“Who do you say I am?” (Matthew 16:13-20)

Perhaps you’ve noticed it before. But as you read through the gospels you’ll find that Jesus is constantly asking questions. He puts them to strangers; he puts them to his critics; he puts them to his closest friends. He asks questions in moments of crisis. He asks questions when he already knows the answer. He asks questions that make people uncomfortable…

You’d think it would be the other way around—that people would have questions for him. And certainly we do meet with people who came to Jesus with questions of their own. But no, by far the greatest number questions in the gospels are posed, not by Jesus’ disciples, not by people in the crowds who gathered to hear him, not by those he met along the dusty roads of Galilee and Judea, but by Jesus. Here are just a few among the many that I came across as I leafed through the gospels in preparation for this morning:

·  To a couple of John the Baptist’s disciples set on following him: “What are you looking for?” (John 1:38).

·  To a paralyzed man lying helplessly on his mat: “Do you want to be made well?” (John 5:6)

·  To his disciples after healing another paralyzed man, “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Stand up and walk’?” (Mark 2:9)

·  To a woman caught in the act of adultery: “Woman, where are your accusers? Has no one condemned you?” (John 8:10)

·  To a blind man sitting by the roadside: “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51)

·  To a crowd of listeners gathered to hear him: “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?”

·  And a moment later to that same multitude: “Why do you worry about what to wear?” (Matthew 6:27,28)

·  And not very long after that: “Why do you see the speck in your brother’s eye but ignore the beam in your own?” (Matthew 7:3)

·  And to another crowd: “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?” (Luke 6:32)

·  To a circle of his critics trying to find a way to undermine him: “Is it lawful to do good on the Sabbath or to do evil?” (Mark 3:4)

·  Holding up a coin before another cluster of detractors he asked, “Whose head is on this, and whose title?” (Matthew 22:20)

·  To a group of his followers he posed this one: “What good can it be for someone to gain the whole world in trade for their life?” (Matthew 16:26)

·  And after they had been tossed about in their boat by a violent storm at sea and practically scared out of their wits: “Where is your faith?” (Luke 8:25)

·  Finally and most poignantly, to the disciple Peter following his resurrection: “Do you love me?” “Do you love me?” “Do you love me?” (John 21:17)

Jesus’ question

So perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised when this morning’s gospel reading opens with Jesus asking yet another question. And on this occasion he addresses it to the disciples: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”

Now we mustn’t think that it was as though Jesus were attempting to carry out some kind of first-century opinion poll. Frankly I can’t imagine that Jesus was all that concerned about what people thought about him. He was not like contemporary politicians, constantly checking the latest surveys to find out their standing among the public.

Jesus didn’t have any need to worry himself about that kind of thing, because he was perfectly secure in his identity. Elsewhere he confided to his disciples, “I have come … not to do my own will, but the will of him who sent me.” (John 6:38) It was plain that Jesus’ path was not determined by public opinion, but by the mission entrusted to him by his heavenly Father—and he knew that that mission would lead ultimately to his rejection and death.

So it is that when you look at the gospels, who did Jesus spend most of his time with? By and large it wasn’t the movers and the shakers. It wasn’t the influencers. It wasn’t the affluent or the well-heeled. It was the poor and the downtrodden, the crippled, the incurable, the prostitutes, the tax collectors and those pushed off to the sidelines of society.

But going back to Jesus’ question in this morning’s gospel reading, I imagine there was a gap of barely a few seconds before the answers came tumbling out from the disciples: “Some say John the Baptist.” “Others are thinking along the lines of Elijah.” “Still others are putting you in a category with Jeremiah or one of the prophets…” Jesus had been the talk of the town wherever he went. Even King Herod had heard about him. But in fact none of that stood behind Jesus’ motivation for asking the question, “Who do people say I am?”. The real question he was aiming at was the one he asked next: “But who do you say I am?”

Peter’s response

Now at this point I imagine that there was more than a brief pause. In my mind’s eye I can picture the disciples all standing there in dumbfounded silence. We can hardly blame them. For I wonder, how often have you or I taken the time to give serious thought to this question? Sunday by Sunday we repeat the words of the creed: “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God…” But when did we last give them any meaningful consideration? Have we ever reflected on their consequences? Have we asked, what does all this mean for me, for the way I live my life today? When you take a moment to think about it, the implications are massive and have the potential of touching on every area of our lives.

