"Do You Love Me?

John 21:1-19

After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. 2 Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. 3 Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." They said to him, "We will go with you." They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. 4 Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5 Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." 6 He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. 7 That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. 8 But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off. 9 When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. 10 Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught." 11 So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, "Who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14 This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. 15 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." 16 A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." 17 He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." 19 (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, "Follow me." 

I was on vacation over that awful weekend last December, that terrible Sunday that followed the terrible Friday of Newtown, that terrible Sunday following some of the worst news that we could ever imagine—that 20 sweet 5 & 6 year olds had lost their lives because of violence, because of illness, because of sin, lives lost because of the awful brokenness of our world. It was weird being gone from this place that Sunday because you are my faith community, and just like the rest of you, I needed to wrapped in the loving arms of this place, of these people. But I have to admit that I was also glad I wasn’t here, glad that I didn’t have to preach, glad that I didn’t have to find light in the midst of such darkness, glad that I didn’t have to proclaim good news in the midst of such awful news. Although I know that the Spirit can do amazing things, I don’t know if I could have wrapped my head around the awful brutality of Newtown to even be able to get any words out to you.

And I have to admit that I find myself in much the same place today. We all find ourselves in the same place—a world that seems so dark, a world where the brokenness of such senseless violence seems to have taken over again, a world where unexplainable things happen and people senselessly mourn once again. A world in which, as one of you so simply said on Facebook this week: “I’m tired of having to try to explain violence to my children.”

From the violence and craziness and fear in Boston to the explosions that took the lives of dozens of folks, and the livelihoods of so many more in Texas, from the scare of letters laced with poison sent to our leaders, to the renewed anguish and anger of Newtown parents so evident this week, to the senseless pain that has surely gone on in families and communities that have gone unnoticed, there sure seems to be a lot of darkness in our world. Overwhelming darkness. I have loved the sentiments I have seen so much on Facebook this week that no darkness can overcome the light, but sometimes that darkness does seem like it’s taking over. Sometimes it is simply too hard to imagine that there is light, to see it, to feel it warm us up.

And like many preachers who have gone on before me, I have found myself tempted over the last few days to try and give answers to you about why this darkness and suffering happens, solutions and explanations that might make us all feel better and happier and lighter. None of us wants to feel this way, feel the darkness of no answers and no reasons, but we do. There are times like these when it simply feels like the darkness is here to stay. Theologian and writer Frederick Buechner shed some light on this for me in a video I saw this week. He said:

I used to think that, as a minister…you’re supposed to know the answers. That you go into somebody who’s having a troubled time and you tell them something that’s going to make them feel better or give them something to hold onto. I’ve decided since that that’s the least of what you do. You go and simply are with them. I feel that I am the one who must bring healing, hope, and explanation, but I’m not. That’s God’s business.

Wow. Very helpful words for this preacher! It is God’s business. It is God’s business, and we are all here together—asking, praying, searching, yearning for some light in the darkness. I’m so glad, so thankful, that we have Scripture, Scripture that is our witness to the work of God in the world, that points us to who God is and what God does and how God loves and responds in our world. And I’m so glad that Scripture, from it’s very beginning, describes a world of deep darkness, a world that is illuminated by the glorious light of creation. Scripture testifies and celebrates our God who turns darkness into light.

Friends, even though we feel very dark and very sad this day after this horrific week, the Good News is that we are an Easter people, people who are called to live in the light of Christ. I don’t think it’s an accident that each of our 4 Gospels testifies to the women who went to the tomb on that resurrection day, and that they found the empty tomb just as the sun was beginning to rise. These women and the disciples and all of the other followers had been living in deep darkness, after being witnesses to such horrific violence, after seeing their friend, their relative, their teacher die. They had been living in the darkness and overwhelming depression of grief, not sure if they would ever be able to feel the light again. But then they went to that tomb just as the sun was beginning to rise. They heard the best news imaginable, saw it with their own eyes. They lived through the darkest night imaginable, and that darkness was turned into light for them on that resurrection day.

