April 18, 2010

When I was very young, my mother taught school and my father was a graduate student working on his PhD.  In the mornings, I went to preschool and he went to class.  In the afternoons, I would be tired of socialization and bored with being on my best behavior, so I sometimes indulged in mischief.  Those antics often frustrated my dad who was trying to study while having parental oversight.  The moment I realized I had crossed the line and breached the final strand of patience, I immediately modified my attitude and became sincerely contrite.  I did not enjoy being in trouble.  I’d hop around and launch an impassioned defense.  “Let me explain.  Let me explain.  Please, let me present my rationale.”  I learned early on that a large vocabulary lessened the consequences with my dad. 

Whenever I behaved badly and was corrected and censored, I always felt humiliated.  I felt ashamed, embarrassed and vulnerable.  And I tried to quickly re-establish my positive grace-filled identity.  I presented the least self-incriminating case supported by heart wrenching, compelling circumstances.  I offered a detailed plan for improved behavior going forward.  I found immediate ways to be helpful.  I became surprisingly quiet.  When one is young, one assumes this is a unique experience.  One assumes that in the history of the world, no one has ever been so wicked and wretched.  One believes she may be passed all redemption and will never enjoy the company and affection of normal, good people again. 

As one matures, one sees this is the human condition.  People mess up.  They sometimes behave badly and when their faults are observed, they are embarrassed and they want to quickly move past that place of isolation and guilt.  They want to do whatever is necessary to be restored to positive esteem.  They want all to be forgiven and forgotten.  We see this dynamic at work in this morning’s gospel passage.  After the crucifixion, after the resurrection, life for the disciples is unnerving.  Nothing is normal.  Nothing is stable.  Their leader is murdered, laid to rest and then reappears, but reappears in an altered state.  He materializes outside his tomb, inside a locked room.  He’s here and then he’s gone.  His expectations are unclear and so the disciples are unsettled.  They don’t know what to do or think.  In the absence of clear direction, they return to old habits. 

Peter, a man of action, Peter, a man with a guilty conscience, wants to move past his embarrassing secret and back to a place of self-respect and accomplishment.  Peter says I’m going back to my trade.  I’m going fishing.  Thomas the doubter, Nathaniel, James and John and two others join him.  They fish all night without success.  As the hours pass, they become more intense and begin to work harder.  They toss the nets over and over.  They get hot and sweaty.  Peter, determined and frustrated, throws off his clothes so he can work unencumbered.  The sun rises and a “stranger” on the beach shouts out direction.  With nothing to lose, they take the suggestion.  Success.  With teeming nets comes recognition.  A perceptive friend tells Peter that’s no stranger, that’s the Lord.  Peter hears this news, believes it is true and reacts in a seemingly strange way.  One hundred yards from shore, from a perfectly seaworthy vessel, he jumps off the boat to swim to land.  He dives into the water, but not before he puts a long, heavy robe and belt back on.  He could wait a few minutes and arrive dry and dressed like the other six men, but he doesn’t.  Peter gets to the shore first, the others follow.  The risen Christ has a fire going and says bring some of the fish you caught.  Soggy Peter goes back to the boat and brings the entire catch.  He hauls the net by himself.  He drags 153 large fish from the boat onto the beach so eight men can eat breakfast.  Peter takes bread and roasted fish, eats and says nothing.  Peter stripped down, working hard on a boat, hears Jesus is on the shore, throws on clothes, swims to land, swims back to the boat, hauls in a ridiculous amount of fish, sits by a fire dripping wet and says nothing.  Peter is embarrassed.  Peter is ashamed.  Peter is guilty and hurt and doesn’t know exactly how to make things right so he tries everything.  He jumps in.  He goes first.  If a few fish are wanted, he’ll bring them all.  He’ll prove his devotion.  He’ll show his willingness.

