John 21:1-19
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. This is the greeting Paul liked to use in his letters to the churches with whom he corresponded.
In these weeks since Easter Sunday I have been thinking about the kinds of feelings the disciples of Jesus might have experienced after his resurrection. As I said last week, fear was among those feelings, possibly even fear of the resurrected Jesus. But also guilt. They had failed Jesus spectacularly. They let him die.
Not that they could have prevented it, of course. In fact, they had tried on various occasions to stop him from going down the path he was going. He would not be stopped. There wasn’t anything much they could do, short of dying with him.
They weren’t personally responsible for his death. But that didn’t mean they weren’t feeling personally responsible. Perhaps you can identify with that sort of feeling – if you have ever failed someone. Is there anyone here who has not, somehow, failed another?
When we love someone, we feel some responsibility for them. And we feel guilty. Sometimes so guilty that it surprises us to find that the ones we have failed actually still love us.
There may have been some of that going on for the disciples of Jesus during these post-Easter days. If they were human, and if they loved Jesus, they felt some guilt. So when Jesus appeared to them as they huddled in that locked room and said to them, “Peace be with you,” I don’t doubt they were shocked on more than one level.
They were shocked in the same way any one of us would be if Jesus walked through our locked doors and greeted us. It just wasn’t something they expected. But they were also shocked, I think, by his words to them: “Peace be with you.”
He said it twice, just to make sure they heard him. And to assure them he hadn’t misspoken – he really meant it. And then he came back the next week to say it again. Because Thomas hadn’t been there the first time, and Thomas needed to hear it too. Peace, Thomas. Peace be with you.
I’m not sure we always understand just what this means. It means a whole lot more than flashing a peace sign. It means I forgive you. It means I still love you, in spite of what has passed between us, we’re good; nothing stands between us now. We’re whole, you and I. But peace was not among the things they were expecting.
We use that word all kinds of ways, even flippantly. The peace sign is just a fashion statement. It means nothing. We pass the peace in our congregation, but sometimes that means nothing more than sharing tidbits of gossip with each other or confirming when the next committee meeting will take place.
“They have treated the wounds of my people carelessly, saying ‘peace, peace,’ when there is no peace.” We hear from the prophet Jeremiah. Too often we use that word carelessly, because we don’t want to have to understand what real peace will demand of us. To treat the wounds with care, to dress the wounds with love.
When Jesus brings greetings of peace to his beloved disciples in that upper room, his disciples who abandoned and betrayed him, he is bringing them so much more than we are inclined to hear. He brings them forgiveness; he restores them to wholeness. Peace.
And he comes to them again at the lakeshore, while they are out fishing. They went back to what was familiar, fishing, perhaps thinking that it would be their future. They were not dead, and apparently were going to be alive for some indefinite length of time, so they would need to figure out what was next. Fishing was an obvious choice – for people who didn’t yet see the full extent of the change that had been wrought.
It didn’t work out well for them that night, though; they caught nothing. They might have seen this as a sign, or not. No doubt there had been other nights when they came up empty. At any rate, Jesus again appears to them, and we can see that they are still not comfortable with the post-resurrection Jesus. Silence. It seems like Jesus is doing all the talking.
But after the meal he turns to Peter. Simon, he calls him now – his former name. The name he had before Jesus anointed him as the foundation upon which his church would be built. Simon, he says, do you love me?
Then Simon Peter and Jesus begin a little dance. Simon, do you love me? Yes, Lord, I love you. Then feed my sheep. Simon, do you love me? Yes, Lord, I love you. Then feed my sheep. Simon, do you love me? Yes, Lord, I love you. Then feed my sheep.
Three times they repeat this, varying the words slightly. And Peter’s feelings begin to resurface during this dance – his guilt, his love, his shame, his hurt, his sense of helplessness, even hopelessness. Lord, he says, you know everything.
Everything – you know what I did, of which I am ashamed. And you know my shame, too. You know all of it, so you know how much I still do, and always have loved you.
As painful as this was for Peter, it was necessary. He needed to face all of this for him to be fully redeemed. Redemption doesn’t come cheap. It costs something.
Grace costs something. We know what it cost Jesus – his suffering and death, a journey through hell and back. We know this grace he brings is not cheap.
But do we know that it costs us something too? And do we know what it costs? It costs us our complacency; the denial of our complicity in the sin of the world; any privilege of hate. We give these things up for the sake of grace and peace.
Christ came to his disciples three times, John says, enough times to offer them his forgiveness, to offer them a chance to redeem themselves, to offer them a path forward. Grace and peace, he gives to them – through his broken body and the blood he shed – so that they may have life in abundance.
Christ came to them three times, John says, but he comes to us still, offering these same gifts.
May you receive these gifts:
May you know that as much as we bear responsibility for the brokenness and the hurting of this world, we are forgiven.
May you be blessed with the knowledge of your part in all things – the sin and the healing of the world.
May you hear the call of Christ to extend his forgiveness, to love his people, to feed his lambs.
And may grace and peace be yours in abundance.