But, going back to our gospel reading, it was predictable that Peter would be the one to answer—honest, impetuous, impulsive Peter. I can’t think he had to reflect for more than a fraction of a second before he found himself blurting out: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”

Remember that Peter had been among the first to respond to Jesus’ challenge to “Follow me…” He had wasted no time in leaving his boat and his nets behind to accompany Jesus (Matthew 4:18-20). It was Peter who had fished all night and had nothing to show for it. He began to object when Jesus said, “Let down your nets for a catch.” But his skepticism was proved wrong when his nets couldn’t contain the fish that were flipping back and forth to the point of almost sinking their boats (Luke 5:4-9). It was Peter who at Jesus’ word stepped out of his boat onto the roiling sea in the midst of a raging storm and began to walk towards him (Matthew 14:22-33). And later, in the darkness of Gethsemane on the eve of Jesus’ crucifixion, it would be Peter who would take out his sword and slice off the high priest’s servant’s ear to prevent Jesus’ arrest (John 18:10).

And so it was hardly a surprise, when Jesus asked, “Who do you say I am?” it would be Peter who would respond: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Jesus’ promise

Now I suspect that Peter did not come to this conclusion entirely on his own. In my mind’s eye I can see the disciples clustering together on more than one occasion—perhaps following one of Jesus’ miraculous acts, perhaps after listening to another of his arresting parables. And I can hear them asking themselves, as they did after Jesus calmed that violent storm at sea, the waves swamping their boat and threatening to take them all down with it: “What sort of man is this, that even winds and sea obey him?” (Matthew 8:27).

The question of who this Jesus was had to have occupied the minds of the disciples for some time. But it always would have remained a question. What they must increasingly have been wondering seemed too stupendous to be true. Now it was Peter who gave voice to their growing suspicion: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

In a moment’s time I will ask you to stand and invite you to affirm that same faith in Jesus in the words of the Nicene Creed. It will not be a spontaneous outburst as it was with Peter. Instead, it will be in the carefully crafted words that have been echoed down through the centuries by men and women of faith.

However, let us not allow their familiarity to lull us into simply rattling them off. Let us place ourselves with Peter and the other disciples as Jesus asks not, “Who do people say I am?” Not, “Who does the church say I am?” But, “Who do you say I am?” And let us answer in humble amazement and with full conviction of faith…

 

“Living In a Far From Perfect World” (1 Peter 2:18-25)

I suspect that a number of you have heard the old story of the young man who was desperately seeking God’s guidance for some crucial issue in his life. For some reason he decided that the best way forward might be simply to allow his Bible to fall open randomly and then follow the wisdom of whatever verse his eyes first fell upon.

So he let his Bible fall open. And much to his alarm the verse staring up at him was Matthew 27:5, where he read these words: “And throwing down the pieces of silver into the temple, he departed, and he went and hanged himself.” Well that certainly didn’t appeal to him, so he decided to try again. This time he came to Luke 10:37 – “You go, and do likewise.” Well, he thought to himself, maybe it’s third time lucky. So he riffled through the pages once more and what did his eyes land upon, but John 13:27 – “What you are going to do, do quickly.”

You don’t have to laugh, but I just wanted to illustrate a maxim that was drilled into me early in my Christian life by some of my fellow students in our Christian fellowship at university. It goes like this: A text without a context is a pretext.

I could name any number of clips from the Bible that have been misused because they have been quoted without any regard for the context in which they were originally written. And I confess to my shame that I am guilty of having done it on more than one occasion myself. But I say all of this because this morning we have come to a passage that has been one of the most egregiously misinterpreted in all of Scripture. And if you haven’t guessed it already, it is Peter’s words about slavery.

A couple of weeks ago in my own personal quiet time I was reading through Ephesians. There the apostle Paul also addresses slaves, and in terms not all that different from what we have read from Peter this morning. I must say that I was tremendously grateful for what the commentator had written in my study guide. He gave this warning: “This text should not be misused either to downplay the evil of slavery or, as has historically been the case, to support its horrors.”[1] A text without a context is a pretext.

