Out of Love comes Action
Easter 3: 25th April, 2004
Fr John Davis, Vicar of St Peter's, Eastern Hill
Come and have breakfast. (Jn 21:12)
I was talking to someone about the Mel Gibson 'Passion of the Christ', with particular reference to the short resurrection scene right at the end. The comment had already been made that Our Lord was going to need some clothes very quickly, if he was about to be mistaken for the gardener by Mary Magdalene. And I was thinking that if I had wanted to convey the completeness of the resurrection for my final scene of that movie, I would have chosen something different. I would rather have gone with the Lord up to the beach on the lakeside in Galilee for this barbecue breakfast. Grilled fish and freshly baked bread.
Imagine the smell; imagine the pleasure after a long night's work in the boats. Imagine the power of this resurrection experience for all concerned back in the place where it all started. Together in very familiar territory, relaxing into old jobs that were well understood, and finally doing something together that was just so simple and wonderful, after all the horrors that they had so recently experienced: having breakfast.
So we add this to the first appearance to Mary Magdalene in the garden where she recognised him when he spoke her name to her. We add it to the appearance in the upper room with all the disciples except Thomas, where he showed them his hands and his side. We add it to the experience of those two followers leaving Jerusalem and going to Emmaus, who recognised him in the breaking of the bread. This is no ghost, this is no wilful figment of the imagination – this is someone who is recognizable: 'It is the Lord' cried John from the boat. And this is someone you can share a breakfast with. The Lord is risen indeed. That is the continuing message.
Then came the questions and answers about love.
After the breakfast, the Lord had some unfinished business with Peter. Three times he asked Peter: Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? The triple question reminds us at once of Peter's triple denial on the night of the trial, after the Lord had been taken prisoner in the Garden of Gethsemane. The triple answer came from Peter, increasingly distressed: 'Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.' 'Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.' 'Lord, you know everything, you know that I love you.' And then came the triple command and direction: 'Feed my lambs.' 'Tend my sheep.' 'Feed my sheep.' The one who is caring for and feeding his followers and friends is saying that that is what they must do to others. Follow his example, do as he did; do as he was doing. And do this in the context of the resurrection experience and faith. This will be shaping for the whole community which is to grow from this.
Out of love comes action and response; a heart full of love, has that compelling fact as its shaping force – and in a whole community, it is even more evident. Love of this kind is expressed in terms of vocation, of call, of summons. It is irresistible. It is both utterly renewing and utterly overwhelming. Not easy, but wonderful. Not always able to be put into effect. And yet, here is that Simon Peter who was there right at the beginning of this gospel according to John and followed, now here right at the end of the gospel, doing the same thing, as best he can.
But by now Peter has had three years of being side by side with his Lord. He has had times of breath-taking insight, he has impulsively got things very wrong, he has blustered his way out of arrest in an unworthy way, he has watched the Lord he loved die most cruelly. He has several times now seen his risen Lord. This time he was so excited he jumped out of the boat in order to get to him more quickly. He has made his peace with him. He is bursting with the desire to show it.
And it becomes clear; there is more to be done by Peter. There are sheep to be fed; there is leadership to be offered. There is a risen Lord to be followed, to places and situations that will be unwelcome. There is a community, a Church, to be gathered and nurtured and inspired.
That was then. That was the beginning of the exciting and extraordinary events that the Acts of the Apostles directs us to. That was the start of this creaking and groaning institution we call the Church, which even today, against all odds, exhibits some glimmers of that early first life. We are ourselves here because we acknowledge that there is also a 'now', that we ourselves are part of. And we know very well that if the prime demands and needs are to be summed up in words such as loving and feeding and following, then there is indeed much to be recovered and restored and renewed, if we are ourselves to be faithful in this our own generation.
We are placed in a context of great need. Indeed, it verges on the overwhelming. As individual people, we have needs and expectations. Some are able to be met; others are not. How do we deal with that? There are never perfect and obvious solutions, but together we can try. Together we can offer what we ourselves have been offered, to others. Together then we are part of a growing community of faith.
Last week's gospel reminded us by way of the Thomas story, of the task for the succeeding generations of Christians who were not actual witnesses of the Lord after he rose from the dead to yet believe. We cannot walk along the road to Emmaus alongside him, we cannot be invited to examine the wounds, to touch his hands and his side, and we cannot watch him eat a nice piece of freshly grilled fish. But we can, through this sacrament we offer every day, experience the presence of the risen One. The sacrament instituted on that Holy Thursday evening in the upper room is with us still. That is the clear point of connection that we have with the Lord, with that first generation, with succeeding generations and with each other. This is how we may know him and recognise the presence. This is where we meet. This is how we are spiritually fed and nourished. This is how we can get the strength to go on.
On this Anzac Day morning our thoughts and our prayers go out for those who have died in war with this thought and this faith in their hearts. We pray too for those who in these times are also in great danger. We remember all who face war and acts of terrorism. And we pray for the peace of the world and the safety of our nation and people. And we remember.
Today at the end of High Mass, we will take our wreath out to the wayside cross, our parish war memorial, which honours our own dead from the First World War. 366 young men and women from St Peter's went away to that war. Consider the impact that would have had on a parish community. That is of course why such a striking memorial was erected so soon afterwards and placed in such a prominent position. Nearly one in four were killed. We are told that one of them, Noel Edward Bechervaise, a 23-year-old server, died around noon at Gallipoli on that first Anzac Day 89 years ago. His modest little memorial has two poppies on it this morning on the wall of the nave. 'Peace to the unconquered ones' says the Latin inscription carved in large letters upon our wayside cross, beneath the almost life-sized bronze figure of the crucified Lord. For that is how they were not conquered. Their Lord had gone ahead of them.
Eternal rest grant unto them O Lord.
And let light perpetual shine upon them.
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