Forgiveness that Frees (MPLS)

John 21:15-25

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my lambs.’ A second time he said to him, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ He said to him, ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Tend my sheep.’ He said to him the third time, ‘Simon son of John, do you love me?’ Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’ And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. 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.’ (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, ‘Follow me.’

Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them; he was the one who had reclined next to Jesus at the supper and had said, ‘Lord, who is it that is going to betray you?’ When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, ‘Lord, what about him?’ Jesus said to him, ‘If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? Follow me!’ So the rumour spread in the community that this disciple would not die. Yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but, ‘If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?’

This is the disciple who is testifying to these things and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true. But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.

Spring is in the air. Tulips and daffodils are popping up. Trees are budding. Seven delightful little ducklings hatched in our church courtyard this past week, and on Friday some kind staff members — Whitney, Sandy, and Ryan — gathered them up in a cardboard box and reconnected them with their mother in our community garden. No doubt, we’re a lot more hopeful than when it was 30 degrees and snowing.  Can I get an amen from the congregation?

And let’s not forget those of us who are golfers. I went to the Hiawatha Driving Range on Friday afternoon. The place was packed. People had buckets with 60, 90, 120 golf balls. Hope was on display. Maybe this will be the year that I finally fix my slice and learn to hit out of a sand trap.  Can I get an amen from the congregation?

Those of you who aren’t golfers may not know this but golfers have a secret weapon. It helps us feel better about our game whether we get to the driving range or not. It’s called a mulligan. Hit a bad shot that ends up in somebody’s backyard. Just take a mulligan. That means: hit it again and don’t count the stroke. Miss a really short putt that no decent golfer should ever miss. Take a mulligan. A mulligan is a kind of grace note in an often-unforgiving game.  Can I get an amen from the congregation?

Of course, I’m speaking about mulligans in a purely theoretical sense. I’ve never actually taken one myself. I have far too much respect for the integrity of the game. And if you believe that, my friends, I have a bridge in the Sahara Desert that I’d like to sell you. The fact of the matter is, lots of duffers take mulligans from time to time — me too. And as we do, it’s probably good to keep in mind that these mulligans have a better feel if they’re offered to us from our playing partners as a gift, and not as our due.  

Truth be told, mulligans don’t show up only on golf courses. A couple of years ago I had a funeral at Zumbro for a former organic chemistry professor named Donald Olsen. Dr. Olsen taught a hard subject and he knew it. Guess how he was most remembered by his students? If they weren’t satisfied with how they’d done on an exam, he let them take it again. Mulligan. Do-over. No questions asked.  

Don’t we all need a do-over from time to time? We let each other down. We don’t always tell the truth. We keep score of the mistakes of others and then conveniently overlook our own. The Apostle Paul puts it like this: “All of us have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”  

In our reading for today, Peter is desperately in need of a do-over. We started this story last week. It takes place sometime after Easter. Peter and his buddies aren’t sure what to do next, so they head back to Galilee for a fishing opener of their own. Would you believe — they fish all night and don’t catch a thing? A stranger shows up and speaks to them from the shoreline, “Catch anything? No? Why don’t you try fishing on the other side of the boat?” When they do, these disciples suddenly catch more fish than they know what to do with.” Someone puts two and two together, “It’s the Lord!” Pure pandemonium ensues.  

When they arrive on the shore, there’s a charcoal fire waiting for them. There’s also an invitation, “Come and have breakfast.” One thing soon becomes clear. If the disciples want a taste of resurrection life, they need to sit down and eat what Jesus is offering.  

After breakfast, the focus shifts. I imagine Jesus and Peter finding a quiet place off by themselves. I also imagine that the smell of the charcoal fire reminds Peter of a moment he’s been desperately trying to forget. You know what I mean. In the courtyard of the high priest, while Jesus was on trial, Peter had a trial of his own. With a charcoal fire to brace himself, Peter was asked three times if he was a disciple of Jesus. And three times he said no. Now, rather than asking to take the exam again, Peter comes face-to-face with the teacher himself.

The teacher has a question for him: “Peter, do you love me?” Isn’t it interesting that Jesus doesn’t start with: “Peter, are you sorry for what you’ve done? Do you promise never to fail me again? Will you try harder next time?” No, first things first. Jesus asks him, “Do you love me?”

This is an incredibly tender question. When you ask it, your heart is on the line. It’s the question of a hopeful lover. It’s a question a parent longs to ask a runaway teenager but is often afraid of the answer.

