Peter's Story

John 21:15-19
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We heard in acts how Peter is the rock, the Petra, the lead witness to what Jesus has done for us.  This week, As I imagined Peter's encounter with Jesus on that beach…I began to hear this story from his perspective…[Read the rest as the character of Peter].

Three times I had denied him.  Three times.
I could not let it go.  I will never forget what it felt like to be warming my hands by the fire and feel my insides go ice cold.  Three times.
There we were, waiting to know his fate.  Confused.  He clearly did not want us to fight.  And now that we were in Pilates court, surrounded by guards, that would have been foolish in every way.  We would have had 12 dead men, not just one.
By that fire the girl asked me.  The one who was the servant of the high priest.  Surely, she had seen me before, she had heard the conversations of the religious authorities.  Surely she had heard the list of our names more than once.  The one who were being watched.  Being followed, lest we be ready to take up arms to fight.  That’s what they were afraid of.
Or something.
That we would do something to disturb the Pax Romana that the authorities worked so hard to keep in place.  They say they didn’t want another slaughter of the innocents, but there they were, ready to slaughter an innocent man.  A man who is God in flesh among us.  Our Savior.
They had no idea what they were doing.
And neither did I.
What was I supposed to do?  I stood by that fire, awaiting his fate.  I felt so completely helpless and hopeless.  What would happen?  He had said he would go away… go to the father.  That he would come back to us.  That he would send the holy spirit… that he did all this on behalf of the Father… on his authority, by the Father’s will.
Is this what the Father’s authority would finally look like… death?
He said that the ruler of this world would come… and come that powerful ruler did.  The world’s power was heavy in that place, around that fire.
And what were we supposed to do, his faithful followers.  We had listened, we had strived to learn.  We had seen his power, felt it brush by when we baptized, when we gathered that abundant bread, when we felt his hand on our feet.
“Love one another, Love one another, this is my new commandment for you, love one another,” he had said.  That night before.  Around that table.  And here I was, unable to love Jesus, unable to even admit I knew him, paralyzed by fear.  Paralyzed by the earthly rulers power – so palpable in the night, in the crowd, in the courts, near that fire.
I couldn’t shake the memory of that night.
And then I found myself standing around another fire.
Jesus had shown up again – a third time after he was raised from the dead.  The three times I denied him were still haunting me.  I longed to change the past.
What was I supposed to do?  I stood by that fire, awaiting my fate.  I felt so completely helpless and hopeless.  What would happen? 
Three times he asked me, Do you love me?
And three times, I answered.
It was strange at first, I didn’t really understand what was going on.  You know how sometimes you don’t put together the meaning of things until you step back and reflect on them?  It dawned on my later, much like he dawned on us with the Sun – shining on that beach like a beacon of hope for my weary spirit.
Do I love Jesus?  Of course! Of Course!  Of Course!  Lord, You know that I love you!
And yet it wasn’t even just about my love.  It wasn’t just about loving one another in the sense of him and me and the disciples around that table.  It wasn’t just about being a caring community for one another… In that moment he connected the dots.
Feed my sheep.
Each time I said I loved him.  He didn’t challenge me.  Except it felt like a challenge, to just be asked three times.  Standing around that fire that reminded me of that night.  Only by asking three time did he remind me of my three denials.  He reminded me what loving him is all about.
Feed my sheep.
And it all came flooding back…
11 “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 12 The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13 The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. 14 I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15 just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. 16 I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. 17 For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18 No one takes[a] it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”
He is the good shepherd.
He has sheep I don’t even know about yet.
He wants me to feed them.
With his promises.
His Word.
His Truth.
He is the Good shepherd.  He is the bread of life.  He is the light of the world.  He IS.
The one who was and is and is to come.
The one who shows us what it is to love, and does not ask us, “Are you doing enough?” or “What are you doing?”  No.  He asks, “Do you love me?”
As I stood by that fire for the second time, Jesus looked at me and did not seek out my report card. He sought out my heart. My desire to love Jesus and his way. My desire to love and be loved.  He sought out that place in me that God seeks to fill with pure, absolute, unconditional love.
For that’s all it means to love Jesus, to feed his sheep.  To look into the face of another sheep, another neighbor, any neighbor, even the neighbor who hates you, and look at them with the unrepentant, forgiving, absolute love of God.
There he was.  Standing next to me by that fire, proclaiming one more time that even my messed up denial was nothing to his claim on me.
“Feed my sheep,” he said,
“Follow me.”

Amen.
P: Alleluia! Christ is Risen!  C: He is risen Indeed! Alleluia!