The Sorrow of Injustice

So it is this morning that we find Peter addressing “servants” and calling upon them to be subject to their masters with all respect. The word translated “servants” in our Bibles in the original is oiketes. My Greek lectionary translates that term as a domestic or a house slave, or simply a slave. And in fact that is how the majority of contemporary English translations render this word: “slave”.

But whether the word means “servant” or “slave” is not the issue. The real tragedy is that passages like this, which can be found in both the Old and the New Testaments, have been used as a justification for slavery.

No less a figure than George Whitefield, who with Jonathan Edwards was one of the leaders of the First Great Awakening—that remarkable revival that swept across what is now the eastern United States in the early eighteenth century—was a leading proponent of slavery. As was Charles Hodge, principal of Princeton Theological Seminary and recognized as one of the greatest evangelical theologians of the nineteenth century. In fact, just a year before the outbreak of the American Civil War, Hodge could write in categorical terms, “If the present course of the abolitionists is right, then the course of Christ and the apostles was wrong.”[2]

But to go back to my daily devotional reading, here is more of what the author had to say:

Many times I have heard it said that the best way to understand [the Bible’s] words about slavery is to think about the modern workplace, so that the text becomes about respecting your boss … In the ancient world, slavery was common, as being employed is common today, but to compare the two in any way beyond this is wrong. Slavery meant you were owned by someone else, that your body was not yours and that you were not able to decide for yourself.

So what are we to take away from these words from Scripture? How are we to understand and apply them to our lives and in our world today?

First of all, we must remember that neither Peter nor the slaves to whom he wrote were in a position to do anything about their slavery. Although it had occurred a century and a half before, everybody knew about the revolt of 120,000 slaves that after a three-year struggle had been brutally put down by the Roman army. Of those who were not slaughtered in the conflict, more than 6,000 were crucified along the Appian Way.

Besides that, we need to recognize that you and I are in a position of privilege. We may face difficult circumstances at work—unreasonable bosses, excessive hours, dangerous conditions, the pressure to compromise our integrity, or a host of other unfavourable conditions, but the fact remains that we aren’t slaves.

Yet estimates are that there are well in excess of forty million men, women and children who are living in some form of enslavement in our world today—whether in forced labour on farms, in mines and in factories, in forced marriages, through child labour, through forced sexual exploitation or in still other variations. Think of it for a moment. Forty million: that’s the population of Canada. And the fact is that you and I benefit from their labours through the inexpensive produce and manufactured goods that are at our fingertips every day.

I am grateful to Jo Hockley, who a couple of weeks ago pointed me to a website called “Slavery Footprint”. I took their survey and discovered that by a conservative estimate my lifestyle depends on the labour of at least forty-eight slaves. Those slaves are invisible to me because they are working (or perhaps I should say overworked) often in dangerous and unhealthy conditions in mines and fields and sweatshops thousands of miles away. What is the solution to this? I confess that the problem is far too complex for me to make any recommendations, except at the very least to make ourselves aware of the extent of slavery still present in our world today and to be careful about what we purchase. And if you’d like some help with that, the website endslaverynow.org has 429 useful suggestions for you!

And let us not forget that we follow the one anointed by the Spirit of the Lord “to proclaim good news to the poor…, to proclaim liberty to the captives…, to set at liberty those who are oppressed…” (Luke 4:18)

The Suffering of Christ

So how are we to understand those words of Peter to slaves? The answer is to try to comprehend them not only in their historical context but equally, if not more importantly, in their biblical context. And that context is found in words that Peter would certainly have heard from Jesus himself: “But I say to you who hear, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. To one who strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from one who takes away your cloak do not withhold your tunic  either… And as you wish that others would do to you, do so to them.” (Luke 6:27-28,31)

Peter had witnessed that lesson dramatically put into action by Jesus himself in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night before his crucifixion. You will remember how, when the soldiers had come to arrest Jesus, Peter drew out a sword in an attempt at bravado and slashed off the high priest’s servant’s ear—only to be met by Jesus’ stern rebuke, “Put your sword in its place, for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (John 18:10-11) At which point Jesus touched the servant’s ear and healed him.

