Another Charcoal Fire

John 21:15-25
It was another charcoal fire.  Same kind of red coals.  Same kind of heat radiating from its center.  It called him closer, just like the other one had done.  He was drawn to its warm comfort.  Drawn to the community that would inevitably gather around it.  Drawn to sit and rub his hands together over the top of it as he tried to bring back the life to his damp, cold fingers.  Fingers made stiff from casting those nets all night long.  A warm charcoal fire could be a good antidote to a long night of failure.   

 When Peter had first looked up from the boat and had spotted the fire smoking and sputtering in the early dawn’s light, his heart had felt briefly lightened by the glowing hospitality of the coals.  But then, then he heard that familiar voice and he heard his friend say “It is the Lord” and Peter’s heart was sent into overdrive.  For a moment, he just sat in the boat, stunned.  What was he supposed to do now?  Should he crouch down and pretend not to notice?  Should he grin and shout “hello”, waving to get his Lord’s attention?  Peter’s mind whirled around with confusion. 

 This was not the first time Peter had seen Jesus since the cross and the tomb.  The risen Lord had appeared to Peter and the other disciples twice already, just showing up in their locked room, wounds still visible.  But Peter had not seen Jesus in this kind of a situation, though.  This felt different to Peter—his Lord sitting by a charcoal fire, enjoying its warmth while calling out to his disciples in the boat. 

 As he weighed his options for response, Peter probably felt a twinge of embarrassment.  He realized his return to fishing could look to some like a return to a pre-Jesus life.  He did not necessarily mean for it to appear that way.  He knew that life was forever different now that he lived in a world interrupted by resurrection.  But Peter had just needed a little while to clear his head and figure out what was next.  What did it mean to follow a risen Lord who was on the loose? 

 Perhaps Peter had hoped that he and the others could talk about that challenge while in the boats.  Their arms were so used to casting those old nets that they did not have to think about it anymore.  The motion was automatic, thereby freeing up their imaginations and their tongues.  But as he considered what their fishing behavior might imply to the One on the shore, Peter probably felt embarrassed. To Jesus, well, it might look like they had just said “never mind” to the whole discipleship thing.  And that was not necessarily what was going on. 

 But embarrassment was not all that Peter felt.  More than anything else, I imagine Peter felt the heavy weight of shame.   He could not escape it.  As soon as he saw those red coals smoking and sputtering in the early dawn’s light, his mind immediately played back a similar fire not too many days before.  But that charcoal fire was in a courtyard, the courtyard of the high priest.  And the community gathering around its warmth was a hostile one, one on the lookout for Jesus’ disciples.  And instead of sitting and cooking breakfast over it, Jesus had been standing inside, being beaten and questioned as he stood trial for sedition.  And on that night, just like on this morning, Peter had been drawn to the warmth of the fire.  So he had tried to nonchalantly slide up and rub his hands together over those red coals.  But he was unable to be anonymous. 

 Three different times:  “You are not one of that man’s disciples, are you?” Three different times:  “I am not.”   Throughout the whole evening, he had kept standing by the fire, desperate to get warm.  But when the cock crowed, Peter realized that even if the fire had been a bonfire, he would not have been able to stop shaking as his blood ran cold with his clear denial of who he was as a follower of Jesus.

 So on that early morning, sitting in the boat, looking as his risen Lord stood over such a similar fire, Peter shuddered again.  But he must have decided that he could no longer run from this confrontation because he put on his clothes and immediately jumped overboard to be with his Jesus.  He swam as quickly as he could, even though his wet clothes weighted him down almost as much as his shame.  And when he arrived at the shore, he realized that Jesus was already cooking some fish over that too-familiar fire.  And Peter walked up to that fire, probably crouching down over it as he tried to dry off and warm up.  And you have to wonder if Peter kept his eyes down on the glowing coals, or if he searched Jesus’ face for a clue as to where he stood in that relationship. 

 But John writes that all Jesus said to him upon his arrival was to go and bring him some of their fish too.  So Peter did not hesitate.  He would do anything for his Lord now.  Anything that might make up for his silence, his denials, his betrayal.  He would do anything to alleviate the shame that still caused him to shudder, though his clothes were almost dry and the sun was starting to take the chill out of the air.  And Jesus tore apart the bread and gave it to them.  And Peter’s mind launched into more flashbacks. 

“Very truly I tell you, one of you will betray me. 

Where I am going, you cannot come.

Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.

Do not let your hearts be troubled.”      

 And as Peter ate of that bread and fish, the movie of their recent past playing in his mind, he felt Jesus’ eyes on his face.  And he gathered his courage and looked at him.  And if the others were talking around him, Peter did not notice.  He just waited to hear what his risen Lord might say to him as they sat by an all-too-familiar charcoal fire, trying to stay warm. 