It’s a question that Tevye, the milkman, asks his wife, Golde, in “Fiddler on the Roof.” If you remember the story, they have an arranged marriage, set up by a matchmaker. One day Teyve asks: “Golde, do you love me?” 

“Do I what?” Golde responds. Tevye asks it again, “Do you love me?” Clearly, Golde is not prepared for this discussion. She has done the things a wife was supposed to do in that time and place: fulfilled obligations; maintained the household; looked after the children.

But again the question: “Do you love me?” Golde tells him he’s a fool! Tevye readily agrees, but still he wants an answer.  

“Do I love him?” Golde muses to herself. She reviews 25 years of life together — hope and suffering and fighting and sharing a home and a bed. “If that’s not love,” she says, “what is?”

Suddenly Tevye is gleeful: “You love me!” “Golde responds, “I suppose I do.” To which Tevye replies, “And I suppose I love you too.”

“It doesn’t change a thing,” they sing in harmony, “but even so, after twenty-five years, it’s nice to know.” Indeed, it doesn’t change a thing — they still have the same tasks to do, the same lives to lead — but really, it changes everything.

“Do you love me?” Jesus’ question to Peter hangs in the air. We can’t help but feel that Peter’s answer might change everything too. Notice how Jesus frames the question: “Simon, son of John…” Jesus doesn’t use his old nickname, Peter. He uses his formal name, as if to say, “Simon, I won’t presume you want our old, intimate relationship. I won’t presume you still want to claim the name I gave you.

“Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter is vulnerable here, but so is Jesus. Jesus is the Lover waiting to hear the response of the one he loves. “Yes, Lord,” Peter answers, but he doesn’t fully trust his ability to assess his own heart. “You know everything, Lord. You know.”

We can understand Peter’s answer. “Lord, you know. As best we can, we do love you…when we’re in a good spot and the right frame of mind, we do.” But sometimes we don’t know the truth of our own hearts either. Lord, you know.”  

Despite Peter’s equivocation, Jesus says to him, “Tend my sheep. Love and teach and guard and guide and serve the little flock that means all the world to me.” 

Three times Jesus asks this question, until Peter gets his feelings hurt. Why does Jesus keep asking? I mean, imagine if someone you care about asked you whether you really love him or her, not once, not twice, but three times. You’d probably get your feelings hurt too. But what Peter doesn’t know is that he’s being given a do-over, a mulligan, for each of his denials. And it’s not one that’s his due, but one that’s pure gift — a life-changing gift. What Peter doesn’t know is that he’s being offered a forgiveness that frees by a Risen Lord who seems to specialize in second chances.  

As the scene draws to a close, Jesus reminds Peter of the cost of being his disciple. “Someday, Peter, you’re going to come to the same end that I did.” And just so Peter won’t forget his place in this story, Jesus says to him, “Follow me.” For all, that’s what a disciple is supposed to do.  

So, my friends, is there anyone here who can’t relate to Peter, anyone who doesn’t need a second chance from Jesus every now and then? Anyone? I didn’t think so. We find ourselves in this position more than we care to admit. A woman had had a contentious relationship with her dad. She loved him but was angry at him, and she chose to withdraw. Finally, in another part of the country, her dad died alone, and now she’s filled with regret. She would do anything for a second chance.

A man has been involved in questionable business practices. He lives in fear of being found out, of being disgraced. He’s painfully aware that his company has been built on deception and fraud. Maybe nobody will ever know, but he knows. His dishonesty is like a spiritual cancer eating away at his soul. He would do anything for a second chance.

Let me go out on a limb. Before me sits a congregation full of ordinary-looking persons who could use a second chance of their own. They need a mulligan, not as their due, but as a gift. If that’s the case, know that the Risen Lord will come and find you wherever you are, no matter what you have done. Much like Peter, he wants to share with you a forgiveness that frees and make things right. He wants to heal your heart and call you his disciple. Deep down, he wants to know if you love him, because really, love changes everything.

Keep in mind, friends, this is not just a story about you and your shortcomings. Much like Peter, Jesus wants you to love and teach and guard and guide and serve the little flock that means all the world to him. And let’s be honest, with people being people, tending that little flock can be just about the hardest thing in the world. But that’s what disciples are called to do as they follow Jesus. Because of Easter, we believe in the Lord of second chances, and those second chances make all the difference in your life and in mine.  Can I get an amen from the congregation? 

Thanks be to God.