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us, then, that at this point Peter’s thoughts turn to what took place on the day that followed. As he looked back across the space of a generation or more, I suspect that the events of that grim and fateful day were as clear in Peter’s mind as when they had first occurred. The heckling of the passers-by would still have echoed in his ears. He could still see the sadistic grins on the faces of the soldiers. And he could still feel the tears that trickled down the faces of Mary and the other women—and down his own too. And above it all he could hear the parched voice that cried out, “Father, forgive them…”

So we shouldn’t be too surprised when a generation later we find Peter writing, “For this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly.” It is not an easy lesson to absorb, because it is counterintuitive. It goes against all our grain. It turns our natural sense of justice on its head. Yet it is the repeated experience of generation upon generation of Christian believers from Peter’s time right through to our own—somehow to meet abuse with grace, anger with gentleness, nastiness with love. I’m not going to say that people are necessarily going to change as a result (although perhaps by God’s grace some will), but regardless of their reaction we will be radiating the sweet aroma of Jesus.

The Sacrifice that Transforms Us

It was only later, during those forty days between Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, that Peter began to realize that Jesus’ suffering on the cross was more than just a terrible miscarriage of justice. Luke tells us it was then that Jesus “opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations…’” (Luke 24:44-47)

So it was that in the space of a short seven weeks later Peter would be proclaiming, “Let all the house of Israel … know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified… Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins…” (Acts 2:36,38) And so it is that we read this morning, “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.”

It was at Calvary that Jesus took all the suffering, all the injustice, all the cruelty and evil of the world upon himself. And the power and effects of that sacrifice reach across the whole sweep of eternity to touch not only Peter and his readers but the likes of you and me today. The cross of Christ tells us like nothing else that you and I are loved—loved by none less than the God of the universe and of all eternity, and loved to the point where he would give his own Son to restore our relationship with him.

The cross frees us from the burden of thinking that somehow we need to earn our way into God’s good books (which is something we could never do in the first place). For through his cross Jesus has nullified both the curse and the power of sin over our lives.

When Jesus uttered those words, “It is finished,” we are told that the thick veil of the Temple was torn in two from top to bottom. It was a dramatic sign that the wall that our sins and waywardness had erected between us and God was demolished. The Good Shepherd had reclaimed his straying sheep to bring them home.

Well, that’s the big context of our passage this morning. May it cause us to rejoice in the freedom that we enjoy in our society, to pray and advocate and do what we can for those who still live in bondage today—and never to underestimate the price that Jesus has paid for your and my eternal freedom and for theirs.

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[1]     David Horsfall, “It is Not About Your Boss”, Ephesians 6:1-9, Scripture Union Encounter With God, 5 March 2024

[2]     Darius Jankiewicz, “Hermeneutics of Slavery”

“There’s More to the Story” (John 21:1-25)

For the last couple of Sundays we’ve been reading from John 20—the beloved disciple’s dramatic account of Jesus’ resurrection. We’ve stood with Mary Magdalene weeping outside the empty tomb as she mistook the risen Jesus for the gardener. And we’ve been with the disciples in the upper room as they listened to Thomas declare, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my fingers where the nails were…, I will not believe.”

Of course these are not the only incidents that the gospels recount of the miraculous events of that first Easter. My personal favourite has to be the one that Luke tells us, of the two disciples making their way to Emmaus, when they were joined by a shadowy stranger along the road. It was only as he broke bread with them in their home that they recognized that they had been with Jesus.

No doubt there were numerous other encounters between the risen Christ and his followers that have been lost to us. And John says as much in the final verses of chapter 20:

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.

It would almost seem at this point as though John had reached his conclusion. He puts down his pen. But then he pauses. “Wait a minute!” he says to himself. “There’s one more story that I must tell. And here is how it happened…”

The comfort of the familiar

The scene this time is by the Sea of Galilee. It is early in the morning and the mist is slowly rising from the tranquil surface of the lake. Seven of them had decided to go fishing. And so they had pushed out the night before and let down their nets.

I remember years ago when Karen and I were cottaging with our children in St Margaret’s Bay. I thought I should give them an experience of fishing. I had memories of going out in a rowboat to fish with my dad and brothers and rarely catching anything. And so, if nothing else, I thought to myself, it might teach our kids some patience.