Remember what’s gone on before.  A few days earlier, Jesus, the dearest friend, announces that Peter will soon betray him.  Peter says, “never.”  That won’t happen.  Hours later, Peter says once, again, and yet again, I don’t know that man.  He’s a stranger to me.  Stop trying to put us together!  As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he knows he has messed up.  In the courtyard, he looks up and sees Jesus looking straight into his soul and he is mortified.  That’s the last time he sees his friend.  Jesus is led away.  Peter runs in the opposite direction.  He can’t go to the cross.  He can’t help carry the body to the tomb.  In the upper room, twice, he can’t find words to speak to his friend.  Now on the beach, he is still tongue tied in his humiliation.  Peter wants their relationship restored.  He wants to make amends.  He wants this horrible feeling to pass.  He just doesn’t know how to make it so.

We understand Peter’s dilemma.  We understand his busyness and antics.  Do we notice Jesus’ response?  Does Peter?  After the quiet, tense breakfast, Jesus breaks the stilted silence.  “Peter, do you love me?”  “Yes, Lord you know that I do.  Once. “Peter, do you love me?”  “Yes, Lord, you know that I do.”  Twice.  “Peter, do you love me?”  “Lord, you know everything.  You know that I love you.”  Yet again, three times.  Jesus makes Peter say the words, say the words and declare his devotion and allegiance three times.  Once for every denial; once for every betrayal.  That morning, the gull cries in place of the cock’s crow.  Three denials are replaced with three proclamations.  The lies are wiped clean and a new start is made. 

Peter needs forgiveness.  He needs to move out from under his guilty conscience.  He needs to rise to a place of self-acceptance and belief in his potential goodness.  Peter is in bondage, tied up in his bad behavior and poor, sad choice.  Now he is released.  Christ comes to him and gives him what he needs.  What happens on the beach after the simple breakfast is what happens over and over and over in our life with the Savior. 

In the Easter season, Jesus Christ’s mission is especially clear to us.  In his life prior to the crucifixion, Jesus teaches us, guides and directs us in how to be in relationship with God the Almighty, creating Father.  He gives us object lessons and parables.  He leaves us sermons and prayers.  He says directly and he demonstrates by example how human beings are to order their priorities and their behavior to be in good, healthy companionship with God.  In his human vesture, Jesus of Nazareth models the us-to-God dynamic.  After the resurrection as the Risen Christ, the Son shows us a different dynamic.  Now he models how God interacts with humans.  He demonstrates how God comes to us and, knowing us, knowing what we need, answers our souls desires. 

Thomas says, unless I see the nail marks in hands, unless I touch the marks, unless I put my hand in his side, I will not believe.  Thomas needs tangible, physical proof and the Risen Lord appears and says come, touch, take what you need.  Peter is trapped in his guilt.  He aches for forgiveness and can’t even ask for what he needs.  The Risen Lord appears and makes Peter recant his denial so he can be free.  “Lord, you know that I love you.  You know everything.”  Indeed, the Risen Christ knows everything.  He knows his disciples.  He knows his Father’s children.  He knows each of his brothers and sisters.  He knows us through and through and so he comes to us in our need. 

When we are doubters or betrayers, when we’re distracted and selfish, when we forget to be thankful or prayerful or kind to others, deserving or not, when we are mischievous and willful, and later embarrassed and apologetic, Christ is with us.  He comes to help us make amends and set ourselves right.  He comes to answer our deep needs and put us on the way back to the Father, to full health and wholeness.  He comes with forgiveness and direction.

This is the everlasting dynamic.  Jesus of Nazareth came, lived and left us a template for faithful, healthy living.  We follow his example and we live a really good life with our fellow human beings and with our God.  When we fall short and misstep, the Risen Christ intercedes on our behalf.  In ways beyond our understanding, he moves to save us.  He comes to us in guises we do not recognize.  He appears with answers and healing, forgiveness and acceptance.  He knows us.  He knows us specifically and so answers our unique needs.

The dynamic that God set in motion is this.  The Son, the Christ, will always, always come to save us.  He will redeem every poor choice and willful decision.  This is His work.  Our work is to believe.  Our work is to know our need and recognize the presence of Christ when the answer arrives.  Friends, when we’ve been mischievous, when we’ve been lost or doubting, dismissive or self-serving instead of hopping about and offering explanations and excuses, instead of diving into the sea, 100 yards from shore, dragging a teeming net of guilt, let us be still and thankful and see how our Lord comes to us and answers our distress.  Let us be still and ready to see how the Lord who knows everything, knows us – and moves to save and restore us.

Amen.