John 21:15-17
15 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.” 16 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.” 17 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.
Do you love me?
Not once. Not twice. But three times, Jesus asks this question of Peter.
Why three times? Isn’t Peter’s first answer sufficient? Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.
But Jesus asks again. And again. The third time Jesus asks him the question, Peter actually feels hurt. Does Jesus not believe him? Why must he confess his love over and over again?
I wonder when – or if – Peter realized that this was an act of immeasurable grace on the part of Jesus.
Not long before, on what was probably the longest, most troubling and disorienting night of his life, Peter had denied his Lord, as Jesus predicted he would. Not once. Not twice. But three times.
“You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” Peter said, “I am not.” (John 18:17)
And again, “You are not also one of his disciples, are you?” He denied it and said, “I am not.” (John 18:25)
And yet again, “Did I not see you in the garden with him?” Again, Peter denied it. (John 18:26-27)
The three denials of that longest night are met now, in the morning light, with three opportunities for Peter to rewrite his story, to speak the truth, to confess aloud his love for his crucified and risen Savior.
“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
The psalmist declares, “Weeping spends the night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)
Listen to some other translations of this verse:
At night we may cry, but when morning comes, we will celebrate. (CEV)
Weeping may last for the night, but there is a song of joy in the morning. (God’s Word Translation)
The nights of crying your eyes out give way to days of laughter. (The Message)
The deepest pains may linger through the night, but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning. (The Voice)
I know we know the weeping that spends the night. We know the nights of tears and deep pain.
I pray, in this Easter season, we also know the laughter, the celebration, the song of joy, the smile of morning.
Peter must have known it, that morning on the beach.
Thomas and Nathaniel must have known it, when that night of catching nothing gave way, with daybreak, to a miraculous catch of fish. Not just one fish. Or five fish. But 153 fish!
Mary must have known it, when she went to the tomb of Jesus, early in the morning, while it was still dark, and finding an empty tomb, could only imagine that someone must have taken away the body of her Lord. As she stood there weeping, Jesus himself approached her. And when he called her by name, she recognized him as her beloved Teacher — not dead but alive! Just imagine the joy that greeted Mary’s soul with the smile of that first Easter morning.
This season of Easter – these 50 days that surpass the 40 days of Lent – are an extended invitation to know not just the weeping of life in this world but also the joy of a life lived in the persistent, unfailing, transforming love of God in which nothing is impossible.
It feels impossible during the nights of weeping. It feels like nothing will ever be good again. It feels like our tears will never end. It feels like grief lingers not just for a night, but for a lifetime.
It might even feel like we’ve messed up so much, hurt others so deeply, that we deserve to be heartbroken forever. It might even feel like God has abandoned us, forsaken us, left us to perish on crosses of our own making. It might even feel like we aren’t worthy of love or of a future filled with hope.
But it’s just not true.
God’s love – this healing, resurrecting, miracle-working, victorious-over-sin-and-death love – is for you. Weeping will never be the end of your story.
And what is our commission? What is our job to do when morning comes?
Mary runs to tell everyone who will listen, “I have seen the Lord.” (John 20:18)
Saul goes from persecutor to preacher, “Jesus is the Son of God.” (Acts 9:20)
The psalmist refuses to be silent, “O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever.” (Psalm 30:12)
And Peter? Well, again, three times, Jesus offers Peter the opportunity to hear and receive how he might live a life that demonstrates his love for his Savior. Three times, Jesus commands Peter (and, I believe, commands us), “Feed my sheep.”
Joy comes in the morning. And so loved by God, we are free to love others for whom the weeping is still so present.
Joy comes in the morning. And healed by God’s grace, we become healers – holding space for the tears and fears of the beloved ones God puts on our path. And then – through our words, but perhaps even more so through our actions – boldly proclaiming to them that though they feel terribly alone and that even God has forsaken them, it is not true.
Joy comes in the morning. God feeds us so that we might feed others. And that food is going to take a million different forms – food (basic staples); wells for clean, life-giving water; financial assistance in the wake of disasters; quilts; school kits; advocacy; calls for peace; a living wage.
Feed my lambs, because the most vulnerable among you need you to be my body in the world. Tend my sheep, because weeping spends the night, and there are so many who need to know they are not alone to fend for themselves. Feed my sheep, because I have fed you.
Weeping will not be the end of this world’s story. God will have it no other way. Amen.