Well, we were barely minutes out on the bay when the water around us was teeming with fish. I’m talking hundreds of them. And it seemed as though they were begging to be caught, practically jumping into our boat. What we didn’t realize was that we had rowed right into the middle of a school of mackerel—and it didn’t take us long to haul in enough to feed our family of five. So much for a lesson on patience!

Sadly, that was not the experience of Peter and his companions. They had fished all night and hadn’t anything to show for it. But I’m not altogether sure that it mattered. My suspicion is that they had not gone back to Galilee and to their fishing boats to earn some cash. No, they had gone back because it was familiar. It was somewhere that they could be quiet, somewhere that perhaps they might at least begin to process the whirlwind of events that they had become embroiled in over the previous few weeks.

Try to imagine for a moment what their lives had been like. They had marched into Jerusalem to the cheers of triumphant crowds shouting “Hosanna!” and waving their fronds of palm. Days later they had looked on powerlessly as the one they had come to revere as the Messiah was arrested, savagely beaten and nailed up to breathe out his last on a cross. Then only days after that they were confronted with the news that he was alive—and soon they were seeing him for themselves in front of their very own eyes.

To say that they had been on an emotional roller coaster would be an understatement. So should it be any wonder that they would want to go back to the lake, back to where things were quiet, back to where life was predictable? And besides, hadn’t Jesus himself instructed the women to tell them that they would see him in Galilee? (Matthew 28:10)

Peter, Thomas and the others just needed a break. So it was only human that they should retreat to the comfort of the familiar. And the wonderful thing was that Jesus met them there. “Buddies, you don’t have any fish, do you?” came a voice through the mist from a figure on the shore. “No,” they replied. “Then try casting your net on the right-hand side of your boat.”

I can imagine them thinking to themselves, “What does this guy know? Oh well, I suppose it can’t do any harm.” So with aching backs and arms from working all night, they let down their net. It seemed that no sooner had it sunk under the water than it was loaded with fish. And then it began to sink in—the strange familiarity about what was happening. It had been three years before, at one of their first encounters with Jesus that an almost identical scenario had unfolded (Luke 5:1-11).

Now there was no question in their minds as to who the figure was that was calling out to them. And hardly a split second was lost before Peter was splashing through the water on his way to meet him.

Some years ago a friend of mine wrote a book which she entitled, God Meets Us Where We Are. And it seems to me that that is the point of this incident. Jesus comes to us at our points of loneliness and sorrow, our times of fatigue and doubt. He doesn’t wait for us to come to him. He is the good shepherd, who seeks out his lost sheep until he finds them and brings them home. He is the one who graciously invites you and me, “Come to me, all who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

Right now we’re heading into what for many is the busiest time of the year. Three weeks ago I was already hearing “Jingle Bells” in one of the stores—and it wasn’t even Hallowe’en yet! If you can do it, may I suggest that somehow, amid all the rush and bother of this season, you try to find the time to go to your own personal Sea of Galilee and let Jesus meet you there and nourish you as he did those first disciples. Even if it isn’t for any more than a few minutes, I have no doubt that Jesus will not disappoint you.

The call to serve

Of course the story does not end there. After the last of the fish and the bread have been eaten, Jesus turns to Peter and asks him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Yes, Lord,” Peter replies, “you know that I love you.” To which Jesus replies, “Feed my lambs.” Then a second time Jesus says to Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Again Peter answers, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” And Jesus says, “Tend my sheep.” Hardly have the words left Peter’s mouth before Jesus asks a third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

John tells us that Peter was grieved when Jesus asked him the same question the third time around. In fact, I don’t think it would be going too far to say that those words pierced into the depths of into Peter’s soul. Why do you think that was so? Because not that many days before, at Jesus’ moment of greatest need, Peter had denied even knowing him three times.

Peter could not have missed Jesus’ intent. And I can only imagine that it was with lips quivering and tears welling up in his eyes that Peter managed to blubber out the words for the third time: “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” To which Jesus tells him once again, “Feed my sheep.”

What encouragement I find in that dialogue! I am embarrassed and ashamed when I think of the number of times I have failed Jesus since I first began to follow him. And perhaps you might say the same of yourself.