And I love that Jesus appeared to them again that day on the beach, as John tells us. I’m not quite sure why he decided to show up again—maybe he remembered how tough a time the disciples had had truly believing what he had told them about how he was going to die. Maybe he felt that they needed to see him one more time just to make sure it was all real, that the resurrection had really happened, that the hope and light of resurrection was true and real and believable. I love that he came again at daybreak, as our story tells us, just as the fishermen disciples were setting out to make their catch for the day, just as the fish were beginning to jump and bite, just as the sun was beginning to rise in the sky. Jesus sat with them on the beach to have breakfast, giving them bread and fish once again just as he had with 5,000 others many weeks before, feeding them and making all things new.

Maybe this breakfast, a breaking of the fast, happened at daybreak to signify a new beginning, the new beginning of hope and joy and new life and resurrection that Jesus brings. Maybe this breakfast reminded them on the shore, and all of us, that sharing food is what makes us human, what makes us community. Maybe this breakfast reminded them, and all of us, that just when things are the darkest, there is always the light of morning, the light of new beginning. “Come,” Christ said to them, “and have breakfast.” Maybe this breakfast invitation reminded them, and all of us, that eating is necessary for life—for new life—and so is Christ himself.

I think it’s tempting for us to stop at this part of the story—this morning breakfast scene. It’s tempting for us to sit and bask in the light, to lay back with full stomachs and rest a bit believing that full stomachs and bright sunshine are all that we need. Tempting for us to bask and rest a bit and ignore the world going on around us. But we can’t.

Just as Jesus asked Simon Peter the question, he asks all of us the same thing: “Do you love me?”

“Of course we do, Lord.”

“No,” Jesus says, “I mean it. Do you love me?”

“Yes, of course we do!”

And then again, a third time: “DO YOU LOVE ME?”

“YES!” is our response.

“OK, then,” Jesus says. “Then go out. Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my lambs. Go. Make sure everyone has their most basic needs met. Act. Feed. Love. Be my hands and feet in the world. Follow me.”
Jesus Christ brings the light of resurrection to give us new life, forgiveness, hope, love. He rises from the grave and invites us to breakfast—he fills us. But he doesn’t stop there. It’s not enough to simply come out of the darkness and then bask in the light that Christ brings. Christ calls us to go out into the world, our world that is so obviously hurting from violence and misunderstanding and sin and brokenness. That is a hard road for us all, but we are called to walk out in the darkness of grief and uncertainty, of violence and hatred, of sin—called to feed the lambs and tend the sheep, called to carry Christ’s light and the Good News of the empty tomb into that broken and fearful world.

I would like to end by sharing a prayer from one of my favorite books—it’s a book of prayers by Ted Loder called Guerillas of Grace. Let us pray together:

Sometimes, Lord,
it just seems to be too much:
too much violence, too much fear;
too much of demands and problems;
too much of broken dreams and broken lives;
too much of war and slums and dying;
too much of greed and squishy fatness
and the sounds of people
devouring each other
and the earth;
too much of state routines and quarrels,
unpaid bills and dead ends;
too much of words lobbed in to explode
and leaving shredded hearts and lacerated souls;
too much of turned-away backs and yellow silence,
red rage and the bitter taste of ashes in my mouth.
Sometimes the very air seems scorched
by threats and rejection and decay
until there is nothing
but to inhale pain
and exhale confusion.
Too much of darkness, Lord,
too much of cruelty
and selfishness
and indifference ...
Too much, Lord,
too much,
too bloody,
bruising,
brain-washing much.

Or is it too little,
too little of compassion,
too little of courage,
of daring,
of persistence,
of sacrifice;
too little of music
and laughter
and celebration?

O God,
make of us some nourishment
for these starved times,
some food
for our brothers and sisters
who are hungry for gladness and hope,
that, being bread for them,
we may also be fed
and be full.