitude for the second chance.
He knows this ain’t cheap grace.
And this invitation into jubilee is not just for Peter.
We know this because of something that really doesn’t come through at all in an English rendering of this text, which is unfortunate.
Brief grammar interlude: For most of the Gospel of John, the action has been taking place in a particular tense called aorist. This doesn’t exist in English but was used in ancient Greek to tell stories.
But once we get to chapter 20, the tense shifts…to present.
All of the stories of the resurrected Jesus are told in the present tense.
He is still with us, unbound by time.
All three of Jesus’s questions and two of Peter’s answers are in the present tense; not “Jesus said to Simon Peter” but “Jesus says to Simon Peter.”
Until we get to Peter’s third response. Then it shifts back to aorist again.
Peter’s grief is locked in time.
He stepped out of the boat and walked on water, but now he’s starting to sink again.
And Jesus pulls him back up. Back to present tense:
“Jesus says to him, ‘Feed my sheep.’”
Friends, present tense means we’re all there with Peter, with the apostles, on the shore.
These words are not just for Peter. They’re for us.
The bridegroom asks his bride the Church, “Do you love me?”
Do we? Oh yes.
Then feed the sheep. Join with him in pasturing this flock among the lilies.
Come with me and tell the story: that resurrection love ain’t cheap grace. That sabbath rest is for everyone. That jubilee forgiveness is for everyone. That we deserve so much more than exhaustion, fear, bitterness, resentment, and guilt.
That we deserve to break our fast with the ones we love.
That we deserve beauty and community.
That we deserve resurrection.
Wow..
Appreciate your honesty and your well crafted words reverend friend
So thankful to be standing by the charcoal fire with you "...in the light of sabbath, in the fragrance of jubilee"