Failure, Forgiveness, Calling

Betty Stroud
Year C, Easter 3

On the waters of Lake Galilee – some time after Jesus had appeared to the disciples in a closed room, Peter and some of the other disciples, went back to doing what they knew best – fishing.

After the trauma of Jesus’ death it was good to be back on familiar territory.

Perhaps, especially so, for Peter.

Peter, who on the night before Jesus’ death, had got himself caught up in the hatred of an angry mob who wanted nothing more than to see the end of Jesus.

Peter, who had been so sure of his unflinching loyalty to Jesus – his friend and teacher, that he said at their last meal together, ‘I will never deny you’.

Peter, who despite these protestations of loyalty, lost his nerve when questioned about whether he was a friend of Jesus.

Peter who, whilst warming his hands over a fire, denied ever knowing Jesus – not just once, but three times.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing”, is a quote routinely attributed to Edmund Burke – and Anglo Irish statesman of the 18 th Century.

That’s what Peter did as he stood by that fire.

And of course Peter is not alone.

I know that I have, from time to time stood by and watched while evil has been perpetrated.

There are horrendous mistreatments of people going on that I am aware of, even in this country, and yet most of the time I do nothing more about it than complain that someone should do something.

I don’t need the cock to crow to tell me I’m no better than Peter.

And Peter knew that Jesus knew.

He heard the cock crow and saw Jesus cast him a penetrating look.

But even then, Peter did nothing but flee into the night, a broken man. How could he ever face Jesus again after that?

Of course the next day Jesus was dead and Peter had no expectation of ever having to face Jesus again, and perhaps that was even worse. For Peter was probably left with feelings of
guilt and thinking that if only he could have been given a chance to have a conversation with Jesus about why he did what he did.

Maybe Peter would have preferred to have faced Jesus in order to express his remorse and take whatever punishment Jesus meted out to him.

Like Peter, we too, sometimes fail in our journey of discipleship.

Like Peter, we too, feel remorse for some of the things we have done and only wish we could go back and start over.

Let’s take a moment to think of those times when we have been less than a follower of Jesus.

But Peter’s story does not end with him out fishing from a boat on the Sea of Galilee.

We know from our reading, that Peter’s failure to stand by Jesus was not the end for him.

For now, we have this encounter on the beach.

The crucified and risen Jesus is barbecuing a fish breakfast and he calls Peter to join him.

John the gospel writer, ties the story of Peter’s denial, and this story together – very clearly and deliberately.

Where was Peter when he denied Jesus? Standing around a charcoal fire in the chief priest’s courtyard.

And where does he encounter Jesus now? At a charcoal fire where Jesus is cooking on the beach.

It’s interesting to note that in John’s gospel fires are only mentioned twice. It’s no accident.

How many times did Peter deny Jesus? Three times.

How many times does Jesus now ask him if he loves him? Three times.

It is as if Peter is being taken back to the scene of the crime.

So what’s it all about?

For me it’s about naming what has happened. Jesus just doesn’t sweep Peter’s denial under the carpet. Rather he brings it out into the open. Naming what has happened, by the asking
of those three questions.

How would you be if you’d denied someone and then have them say to you, ‘Do you love me?’

If it was me having this said to me, it would – quite starkly, bring my denial out in the open.

But …… not only that, it would say to me. This person cares about me. This person wants my life to be restored. This person wants things to be right between us.

In this encounter with Peter, Jesus is saying. I understand you, I understand why you did what you did.

I want you to recognise what you did.

And yet, at the same time, Jesus is also offering mercy and forgiveness. Not superficial forgiveness – but forgiveness that says I care deeply about you.

Real forgiveness is not about pretence, denial or forgetting.

Real forgiveness is about bringing the offence into the light, naming and acknowledging it fully, and then choosing not to seek to make the perpetrator pay.

It is relinquishing our rights to recriminations and vengeance.

It is choosing to offer only love and honour in return for hatred and hurt that have been received, but yet, at the same time naming the hatred and hurt.

Jesus didn’t hide his wounded hands from Peter and pretend that nothing happened.

Rather, he reached out to Peter.

And he reaches out to us with torn and mangled hands, and there is no way for us to reach out and accept his embrace without touching those wounded hands that speak simultaneously of our failure, and Jesus’ readiness to love us anyway.

So there we stand with Peter by that charcoal fire on the beach, just as we stood with him at the one in the Chief Priest’s courtyard.

There is no cheap superficial forgiveness here. Jesus wants to see us healed and set free, and he knows that we never will be if the scene of the crime is not revisited.

For true healing, we need to be taken back to the scene of the crime, to in some sense symbolically reverse and undo what we did.

So Jesus says: “Simon Peter, here by the fire – similar to the one where you denied that you even knew me, I ask you now, do you love me?”

“Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

This is intense and painful stuff.

We know it is because the author tells us that by the third time he is asked, Peter is really hurting.

Let’s take a moment to think about how we feel when Jesus says to us ‘My friends, do you love me?’

But there are a few more words that come after Jesus’ question: As Jesus’ 21 st century disciples we hear, as Peter did:
‘Friends, do you love me? Feed my lambs.’
‘Friends, do you love me? Feed my sheep.’

Why is it here, in this particularly intense exchange, that Jesus starts talking about tending and feeding his lambs and sheep?

Well …. what more radical expression of forgiveness could there be than Jesus saying, “I want you to be my representative. Tend my sheep. Proclaim my message. I entrust my flock and my mission and my reputation to you. Not because I’m pretending you didn’t deny me or persecute me, but because we have revisited that and in response, you have given me your
love, and I have no desire to see you humiliated or punished. Come, be free, and be my people, my representatives. Feed my sheep.”

Jesus called Peter to a life of discipleship – a life where Peter would bring to the people to whom he ministered, accounts of Jesus’ life and teaching, and how they had affected him and
the other disciples.

A life of discipleship that called Peter to spread the good news of his risen Lord.

Similarly, we are called to do the same.

But let’s not fall into the trap of thinking we can do it all by ourselves, for this story, very clearly says to us: ‘You can slave all night at something you might be expert at, and you will
achieve nothing.

You can’t be my disciples on the basis of your own competence or expertise or efforts. But follow me, and anything is possible.

Cast your nets where I say, and great things can happen.

Feed my sheep with love, forgiveness and mercy and watch them grow and blossom. Go into all the world, and I will be with you.