Feast of SS. Peter & Paul
Ezekiel 34:11-18
2 Timothy 4:1-8
John 21:15-19
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
FOR THOSE OF US who know it all, or most of it, it is an act of God when we see a familiar thing in a new way. Earlier this month I had a religious experience, a minor one, at the breakfast table. The messenger—or more religiously, the angel—was David Brooks.
Brooks had a terrific column about growing up.1 While reading a Lincoln biography, Brooks noticed how Lincoln, when he was a Illinois legislator early in his political career, had struggled with his sanity. Lincoln's dear friend, Joshua Speed, wrote about Lincoln coming undone one day: "Lincoln was Crazy. I had to remove razors from his room — take away all Knives and other such dangerous things — it was terrible." Lincoln's biographer writes, "He appeared at the statehouse irregularly, hollow-eyed, unshaven, emaciated — an object of pity to his friends and of derision to others." He had terrible nightmares, awaking trembling or talking gibberish.
Later, Lincoln felt shame about this episode of his life, writing that he had lost "the gem of my character." I enormously admire Lincoln, but I doubt that. I bet those difficult days did much to give his character its strength and sparkle because Lincoln confronted his fullness, the broken and troubled parts as well as the attractive parts of himself. He achieved remarkable self-possession, self-control, mastery of his passions — what the 19th century regarded as maturity.
Brooks believes that in the 20th century the concept of maturity shifted to be more about self-discovery than about self-discipline. And he suggests that in recent years our understanding of maturity has further evolved. Perhaps now, maturity means service to others. My immediate reaction is to hold all these together: self-discipline, self-understanding, and empathy, which often leads to self-giving.
Brooks eventually focuses attention on our politics and how we might think in choosing between Senators McCain and Obama, that is seeing the familiar in a new way. He writes,
It would be nice to have a president who had gone to school on his own failings. It would be comforting to see a president who'd looked into the abyss, or suffered some sort of ordeal that put him on a first-name basis with his own gravest weaknesses, and who had found ways to combat them....
Somehow a leader conversant with his own failings ... [would] be detached from his most fervid followers and merciful and understanding toward foes. He'd have a sense of his own smallness in the sweep of events....
Don't only look to see which candidate has the most talent. Look for the one most emotionally gripped by his own failings.
That's scary for us — either the notion that our guy has significant failings or that his is unaware of his failings. Reflecting on this wrecks our fantasies about our candidate. We might also scrutinize other heroes the same way, even the saints. We have a tendency to forget how flawed the saints were. But it explains my great attraction to St. Peter. He was a hugely flawed and limited man, and I think that he looked into his abyss. He became a remarkable person.
The setting of today's gospel is a beach by the Sea of Galilee shortly after the Resurrection.2 Peter and some of the disciples were fishing in their boat, and some on the beach called to them, telling them to cast their nets on the other side of the boat. The disciples then brought in an enormous catch, and then they recognized that the person giving them fishing advice was the risen Jesus. They came to shore and met Jesus who was standing next to a charcoal fire. The fire is a crucial detail.
When Jesus had been arrested, Peter had stood outside the high priest's courtyard and warmed himself by a charcoal fire. Earlier in that horrible evening, Peter had promised to stand by Jesus no matter what, even to lay down his life for him. Within hours of this promise, standing next to the charcoal fire, Peter denied he knew Jesus three times. He denied his vow, the life he had made with Jesus, the man he loved.
On that beach, Peter must've felt all jumbled up inside — overjoyed to see his friend, but fearful in confronting his own betrayal, his empty promises, having to stare into his abyss. Three times Jesus asks, and three Peter expresses his love for Jesus. Having to say it three times hurts Peter's feelings. The irony is that Peter expresses hurt feelings, not Jesus.
This wouldn't have surprised Jesus. He knew Peter's flaws. When Peter had promised to lay down his life for Jesus, Peter was puffing himself up in front of the other disciples, making a show that he was special, that he was more committed than the others. When Peter confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God, at Caesarea Philippi, Jesus spoke about his impending death, and Peter had contradicted Jesus, telling him that he had it all wrong, assuming that he knew better. When Jesus was transfigured, Peter tried to cling to that religious experience instead of going back down the mountain to do ministry. Jesus knew that Peter was more talk than action, more self-interested than self-giving, more deluded about himself than understanding, and yet Jesus loved him.