 “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”  Peter was taken aback by the way Jesus addressed him.  Jesus had not called him “Simon, son of John” since the day they first met.  Why wasn’t he calling him Peter?  “Simon, son of John” was like what his mother would call him in order to get his attention – a first name, middle name, last name kind of thing.  It was like what he was called at his bar mitzvah.  “Simon, son of John” felt both intimate and formal at the same time.  What happened to just plain Peter?  Nonetheless, Peter responded.  “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.”  “Feed my lambs.”

 Again- Jesus’ layered words triggered memories.  Jesus used shepherd imagery frequently in his teaching and preaching.  Peter had heard Jesus speaking about himself as the Good Shepherd.  He knew that Jesus talked about all of his sheep knowing his voice.  And he also remembered how the Good Shepherd would lay down his life for the sheep and for their safety.  Maybe Jesus was just trying to give him a task to do in penance—a way to make up for his previous failure.  Discipleship extra-credit work in order to bring his grade up to passing.  Fine.  Feed his lambs.  He would do it.  That wasn’t so bad. 

 “Simon, son of John,” Jesus started again, “do you love me?”  Again?  Was he really asking him the same thing again?  This felt tortuous to Peter.  “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.”  Peter tried not to sound exasperated, but it was hard.  “Tend my sheep.”  Sure—feed, tend—whatever.  As long as it made this conversation stop.  He was too worked up to be cold anymore.  He wanted to stand up, to move away from the fire, to move away from Jesus’ eyes on his face.  It was time for it to be done.  Surely Jesus would change the subject.  It was one thing to want a “come clean” kind of conversation, a confession and assurance of pardon moment.  It was something else to actually have it. 

 “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”  All of the sudden, what Jesus was doing hit Peter like a rock between the eyes.  Three times: “Aren’t you one of his disciples?”  Three times: “I am not.”  Three times: “Do you love me?”  Three times:  “Care for my people.”  And Peter felt hurt, grieved, by this recognition of pattern.  Because it forced Peter to admit to himself that this Jesus saw him more clearly than he had ever wanted to be seen. 

 “O Lord, you have searched me and known me.  You know when I sit down and when I rise up.  You discern my thoughts from far away.  Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely.”  The childhood Psalm ricocheted in his head.  He was fully known.  He, Simon, son of John, Peter, the rock, the denier, was fully seen and fully known by Jesus.  At that moment he felt more naked than he had in the boat.  All of who he was; all of who he had been; all of who he would be—all of it was known by this Jesus.  The denials, the silence, the running away—all of it was known.  And Peter’s face burned with the heat of that recognition. 

 “Lord, YOU KNOW EVERYTHING.  You know that I love you.”  “Feed my sheep.  Very truly, I tell you, when you were young, you used to fasten your own belt and go wherever you wanted to go.  But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.  Follow me.”

 And as Jesus spoke those words, surely Peter realized that his judgment and his forgiveness were happening at the exact same time.  Jesus did not simply see him as a broken failure of a disciple.  Jesus saw him as a broken disciple.  Furthermore-- Jesus saw him as a follower who could grow stronger at those broken places.  In that conversation by that familiar fire, Jesus was offering Peter another chance.  A chance of repentance, of turning from fear and turning to faith.  Another chance at obedience.  Another chance to grow up into a maturity of discipleship. 

 And Peter must have felt stunned again—but this time by the sheer amazing mercy with which Jesus was bandaging his wounds.  By that familiar fire, in that familiar three-time cadence, Jesus had laid clear Peter’s brokenness.  Peter was no longer able to pretend to forget what he had done, or rather, what he had not done.  It was obvious to Peter and to everyone else that Jesus saw him completely and knew him better even than he knew himself.  And yet, Jesus’ love for him was a big nevertheless.  Yes Peter, you messed up.  Yes Peter, you let me down.  Yes Peter, you let fear keep you in chains.  NEVERTHELESS[i], feed my sheep, tend my lambs, feed my sheep, grow up, and above all, follow me. I know who you are and you are mine—brokenness and all.  So follow. 

 Jesus did for Peter what Peter could not do for himself.  He restored him.  He restored him back to the community of disciples.  Jesus restored him back to a right relationship with God.  But Jesus did not just stop there.  Jesus did not just stop with the word of grace on Peter’s life.  He did not simply say “Okay.  You are forgiven.  Go back to way things were.”  No, there was nothing cheap about this grace.  Rather, as a part of that gift of forgiveness and restoration, Jesus challenged Peter to live it out by stepping in the shepherd’s footsteps for himself.  Jesus offered Peter a chance at his own resurrection.  For as we said last week, Easter resurrection newness was not just something that happened to Jesus.  Easter resurrection newness was something that could also happen in the disciples.

 And surely—as they sat by that all-too-familiar fire—eyes locked on each other—surely Peter’s heart started to feel lightened again as his Lord handed to him not just bread, not just meat, but another chance to fully live.  “Yes Lord, you know that I love you.”  “Follow me.”  Easter people.