Third
Sunday of Easter Year C
There's an old saying which
posits that, if you want your children to remember you, then cut them out of
your will. There is both truth and irony in knowing how the most painful
memories are usually the ones that stick, no matter how much you try to forget
them or suppress them. I agree with what Chuck Palahniuk, the author of the
award winning novel ‘The Fight Club’, wrote in his Diary, “It's so hard to
forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to
show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.” But sometimes, as Jesus
taught us in last week’s gospel, we do have scars to show for happiness, which
also provides us a lesson on peace.
In today’s gospel, we see
another encounter between the resurrected Lord and his disciples. Last week,
Jesus met his disciples in the upper room behind locked doors. This week, the
disciples have emerged into the open, in and around the Sea of Tiberias (or
Galilee). In Chapter 20, the disciples were stricken with fear, they were
frightened for their own lives, but in Chapter 21, we see a group of disciples
who have grown despondent, who have forgotten their original mission, who have
decided to return to the careers and preoccupations they held prior to meeting
Jesus. It was as if Jesus had been written off the slate and the whole story of
discipleship a mere dream. Right at the very centre of today’s lengthy gospel
story is the story of Jesus sitting on the shore cooking and warming himself
beside a charcoal fire.
Even if you are not a
student of Biblical Greek, you may be interested to note that word use for that
charcoal fire, anthrakia, only
appears here and in another place in John’s gospel; John 18:18. This other
scene takes place in the courtyard of the High Priest, precisely at the point
where St Peter denied Jesus. Peter cozied up to Jesus’ captors to warm himself
by the charcoal fire. But now in this Post-Easter scene, Peter drags himself up
shivering on the beach and finds the same charcoal fire. If you were a director
of a movie, imagine the camera zooming in and lingering on this shot – Charcoal
fire – and another scene emerges from its flames.
The fire is a source of warmth in the
chilly half-light, but it also illumines the darkness. The fire evokes once
again the scene of denial in Chapter 18, the scene where Peter once stood by
the fire and said, “I am not his disciple.” The past comes rushing back.
Perhaps in the distance we can hear the cock crowing. There in the high priest's courtyard, surrounded by
temple soldiers, Peter sits. If he is recognised as a disciple -- particularly,
as the disciple who has drawn blood resisting them in the Garden -- he is
likely to be arrested. It is a precarious place in which to be. On the one
hand, we see a Peter who is courageous and bold -- he wants to be near his Lord
in his hour of need. But Peter is terrified, also. He is in danger and knows
it. And as he sits near the fire, he begins to wonder what might happen. As
long shadows dance in the firelight, Peter's fears continue to grow. What if
I'm recognised? How can I hide when it becomes light? What should I do if I'm
identified by someone who was there? And so Peter's courage and bravado give
way to fear.
So this dramatic scene at the end of the
gospel turns out to be a story of memory and restoration. Many readers would
recognise immediately the three fold question of Jesus to Peter offers Peter a
way of retracing the steps of his earlier threefold denial. “Simon, Son of
John, do you love me?” Three times, one for each knell of Peter’s denial, Jesus
offers a corresponding invitation to Peter to confess his renewed love and
loyalty. But this healing confession does not come without pain. In fact, it
may reopen the scars which Peter has been desperately trying to conceal and
exclude from memory. Confronting the Risen Jesus is not easy, especially for
those who have betrayed him. Standing in the flickering light of the charcoal
fire, Peter must first remember his failure and then own it. Rowan Williams,
the former Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury, once preached “Simon has to
recognise himself as a betrayer; that is part of the past that makes him who he
is. If he is to be called again, if he can again become a true apostle, the
‘Peter’ that he is in the purpose of Jesus rather the Simon who runs back to a
cozy obscurity of ‘ordinary life’, his failure must be assimilated, lived
through again, and brought to good and not destructive issue.”
To exist without memory can
be to live a life that is, in a sense, anaesthetised. Our humanity is
arguably defined by, and certainly enhanced by, our capacity to form and then transmit
personal memories. I've learned over the years that
guilt can be a terrible taskmaster. That may be the reason why we deliberately choose
to suppress memories. By forgetting, we attempt to exile and banish the guilt
that comes with that memory to the dark recesses of the mind. But guilt itself
cannot help us conquer sin. Guilt is the burglar alarm of our conscience, and
while it can ring incessantly, it cannot heal. Only the love of Jesus for us
and our love for Jesus can heal us. This is what St John meant when he said,
"There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear
has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love"
(1 John 4:18). But if we choose to bury our memory and the guilt that goes
along with it, we may risk the danger of also burying the memory of Jesus’ love
for us.
And so, we are invited to gaze deeply into
the flames – we see in the flames not only a reflection of our worst failures
but also future path of our redemption. Though tempted to look away, we must
return our gaze to the fire that burns brightly before us. The fire may reveal
the dross hidden in our hearts, but the fire also dispels the darkness of the
night. In the burning flames of God’s love, we recognise both the wounds caused
by our sinfulness, and the healing offered by Christ. As we look into the
flames, we see Jesus looking back at us. In the flames, in the memories of our past
faults and failures, we see Jesus forgiving our offenses, taking our penalty,
healing our sin-damaged souls, and restoring us to communion with God. In the
flames, we will discover our healing at the hands of Jesus.
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