Peter's meeting with Jesus by the charcoal fire was an opportunity for a renewed relationship. It was a conversion experience for Peter. St. Paul saw a great light on the Damascus Road and discovered his rebellion against God, that what he took to be his faithfulness was persecuting God. Paul, too, had to look into his abyss before he could understand himself and serve God. By the charcoal fire, Peter can come to terms with his false sense of self, his false sense of specialness. In the light of the charcoal fire, he sees the real extent of his commitment, the limitations of his own efforts, his self-delusions, his self-centeredness. He's looking into his abyss.
Jesus stands by Peter and loves him. He offers him three things: forgiveness, friendship, and growth. First, Jesus offers Peter forgiveness. Peter doesn't plead, "Lord, forgive me I have betrayed you." But Jesus doesn't hesitate to reach out to Peter, to draw Peter close to him, to break bread with Peter. Jesus forgives us even before we ask to be forgiven.
In the back of our church, we have the baptismal font and the confessional, the focal point for two sacraments of the Church. I wonder if we keep them stuck in the back corners so that we can keep them in the back corners of our minds. I wonder if the baptismal font should be smack dab in the center of the church, the middle of the center aisle, reminding us that God cleansed us of our sin at baptism.
I wonder if the confessional should be in the center aisle in front of the first pew — sort of tollbooth on the way to the altar, except it's a reverse tollbooth, a place where we receive instead of give, a place of grace and forgiveness, a place that draws us closer to God, a place that reminds us of God's love for us, that nothing we do or neglect or say or think will ever separate us from God.
Second, Jesus offers Peter friendship. God's friendship with us is not fair-weathered. He is with us in happy times and in difficult times. Our other friends may abandon us, reject us. They come and go in the ups and downs of life. Jesus always stands with us, even when we betray him. We are never alone. Jesus also gives us new friends, friends who are also trying to follow him, albeit imperfect friends, yet vital companions. We need one another.
By the charcoal fire, Peter let go of his sense of superiority over the other disciples. He came to see that he didn't need to be special, that only together with the other disciples could he feed the sheep. When Jesus sent out the disciples for ministry, he sent them out two by two. We need community to proclaim good news. Jesus said,"Where two or three are gathered together in my name, I am in the midst of them." (Mt 18:20)
Third, just as Jesus gave Paul new responsibility, Jesus offers Peter new responsibility and the opportunity of growth. Jesus entrusts his sheep to Peter despite his flaws. It reminds us that every authority figure, be it a politician, be it a bishop, or a priest, or a lay person, is also flawed. Our fantasy is that our authority figure, secular or ecclesiastical, is exceptionally able, virtuous, and wise and will take care of our problems. We often prefer a relationship of dependency rather than assuming responsibility for ourselves. Taking responsibility, seizing opportunity, seeking growth always comes with risks.
Jesus didn't have any fantasies about Peter or Paul. Despite all of their flaws, he took a risk, gave them great authority, and entrusted his ministry to them. He made them his chief missionaries. As he commissioned Peter, Jesus said, "When you were young, you dressed yourself and went wherever you wished, but when you get old you'll have to stretch out your hands while someone else dresses you and takes you where you don't want to go." (Jn 21:18)
That's a different vision of maturity. The world says that maturity is about making your own decisions, determining your future, being in control. Jesus implies that maturity is about being willing to directed to where you don't want to go, that it's about giving up control, that it's about being open to what is uncertain, to what is undesirable. Maturity is taking up the cross.
Generally when we think of Peter and Paul, we think of all the great things they did, and we forget what a mess each of them was. They had so many things wrong — wrong ideas about Jesus, wrong-headed notions of themselves, wrong relationships with other people. But God used these insufferable, and then broken men, entrusted them with the well-being of his sheep. It suggests what has nurtured the Church's growth and health through the ages. First, it is primarily a work of God, not of human beings, but we have an essential role. If we practice forgiveness, if we value relationship with other people as more important than all the things that divide us, if we accept new responsibility, if we risk the undesirable, if we direct attention to our own growing up, then we are following Jesus.
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
© 2008 Lane John Davenport
