What a joy it is, in this Easter season, to hear again the stories of Jesus’ resurrection appearances, and to share the excitement of the early Church as they discover that the risen Lord is very much alive, and at work in the world and in his church.
In to-day’s story Jesus comes to meet the disciples as they go about their ordinary business as fishermen. The setting is relaxed and informal, the breakfast all the better with the fish they had caught themselves. And the net wasn’t even going to need mending. Now they can linger for a few moments over the embers of the fire as the sun begins to warm their backs, and enjoy the unexpected company of their leader. In some ways it felt just like the good old times. Deliberately, I’m sure, for Jesus knew how deeply Peter’s confidence in himself had been shaken when he denied all knowledge of him, not once, but three times on that dreadful night when he had been arrested and put on trial. Forgiveness is not cheaply given or cheaply received. Restorative justice is not a soft option, but that was the hard road Peter would have to travel if he was to be enabled to put behind him, once and for all, the debilitating shame of his thrice repeated denial. Only then would the impetuous, generous but unreliable Peter be enabled to grow fully into his potential as Peter the Rock, on which the young church could rely for steady, level-headed yet visionary leadership. So Jesus in his compassion and mercy makes Peter as comfortable as he possibly can before asking him those painfully repeated questions. And yet it still feels to me as if the world stands still when Jesus asks Peter for the third time whether he loves him.
So I want to pause here to examine the two other readings which together set the context within which Peter is to be healed, restored and commissioned. On the one hand, we are given in the Book of Revelation, a glimpse of Christ in glory, the Lamb of God, forever receiving the worship of every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth, as they sing of the blessing and honour, glory and might that shine from the throne on which he reigns. On the other hand we encounter in Paul’s account of his conversion, a picture of Jesus still suffering persecution, months – perhaps even a year or two – after his death and resurrection. Paul thought he was pursuing the heretical exponents of a new and misguided Jewish sect which was challenging the orthodox leadership of his faith. Not so. He makes the blinding discovery that he is persecuting Jesus himself. He is blinded by the glory of the risen Christ. Yet he sees that the risen Christ is so totally identified with the victims of his persecution that it is Jesus himself whom he is persecuting.
So we have in these two readings a binocular vision of the risen Christ. In his divinity he is perpetually receiving worship in heaven. At the same time, in his humanity, he is perpetually suffering with his people on earth. Not just empathising with us from a great height, as we might so easily suppose as we raise our prayers to God in Heaven. Not merely remembering that he had once experienced pain and suffering as well as joy and love and laughter and companionship during his brief life-time on earth, but present here and now, in all our joys and all our griefs. The incarnation is not just a past event, but a wonderful present reality. The world in which Peter was to lay the foundations of the church was and is a world perpetually suffused with the eternal humanity as well as the eternal divinity of the resurrected Christ.
The little group of Galileans unexpectedly enjoying the company of their leader over their breakfast of bread and fish wouldn’t have described their experience in quite those terms, but they were becoming aware that Jesus – despite his physical absence most of the time – was still very much alive and engaged with them. His first question to Peter hints at a comparison: Do you love me more than these? Jesus touches the wound that must be healed, and it hurts. Peter remembers that when Jesus warned all the disciples that they would desert him, he was the one who insisted he would not fail, even if all the others ran away. This time he does not venture to measure himself against anyone else. He simply says: you know that I love you, and Jesus responds: Feed my lambs. Jesus drops the comparison, but the question is repeated, with the same reply, and his responsibility is extended to looking after the sheep. For Peter’s own sake, to deal with the shame of his triple denial, Jesus has to put the question a third time; and now, despite the pain he must be feeling, Peter’s answer is expanded, but not with any boastful, extravagant claim, only with a more insistent appeal to what Jesus himself must know: Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you. And his duty of care is further extended as he is charged with feeding the sheep as well as looking after them. The infection has been lanced and the wound healed. But there is more.
Our Lord does not very often tell us much about the distant future. We usually have to be content with sensing some degree of reassurance about the next step – Paul was told simply to get up, enter Damascus and await further instructions. You will be told what you are to do (Acts 9.6). But perhaps Peter, with his own sometimes wrong-headed ideas, needs to know that his leadership of the church will not culminate in any more of a victory parade than Jesus himself had known. There is an old legend that on the night before his execution, Peter escaped from prison, and was heading south on the Appian Way, when he encountered a familiar figure coming towards him bearing his own cross. Quo vadis? ‘Where are you going?’, he asked, and Jesus replied that he was going to Rome to be crucified afresh. Peter turned back and was found in his cell next morning ready to be taken out for the upside-down crucifixion that awaited him. That story is only an ancient legend, but it reflects the truth which hit Paul between the eyes with such stunning effect on the road to Damascus. Just as in Paul’s vision, Jesus was identified with the victims of his persecution, so in Peter’s dream, Jesus was coming to Rome to be identified with him in his crucifixion.
On Easter Day, when John entered the empty tomb with Peter, we read that he saw and believed, for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead (John 20.9). He saw that the body of Jesus was no longer there. There were other possible explanations, but in that moment John believed that he had risen, even if he didn’t understand what it meant. The understanding came later, in part as Jesus explained it to them over the following days and weeks, but in part surely, for John at least, over a lifetime of reflection on the events which he had witnessed. Each one of us is a disciple whom Jesus loves. Even if, like John, we have seen the truth about Jesus, and have said in our hearts ‘This I believe’ we still need a lifetime, perhaps longer, to understand fully what it really means. The wonder of the resurrection is not just what happened to Jesus himself, but what happens to us, as individuals and as a church, when we follow the path which our love for him reveals to us. We are not heroes like St Paul, nor are we likely to be martyrs like St Peter, but we are all dearly loved by our risen Lord, who longs to heal, restore, affirm and empower us as we confess with St Peter: Lord, you know that I love you.