Indeed, when it comes down to it, none of us is equal to the task of serving God. Yet that is a pattern that we see from beginning to end in Scripture. Think of it: Jacob was a deceiver, Moses was a stutterer, Ruth was a penniless widow, David was an adulterer, Jonah was a coward, and on and on the list goes… Yet God empowered and equipped each of them to serve him in remarkable ways. And in his grace Jesus still calls and trusts the likes of you and me to serve him.

Your name may never be in the headlines, but there will be people whose lives were made better because of having known you. You may never be aware of it. You may not remember what you said or did and they may never tell you. But in the end you will hear your Master say to you, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matthew 25:23)

The cost of discipleship

Discipleship is an immeasurable privilege. But our passage this morning warns us that it often comes with a cost. And in these closing verses of John’s gospel Jesus warned that for Peter that cost would be his life.

Tradition tells us that Peter’s journey of discipleship led him to Rome. In the year 64 that city was struck by a disastrous fire. The blaze raged unchecked for nearly ten days, destroying over 70% of the city. And the ruins were still smouldering when rumours began to spread that the Emperor Nero himself was somehow behind it. Anxious for a scapegoat, Nero in turn pointed an accusing finger at the Christians, who had been a small but increasing presence in Rome for a generation.

In a savage display of cruelty, believers were sentenced to be torn apart by wild animals; they were covered in pitch and burned alive as human torches to light the imperial gardens; and some were crucified. Among this last group was the apostle Peter. And there is a further tradition (although it cannot be proven historically) that claims that, as he did not consider himself worthy of being put to death in the same manner as his Lord, Peter chose to be crucified upside down.

We can be grateful here in Canada that we live in a society where we are free to worship as we choose and to live out our beliefs on a daily basis. But did you know that one in eight Christians in the world today live in countries where they may be persecuted for their faith? That is over 300 million believers!

In the twelve months between October 2019 and September 2020, it is estimated that over 4,700 Christians were killed for their faith; nearly 4,300 were unjustly arrested, detained or imprisoned; and more than 1,700 were abducted for faith-related reasons.[1]

Those are sobering statistics. But let them be an encouragement to you and to me to follow the counsel that Peter himself has left us: to honour Christ as Lord in our hearts and always to be prepared to give a reason to anyone who asks us for the hope that is in us (1 Peter 3:15).

As John concludes his gospel, he looks back over his times with Jesus and the years that have passed by since. And every bit as much as on that first resurrection morning, he remains wide-eyed with amazement. You can hear it when you listen to his concluding words: “Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”

And isn’t it equally amazing that nearly two thousand years after the events, people are still talking about Jesus and books are still being written about him! As we close our Bibles (at least for now) may we never lose that sense of wonder and awe in the presence of Jesus, the Word become flesh, who dwelt among us—and continues to dwell among us by his Spirit today—full of grace and truth!

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[1]     Ewelina O. Ochab, “One in Eight Christians…”, Forbes Magazine, 13 January 2021

“Unfinished Business” (John 21:15-19)

In the Gospel of John Jesus’ last words from the cross were these: “It is finished.” At that point, as he prepared to give up his spirit, Jesus had accomplished all that he had come to do—to offer up his life as what the Anglican Book of Common Prayer calls the one “full, perfect, and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world”. The curtain of the temple (reputed to be as thick as a man’s hand) was about to be ripped apart, from top to bottom. The impenetrable wall of separation between sinful humankind and the all-holy God had been breached. Yet, in spite of the colossal nature of the cross, there still remained some loose ends that needed to be tied up.

For the past couple of weeks we have been having some renovations done to our house. Very soon I am hoping we will be able to say that the project has been completed. Yet, as with almost any undertaking, there will undoubtedly still remain a few details that will need to be attended to. Without wishing to be in any way frivolous, the same was true in those days following the crucifixion. Yes, Jesus’ mission was completed on the cross. “It is finished.” Yet there were still some important matters that needed to be dealt with. There were mourners like Mary Magdalene and Cleopas and his friend, who needed to be consoled and delivered from their grief. There were doubters like Thomas, who needed to be convinced that Jesus had indeed conquered death. And then there was Peter, who needed to be relieved of the terrible burden of guilt he carried about with him following his cowardly denial of Jesus outside the high priest’s court.

