Sermon - A New Day

Preached on April 18, 2010, Third Sunday of Easter at First Congregational Church of Tallmadge, UCC

John 21:1-19

Dedicated to my mother-in-law, Margaret Craft, on her birthday; and always to the glory of God.

I'm sure you know that feeling of thinking of the perfect thing to say too late to say it. It doesn't come to you in the moment that you need it, but only later, when you have missed your chance to say or do the perfect thing. There you are, thinking back on the moment, and you come up with a funny line that would have had everyone laughing. Or you think of the perfect comeback, the zinger that would have felt so good to say, or at least it would have felt good at that moment. Life is full of missed chances for humor and comebacks, for some people more than others. But this morning I'm thinking particularly about the times when we miss a chance be good, when we look back on a conversation and think of the perfect thing to say in defense of someone, or in favor of a more thoughtful approach, or to promote a more gracious relationship. “OH!” we think, “that's what I should have done! That would have been the perfect thing to say!”

I wonder if Peter had been having these thoughts in the days and weeks after that first Easter. I wonder if he thought back to the night when Jesus was arrested. I bet he did. What I am sure of is that the writer of this gospel wants us to remember that night because of the way he describes Peter on the beach, beside the charcoal fire, being asked three questions. Those details take us back to the night before Good Friday, when Peter was by another charcoal fire, outside the trial of Jesus by the high priest. Inside, Jesus was on trial, and the gospel according to John tells us that “the high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and about his teaching. Jesus answered, ‘I have spoken openly to the world; I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret. Why do you ask me? Ask those who heard what I said to them; they know what I said.’” Inside, Jesus tells them to ask anyone who was there. Outside, one who was there is asked three times if he had traveled with Jesus, and three times, Peter said “no.”

I wonder how often he thought of those moments. I wonder if he realized what he could have done differently. He might have told himself that his actions were understandable. He had been scared, afraid for his own life. But still, why hadn’t he had more courage? And what will happen the next time? Maybe Peter has decided that next time it would be just the same. Maybe that’s why he went fishing.

The gospel tells us that after they had seen the risen Christ at least two times, a few of them were together and Simon Peter said “I’m going out to fish.” And the others said “we’ll go with you.” Can’t you picture that? It seems like they just don’t know what to do, so they go back to what they know best. When the risen Jesus first appeared to them, he had said “receive the Holy Spirit,” “as the father has sent me, I am sending you.” But they seem to make of that about as much as you and I usually know what to make of it. It sounds like good news, but we don’t know how it applies to our lives. Their Easter was very different from the one we celebrated two weeks ago, but I’m not sure that we know what to do with it any more than they did. We say goodbye to family visitors; we finish telling each other what a wonderful service we had; we put away the baskets, and then we join the disciples for that moment when Peter says “well, I’m going out to fish,” which is a fisherman way of saying “it’s time to get life back to normal.” And that’s pretty much what we have done. If you look back at the mystery of Easter and realize that you haven’t sorted out yet how it affects your life, then you are in good company. The disciples did the same thing. They went back to fishing.

I wonder if Peter was still worried about his lack of courage. I wonder if he had decided that he wasn’t going to make a good disciple, based on his track record so far. But then Jesus shows up and asks a simple question. “Have you any fish?” He doesn’t ask them why they aren’t out offering good news to the outcasts, and care for the sick, and bread to the hungry like he had taught them. He meets them where they are, fishing, and he just asks them “have you any fish?”

The Reverend Peter Gomes, who preaches at the Memorial Chapel at Harvard University, says that what this question really means is how are we doing in life as usual? “How are you getting on in your work? How is it going? Are you happy in your job as a teacher? Are you satisfied in your work as a lawyer? Are you successful in your labors as a housekeeper, as a merchant? …Children, have you any fish? Children, do you have anything to show for what it is that you spend most of your time doing, and what it is you think you are good at and best at?”

The simple answer for the disciples is no, they haven’t caught a fish all night. And now it’s morning, a new day. So Jesus builds a charcoal fire, and then he asks Peter a new set of questions: Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? Peter can’t go back and change what he said in the past, anymore than we can go back and have a do-over when we realize what we should have done. But Jesus won’t let us be a prisoner to our old failures. Peter can’t go back and stand up for Jesus at the trial, but he can act with courage and love for others. It’s a new day.

When Jesus asks “do you love me?” and Peter responds that he does, Jesus says “feed my lambs,” “tend my sheep,” “feed my sheep.” Our love for God is always lived out in love for other people. So Peter has two choices, which are also our choices. Knowing the mistakes we have made, the times when we have not done what others needed from us, we can either hold on to our failures, assuming that our past predicts our future, or we can allow the risen Jesus to give us a new chance, on the new day that dawns for us every single morning.

When we think of the right thing to do too late to do it, those missed chances can become rehearsals. The first time it happens, you are caught off guard - you are surprised. The moment passes too quickly for you to realize your potential to act. You missed the chance, but at least now you know what to look for, and it won’t be as surprising next time. The next time it happens, you recognize the moment, but perhaps fear of confrontation holds you back, or uncertainty about doing something different. Looking back on it, you rehearse a bolder action, you convince yourself that your fears are overblown, and that the good you might do outweighs the cost. You can't go back and change what's happened - those chances are missed forever - but God isn't done with you. And the next time there is a decisive moment in which to act, you are ready.

Maybe it means sticking up for someone. Maybe it means stopping to help when a stranger looks troubled in a public place. Maybe it is the call to give a donation to an urgent cause. Maybe it will be the person you need to care for in a way you wish you could have cared more for a parent, child, or friend in the past.

It may just be the case that our failures are what make us most valuable to the ministry of Jesus. I’m reminded of a story I heard once. I don’t know if it really happened, but I know that it is true. It’s about a business man who made a terrible mistake in his work, costing they corporation $30,000. He went in to see his boss, took full responsibility, and said “I lost this money, and I understand that you have to let me go,” to which his boss replied “fire you?! I’m not going to fire you. We just spent $30,000 on you. You’re more valuable to us now than ever.”

Peter can’t go back and change what happened when Jesus was on trial, when they were calling for witnesses to testify, and he had been just outside, denying three times that he had been with Jesus. He can’t change that, just as none of us can change the things that we have done or not done in our lives. We have all hurt people; we have failed to be there for those we care about. But that never means that God would be done with us. A new day begins, and God comes to meet us where we are, to feed us, and to point us in a new direction.

“You, out there in the boat with no fish. Out there in the world, wondering what your purpose is. I need you. No matter what you’ve done before, you are the one I need now. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep. I know that you are ready for it.”

Let us pray:
God of new days and new beginnings, bless us with your mercy and your calling to us. Assure us that you are never done with any one of us. Amen.