This is the sermon I prepared for Holy Cross Lutheran Church, Beatrice, Neb., for the Third Sunday of Easter, April 18, 2010.

+ + +

Readings

Acts 9:1–20
Psalm 30 (antiphon v. 11)
Revelation 5:11–14
John 21:1–19

+ + +

Prayer

Stir up in us, O Father, the gift of your Holy Spirit, so that we may see your Son, risen and reigning as Lord of all. Amen.

+ + +

Message

One of the quiet joys of camping
comes after night has fallen
or before the sun has returned for the day.
We instinctively kindle a fire
for warmth and security.

The fire’s flickering light draws us together,
our backs to the darkness and the dangers
that may lie unknown beyond the fire’s light.
We hold up our hands to the its warmth
and turn our faces to the flicker of the flames.

We know this primal feeling,
this bond that unites all who gather
in that circle and share that time together.

And so it’s not too hard for us
to walk up quietly to the circle of fishermen and their friend—
the gathering of seven disciples and their risen Lord—
and to take our place in that circle.
We squat or sit cross-legged on the shore of the lake
as the mist rises in the early morning.
Fish roast on sticks over the coals.
Flat bread bakes on hot rocks.

And like any gathering around a fire,
this one naturally turns to conversation.
We only know a small part of what they said.
But what we do know is that this time together
changed the lives of these fishermen forever.
And their changed lives have, in turn, changed ours.

These were young, tough men,
outdoorsmen who had worked with their hands.
They made and fixed their own nets,
kept their own boats lake-worthy,
rowed and sailed out onto that lake,
threw out their own nets and hauled in their catches.
Everything by hand.
It had been their way of life and the family’s livelihood.

And so, after the heart-wrenching events of Passover week—
their Lord’s arrest and mockery of a trial,
his scourging and crucifixion,
his suffering and death,
and his victorious resurrection—
they had returned to a familiar place,
to the security of the old routines,
and to work they knew well.

Simon Peter, their leader,
said, “I am going fishing,”
and the others went along.
After a long night of frustration,
they took the advice of their risen Lord,
standing unrecognized on the shore in the grey light of dawn.
Casting their nets to the starboard,
they caught a boatload of fish and brought the catch to shore.
Jesus had started a fire to ward off the cold
and had prepared a hot breakfast for his friends.

And so we sit with them around the fire.
After all that had happened among them,
the time had come for them to face and speak the truth.
Jesus asked Simon Peter three times
if he loved his Lord.
Three times—echoing the three denials
Peter had made on the night of Jesus’ arrest.

We don’t have a record of what Peter felt
when he faced the Lord and his questions.
But we can easily imagine his feelings.
The memory of his denials churned in his mind.
There he was, standing in the courtyard of the high priest,
warming himself around another charcoal fire,
and hearing the questions,
“You aren’t also one of this man’s disciples, are you?”
“I am not. I am not.” And a third time, “No.”

And now the Lord whom Peter had denied
asked him three times, “Do you love me?”
And after each of Peter’s responses, “Yes, Lord, I love you,”
Jesus gives Peter a mission: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”

This mission becomes Peter’s life.
From this moment on,
he was on fire himself with the task he had received from the Lord.
As far as we know, he never picked up a net again,
never took his boat out on the lake,
never went fishing for anything but people.

Despite his denials,
and maybe because of them,
and surely because of the gifts he received from Jesus,
Simon Peter became the leader of the apostles,
the fearless and outspoken messenger
of the risen Lord,
the head of the community of the faithful.

And his mission has become the mission of the Church,
and so it is now our calling as well.
You and I are not only the sheep and lambs
fed and tended by those who have come before us in the Church,
we have been gathered into the warmth and light
of the fire our Lord prepares in our midst.

In our preparation for Holy Baptism,
we have made our three denials—
not of the Lord,
but of the lordship of sin and death and the devil.
And, like Peter, we make our three-fold confession of faith:
“I love you, Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit.”

And so, the questions come to us.
Do we still deny our Lord?
Are we afraid to associate with him?
Do we fear the consequences of being known as his followers?

Where and when does our Lord come to us
in the dim light of early dawn and call to us,
guiding us to change the direction of our lives?
When we gather in his presence,
in the light and heat of the fire of worship,
what is the truth he speaks to us?

Do we hear him ask us whether we love him?
How will we answer?
Who are the sheep and the lambs he calls us to feed and tend?
What does that work look like?
How are we at risk, in danger, when we take on this task?
And when we accept this calling to ministry,
what will we leave behind?
What nets and boats and lakes do we abandon?

And last of all, the ultimate question comes to us.
Jesus told Peter he would lose everything in service to God.
“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.” (John 21:18, NRSV)

We are told that Jesus said this to Peter to let him know
“the kind of death by which he would glorify God.”
And then, Jesus said, “Follow me.” (John 21:19, NRSV)

And he says to us, too, “Follow me.”
This means Jesus calls us to be his disciples,
to take our place as his followers,
to drop our nets and walk away from them,
and to turn our lives over to him.

He calls us to go where he sends us,
to tell others the message he gives us,
to surrender control of our lives to him,
and to embrace his calling to tend the sheep.

He comes to us and prepares a meal for us
so way may face him when he tells us the thruth by the fire,
and may know, without a doubt,
that when it is time for us to die,
we can do so,
assured that he is our risen Lord,
and that our dying in faith will glorify God,
just as our Lord’s death brought glory to his Father
and life to us and to the world. Amen.