That last story is found only in the fourth gospel. It almost seems, at the end of chapter 20 and Jesus’ dramatic appearance to Thomas in the upper room, that John has come to the end of his account—and what a high point to end on! And so he concludes, “Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:30-31). I can imagine John putting down his pen with a great sigh and then saying, “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you what happened with Peter…” and picking up his pen again to add the twenty-first chapter.

“It all happened like this…” he begins. The scene this time is to the north, in Galilee, where the disciples’ adventure with Jesus had begun. Seven of the disciples had gone out to fish. The first glimmers of the rising sun were beginning to appear on the horizon when they heard a voice from the shore. “You wouldn’t have anything to eat, would you?” Their annoyance at having caught nothing in spite of having been in the boat all night was evident in their monosyllabic reply: “No.” “Well, toss your net over to the right side of your boat and you’ll find some.”

Now you would think the disciples should have started to become a little suspicious. The scene was remarkably similar to something that had happened three years before. That time Peter had objected. This time, however, there was no demurral. The net had barely sunk into the water before it was bursting with fish. It was at that point that the penny dropped for John at least. “It’s the Lord,” he stammered. No sooner had the words left his mouth than Peter was pulling on a tunic and splashing into the water.

“Do you love me?” – Discipleship, not competition

It was after they had eaten that Jesus turned to Peter with the painful question, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” The question was painful for two reasons. First, Jesus was addressing Peter by his formal name, not the nickname—Peter, Rock—that Jesus himself had given him. Secondly, Jesus’ question harked back to a conversation that had taken place on the eve of his crucifixion. “All of you are going to desert me,” Jesus had warned them. But Peter objected, “Even if everyone else deserts you, I never will” (Mark 14:27-31). I don’t think it was intentional, but Peter was implying that his devotion to Jesus was greater than that of any of the other disciples. Now Jesus was asking, “What do you think about those words now, Peter? Do you really love me more than these?”

Jesus’ penetrating question reveals one of the most insidious dangers for the followers of Jesus. It is the temptation to turn discipleship into a competition. It is a very easy rut to fall into, to begin to compare ourselves (either favourably or unfavourably) with other Christians. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that it isn’t good to have role models or saintly examples of Christian living that we look up to. Nor am I suggesting that there are some people (and, sad to say, Christians among them) whose lifestyles we should avoid. No, this is something considerably subtler than that. In the New Testament we see it in the church in Corinth, where some people were under the impression that their spiritual gifts were more valuable to the life of the church than those of others. No, says Paul, such comparisons have no place in the Christian community. To get his point across, he uses what has to be the most powerful image of the church in all the New Testament: the body of Christ, where every part, no matter how large or small, visible or hidden, plays a vital part in the functioning of the whole.

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work… The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’ … But God has put the body together … that its parts should have equal concern for each other. (1 Corinthians 12:4-6, 21,24-25)

We find our Lord Jesus enunciating the same principle more than once in the course of his teaching. Remember his absurd picture of the man attempting to remove a speck from someone else’s eye when there is a great beam protruding from his own (Matthew 7:3-5). Or how about his story of the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the temple? Do you recall the Pharisee’s prayer? “God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector” (Luke 18:9-14). It is a trap that good, well-intentioned people can easily fall into. I have seen it in the churches where I have served. I have seen it in myself.

“Feed my lambs…” – Discipleship as service

“Simon son of John, do you love me?” “Simon son of John, do you love me?” “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Three times Jesus addresses Peter with this painful question. Peter could hardly have failed to grasp the significance. Three times he answers: “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Yes, Lord, I love you.” And three times Jesus comes back with a commission: “Then feed my lambs.” “Take care of my sheep.” “Feed my sheep.”

