John 21:1-19
April 14, 2013
One
of my favorite Olympic moments comes from the 1996 Olympic Games in
Atlanta. I didn’t watch many of the
events that year, but I happened to be watching when Kerri Strug helped the US
gymnastics team win the gold in the vault.
In case you don’t remember or you didn’t see it, Kerri had two chances
at a vault to win the gold medal. One of
her teammates had just fallen on both landings.
Kerri also fell on the first one, so it had to happen on the second try
or it wasn’t going to happen for the US.
She ran. Made a near perfect
vault. Nailed the landing. Stood up long enough for it count. Then she went down, crawling because she was
unable to stand. She'd severely injured her ankle. There is a famous
picture of her coach, Bela Karolyi, carrying her out to the medals podium to
the wild cheers and applause from the crowd.
It was a great moment, an Olympic moment. It was the kind of moment that many of us
hope for during the Olympics because it reveals the power of the human spirit
to overcome physical and emotional obstacles.
Olympic moments like this, like the one Kerri Strug experienced, reveal determination
and persistence, the power of hard work, and even courage.
These
moments are exciting and we wait and hope for them every Olympic year. Sometimes we get them and sometimes we
don’t. Either way, life goes on. Olympic moments are exhilarating; they provide
fodder for discussions around the water cooler, and they often get turned into
Top 10 Olympic moments lists, but they don’t really change anything. They may change the life of the Olympian who
has the moment. They may help, in some
ways, the country the person hails from.
But do they really change the world?
Do they change people’s hearts and minds? I don’t think so.
But
just two weeks ago we observed something that was supposed to have changed
everything. We celebrated, we continue
to celebrate, an event that should make the greatest Olympic moments seem silly
and quaint—the resurrection. But just as
it happens every year Easter Sunday arrives with great flourish, ceremony,
celebration, music, singing, alleluias – and then on Monday, the world moves
inexorably on. People still die
tragically and too young. Wars refuse to
cease. The chains of poverty and
oppression haven’t been broken. And
there are times in the midst of this that our attempts to be faithful, to
answer the call to be disciples, seem at best futile. The reality seems to be that people are still
more excited reliving past Olympic moments than they are to tell the story of
Jesus being raised from the dead. And
I’m not referring to non-believers. I’m
referring to us, the ones sitting in the pews and the one in the pulpit.
It
looks as though even the disciples, the one who were witnesses to these
dramatic events, have gone back to life as usual. Our gospel lesson from John gives an account
of another post-resurrection appearance by Jesus to the disciples. But think about where they are. Seven of them are gathered by the Sea of
Tiberius. They’re not there preaching. They’re not there coming up with a plan for
evangelism. They’re just there. Perhaps they were feeling lost, afraid,
confused. We don’t really know. But Simon Peter makes a decision to go
fishing, and the others follow his lead.
It’s as if they all think, “Well, Jesus is resurrected but that’s not
going to put food on the table, so back to the boats.”
Back
to the boats they go. They sit in the
boat all night, but catch nothing. Just
after daybreak Jesus stands on the shore.
In spite of the fact that they’ve seen him twice before, they don’t
recognize him. Jesus speaks to them
about their predicament and tells them to cast their nets to the right side of
the boat. They do this and suddenly
there’s more fish than they can haul in. Now the beloved disciple recognizes
Jesus. When they come ashore, dragging
their full nets Jesus is waiting for them with a fire, bread and fish. Jesus instructs Peter to go out and bring in
the fish he had caught. He does. And Jesus breaks bread with them, offers them
fish, and as the gospel writer puts it, “This was now the third time that Jesus
appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.”
After
this breakfast of fish and bread, Jesus asks Simon Peter three times if he
loves him. And three times Peter
answers, ‘I love you Lord.” The third
time Peter is hurt because Jesus continues to ask him. The third time he answers he says, “Lord you
know everything; you know that I love you.”
Jesus responds as he has twice before, “Feed my sheep.”
It
is widely accepted that the purpose Jesus had in asking Peter three times if he
loved him was an act of canceling out Peter’s three denials of Jesus before the
crucifixion. Peter denied him three
times; Jesus gives him three chances to restate his love. Jesus offers Peter forgiveness and also
commissions him with ministry. Feed my
sheep.
I
think a lot about Peter in this moment.
I think his guilt and shame must have been overwhelming. Jesus told him that he would deny him, but
Peter swore he never would. Then, almost
without realizing it, he does exactly as Jesus predicts. He denies his teacher, his Lord. He must have been swimming in guilt. I think it’s interesting that in the verses
before these Peter not only decides to go fishing, he decides to do it
naked. I don’t have an explanation as to
why Peter would fish naked. I suspect it
was more of a common practice than we might think. It’s hot.
It would be difficult to haul nets and fish in a long robe that hinders
movement.
But
when Peter realizes that it is Jesus standing on the shoreline calling them in,
he throws on his clothes and jumps into the sea.
Perhaps it was shame, not just at his being without clothes, but shame
for his actions, shame for his denial.
Regardless, Peter is given another chance. For every time he denied Jesus, he is given
another time to declare his love, and to accept the commission to serve, to
feed that Jesus gives him. If you love me,
feed my sheep. If you love me, try
again.
I
wonder if this is what this third resurrection appearance is really about. It’s not about proving that Jesus is real or
that the resurrection really happened. I
think it may be about showing Peter, showing the disciples that the
resurrection does not mean an end to the work, an end to the ministry. No, in fact, it’s just the beginning. They’re going to have to try again. They’re going to have to keep going. They’re going to have cast their nets out
again and again. They know the truth
about Jesus the Son of God. But others
don’t. There are still sheep that need
to be fed, still flocks that need to be gathered. Life may seem to go on as relentlessly as
always, with nothing changed, but everything is changed. They have to try again.
Trying
again will take all of their persistence, all of their determination, all of
their love and fortitude and perseverance.
But trying again also takes courage.
We
know the disciples find their courage, because they go on to teach and heal and
preach and participate in the miraculous ways of God empowered by the Holy
Spirit. They feed Jesus’ sheep and so
much more.
But
what about our courage? Courage isn’t
just something that comes in the dramatic events of life. It’s not only found in the amazing physical
feats of the Olympics or of the life-giving courage of first responders, the
ones who run in while the rest of us evacuate.
Courage isn’t reserved for the battlefield or the witness stand. Courage comes in the small moments, the
everyday moments.
We’ve
been trying to be faithful disciples, to live out the gospel, to do work in
God’s name that is meaningful and reaches the least of these. And so often it seems that we’ve failed. Our efforts have been pointless. We can give up or we can try again. There are days, many days, when giving up is
the far more tempting option. But
somehow, someway, we try again. It takes
courage to try again. It takes courage
to say that as long as we’re lucky enough to keep breathing, we’re going to try
again. It takes courage to get out of
bed in the morning. It takes courage to
be here when so many other ways to spend a Sunday morning exist and so many
other voices proclaim that there are better things to do with our time. It takes courage to try again when so many
other people say they used to be here but it’s just not worth it. It takes courage to put money in the offering
plate when you’re not sure if you can pay your bills. It takes courage to believe that no matter
how many times you fail and feel defeated, you still get up every day and try
again. It takes courage to have faith when
the odds seem stacked against it. It
takes courage to not only believe the resurrection makes a difference but to
live as if it does. It takes courage to
do the big things in life, but it takes just as much courage to do the small
things. It takes courage to try
again.
May
our courage to try again, to live as Easter people, be renewed this day and
every day. Alleluia! Amen.
