Today’s sermon is called “Easter—Part 3.” When it comes to sermon titles, I am dependably lazy and uncreative and this one is certainly proof of that, but it is also my way of making a point: Most of us think of Easter as a day, and yes, that’s true. But it is also meant to be a season, a journey, a daily commitment into a different way of thinking about and looking at the world, which is supposed to last longer than a day… That interpretation is very consistent with how the story is told in the Bible, and its rather useful for these days we are living through.
What do I mean about the days we are living through? Well, there are always challenges, but here’s one example of a conversation I had recently: I was having lunch with a friend not long ago; when the server greeted us and asked how we are doing, he smiled and sarcastically said: “Overwhelmed with existential dread—but other than that, fine.” I don’t want to be overly morose, but I have a lot of conversations these days where people who talk, at least jokingly, and sometimes seriously, as if we are living on the brink of disaster. There are different ways to think about this—let’s talk about that for a moment.
- Some folks actually are living on the brink of disaster—there are too many examples to name them, but let’s acknowledge that in the midst of wars, starvation, disasters, and tyranny, for many of God’s children, suffering is not an intellectual exercise for a Sunday sermon—it is life.
- Others wish to live blissfully ignorant of the suffering, which may offer some short-term self-preservation, but is essentially ignorant and cruel, and diminishes our humanity.
- Some want to help, and do, and are constantly troubled by their helplessness to affect change.
- Some try to limit their time spent reading the news, for it makes them angry or anxious, and feels paralyzing to them, and makes them less loving.
- Some are able to hold all of this tension together and keep doing their best, all the while hoping that some unforeseen medical diagnosis or natural disaster or financial catastrophe will not come along and suddenly push them over the edge.
- So, a joke about existential dread…yes, sometimes that may be that right.
In this world where we live, knowing what we know, its easy to get stuck living as if every day is Good Friday, a veil of death hanging over us even when life is good. So how do some people keep going? How do good Christians of the world, from the Pope Francises to the regular Joes, how do we keep Easter hope alive when we know what we know? How do we do our best in the midst of it?
Let me tell you a story. This sense of dread, is where we find the disciples, some days after Easter. Seven of the disciples are together, feeling overwhelmed and depressed after the traumatic events of Jesus’ death. They have fled Jerusalem and are hiding near the Sea. And finally, needing either some kind of distraction, or escape, or return to something that at least feels a bit normal, Peter gets up and says, “I’m going fishing.” The rest of the guys say, “I’m coming with you.”
So out they go in the boat. They spend the night out there on the water, and they aren’t catching a thing. And then, as day breaks, there is this series of events that takes place. Have you ever had an experience of something that seems kind of miraculous and is too important to be pure coincidence? That’s what happens here, with a whole series of events, that bring back all kinds of memories.
As the sun is just starting to come up, these friends who are fishing see the outline of a figure on the beach; and he sees them—but not enough to quite know each other. It’s light enough for him to see that they aren’t catching anything, and calls to them: “try the other side of the boat!” They have nothing to lose, so they toss their nets in on the other side, and suddenly there are more fish than they can pull in.
This is not the first time they’ve heard that voice when they were out in the boat fishing. It’s also just a little too much like another time when they were together with a crowd and a boy with a basket and suddenly there were enough fish for everyone. There’s one of the disciples who always seems to get it before the others, the story calls him the Disciple Jesus Loved, and he figures out that the one on the shore must be Jesus. He tells Peter, so Peter jumps into the water and swims for shore to see if its Jesus…and the disciples, watching, remember another time they saw Jesus while they were out in a boat, and Peter stepped out first and began to walk on the water.
All of this is a bit of a setup that something important is about to happen—an encounter with Jesus, who is new life itself. They come ashore, all of them, and as they haul in the nets full of fish and make their way around the fire where this man they suspect is Jesus is making a breakfast of bread and fish. The scripture says that “none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was Jesus. Why would they not ask? Well, my best guess is that they’re ashamed. Jesus had said he would see them again, that death would not defeat him…and they are now confronted with the shock and shame that they fled because they did not believe him.
And then there’s Peter, the most ashamed of all. Impulsive as he was, he jumps out of the boat and swims to shore. But when he gets there, he doesn’t know what to do. His last interaction with Jesus was when Jesus foretold that Peter would deny knowing him three times, and Peter insisted that would never happen…and then of course he went and did it. How immense his shame must have been.
But as they sit there finishing breakfast, Jesus is the one who initiates: “Simon, son of John,” he addresses Peter—using his formal name. (this is a serious conversation). And then a question: “Do you love me?” And Peter, still ashamed, barely able to get the words out. “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” And the reply comes from Jesus: “Feed my lambs.” Continue the work. I am no longer in the tomb, it’s time to get back to it, feed my lambs. Then, Jesus has that very same exchange with Peter a second time, and then a third time, to make it absolutely clear: You denied me three times; now I will forgive you three times. All is forgiven. Let go of the shame. Do not look back. I asked if you love me. I love you too. I know we’ve been through something tragic. Let’s keep going and have a future.
What we’re witnessing here is Peter’s rehabilitation. Everybody has turns of brokenness in life, sometimes because we do the wrong thing on purpose, sometimes because of a mistake, sometimes because of pure dumb luck, sometimes because we are grief stricken over something that has happened to someone else. And here with Peter we have an example of the bad decision he has made that left him completely broken and paralyzed by shame, and what Jesus says to him he says to us all: feed my sheep. God is not about regret. Let’s get going and have a future together.
This is, perhaps, the most important contribution that Easter makes to the world—that no matter where we are or have been, we can start again. And it is an essential message because, as many have said it of Christians: we are Easter people living in a Good Friday world. Just look around you, remembering all of those things I was talking about at the start of the sermon, the things that tempt us with dread. We may live in a Good Friday world, yes. But we are Easter people.
This is not a self-help lecture. I do not have a happiness recipe for you. What I do have is a reminder that there is a story we are gathered around here to celebrate and be part of—a story, not about being trapped on Good Friday, but about being Easter people, and you have a part to play. Being Easter people doesn’t have to be heroic. It can be about simple reminders each day that God wants a good life for all God’s people. It can be about the many people in this congregation who cook meals or coordinate care for friends who are struggling; who volunteer in our community as court advocates for children or to help with the expungement of criminal records. It can be about the good people who challenge us to pay attention to global issues and to pressure our leaders to do the right things. It can be those public officials who try every day to see the humanity in those who treat them horribly; or it can be the bus driver or barista who works extra hard to remember names and stories and smile, because she knows how close many of us are to feeling dread.
Our calling, as people of God, is not to figure out how to save the world, but how to do the loving thing each day, wherever we feel God is calling us, to the whatever extent we can, for each one of us is different.
We can be honest about how hard it can be, and then we must encourage one another, so that we never give up hope. So that we hear Jesus when he says, “Follow me.”
Easter isn’t a day, it’s a way of life; it’s a story we get to be drawn into that helps us to get up every day, put one foot in front of the other, go fishing, and when the time comes, just right out of the boat and swim to the shore to receive the forgiveness we so desperately need…so we can get up the next day and as Jesus calls us to do: Feed my sheep. Love our neighbors. Work for healing in our communities. Share our stories of how to face the dread and find hope anyway. Don’t give up. Receive God’s mercy and start again. It’s a choice everyday. This is what it means to be Easter people. Amen.