What was the point that Jesus was at pains to get across? It is that the essence of discipleship is not competition but servanthood. Once again, turning to Paul and his words to that contentious, competitive bunch in Corinth: “To each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good” (1 Corinthians 12:7). And of course Paul is really only echoing the same principle that Jesus had emphasized to his disciples during his earthly ministry. It was when James and John had come to Jesus asking to sit at his right and his left in his kingdom. When word of this got to the other disciples, their blood rose. But Jesus’ words put a stop to any indignation they might have felt:

You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. (Matthew 20:25-28)

Jesus’ injunction to Peter was a call to servanthood. More than that, those words, “Feed my lambs,” would have taken Peter back to an earlier time when Jesus had declared of himself, “I am the good shepherd.” And the good shepherd’s faithfulness to his flock would lead him to give his very life for his sheep (John 10:11).

I recently received an article from a friend in Cairo about a remarkable example of Christian servanthood.

In 1969, the governor of Cairo created the slum by relocating the mostly Coptic Christian trash pickers [to the city’s squalid garbage dump…] Women and children pick through 15,000 tons of the city’s collected refuse, sorting out recyclable waste from the biodegradables useful for wandering livestock. Men haul burlap trash bags twice their size into garbage trucks poised to tip from overfill… By 1974, the community of Manshiat Nasser had grown to about 14,000 Copts, living without electricity, plumbing, or church. Alcoholism was rampant. Crime was common. A reluctant Orthodox layman was asked to visit with an eye toward ministry… One day Farahat Ibrahim was walking in the area, feeling overwhelmed. “Lord, I'm just a drop in the ocean,” he prayed. “There are many people here and they are very hard and wild. What do you want from me?” Ibrahim bought a pair of boots and a flashlight, and trudged out in visitation to his unreceptive adopted flock. One man attacked him with a knife. Another hid in the pigsty. But in an abandoned cave above the slum, in a tin hut with a reed roof, nine people attended the first church service… [Forty-plus years later Ibrahim, now ordained in the Coptic Church as Father Simon, continues to minister there.] Six churches have been planted and serve the poor. Patmos Hospital serves the sick. Ninety percent of all trash gets recycled, as NGOs market creatively designed garbage-turned-crafts.[1]

Tragically, I fear that we Christians are probably better known for what we are against than for that kind of servanthood. At the same time, I don’t think you have to scratch too far beneath the surface of almost any church to find people who are feeding the hungry, offering shelter to the homeless and engaged in countless other ways in taking care of Jesus’ lost sheep.

“Follow me!” – Discipleship as a response to God’s love in Christ

It is a compelling picture—and Peter would indeed find himself serving in that very way, even going to the death for it. Yet I believe it still misses what is at the heart of genuine discipleship. I believe we need to go a level deeper—and that comes to us in Jesus’ final words to Peter in this morning’s passage: “Follow me.” “Follow me”—the same words Peter had heard addressed to him as he had stood casting his net for fish three years before.

You see, at its core discipleship really has nothing to do with what I can do for Jesus. It begins with what Jesus has done for me. Discipleship is a response—a response to God’s love for me in Christ. We will inevitably falter and fail in our service to Jesus and to others, just as Peter did. But there is one who will never fail, one who says to each of us, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness” (Jeremiah 31:3). Again I am reminded of the apostle Paul’s words to the Corinthians when he writes of his own ministry, “Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again” (2 Corinthians 5:14-15).

Scottish theologian Thomas Torrance beautifully illustrated what I want to say when he reminisced of an experience he had with his daughter. He wrote,

Many years ago I recall thinking of the marvellous way in which our human faith is implicated in the faith of Jesus Christ and grasped by his faithfulness, when I was teaching my little girl to walk. I can still feel her tiny fingers gripping my hand as tightly as she could. She did not rely upon her feeble grasp of my hand but upon my strong grasp of her hand which enfolded her grasp of mine within it. That is surely how God’s faithfulness actualized in Jesus Christ laid hold of our weak and faltering faith and holds it securely in his hand.’[2]

Discipleship just isn’t about us. It’s about Jesus taking us, feeble and fault-ridden as we are, and working through us. May what we have read and heard this morning encourage each of us to be grasped by that strong hand of Jesus to draw us more deeply into himself, so that forgiven, restored and impelled by his love, we may go out to serve him in the world. “If we are faithless, he remains faithful, for he cannot disown himself” (2 Timothy 2:13).

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[1]        Jayson Casper, “From Garbage to Glory”, Christianity Today, April 2016

[2]        Thomas F. Torrance, The Mediation of Christ, page 83