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| "Quiet Evening On The Georgian Bay" by Mikel Manitius, on Flickr |
I don’t see movies in the theater very often. And by this, I mean hardly ever. I’m pretty sure that I’ve averaged about one movie in the theater about every three years or so.
The last time was this past January, when Matt and I managed to sneak off for a date night to see the newest Star Wars movie, except that the perfectly reasonable 8 p.m. showing was sold out, so we bit the bullet and drank some coffee so that we could sit through the 10:40 p.m. showing instead. But that’s another story.
Anyway, if you ever go to see a movie with me, you’ll just have to be okay with the fact that when the credits start to roll and the lights come up, and everybody starts getting up and kicking away all of the popcorn that spilled under their feet, I will stay there, in the theater, watching those credits all the way until the reel runs out.
It’s not because I read all the names, and not because I love listening to the cheesy pop version of the hit song from the movie. It’s because, every now and again, movie producers sneak in a little bonus treat at the end of the credits. Cute animated characters from the movie who pop up after the credits to tease you about still being in the theater. Or a scene that reveals a little extra bit of the story. Or footage of a particularly funny blooper that happened during filming. Or, in the super rare case that you’ve managed to talk me into seeing a scary movie, one last flash of the masked man that makes you jump and scares you all over again after you’d finally settled down.
Not all movies reward you for sticking it out through all the credits, but just enough movies do that I don’t ever want to risk missing a potentially rewarding epilogue.
Maybe this is, in part, why I love today’s gospel reading so much. Because this last post-resurrection appearance of Jesus to the disciples is an unexpected epilogue to a gospel that would otherwise have felt complete even without it.
Because remember, John’s gospel is concerned with telling the story of Jesus. And, more specifically, a story about Jesus, who is the word-made-flesh; the divine, heavenly Son of the Father who reveals himself in signs and wonders. What better sign or wonder to round out Jesus’ story than the resurrection?
And so it would appear that John really does finish out his gospel in chapter 20, the chapter immediately preceding today’s gospel reading. In this chapter, Jesus rises from the dead, he appears to Mary Magdalene, and then to the disciples, and then to Thomas in the presence of the disciples, and then, the last paragraph of this chapter says,
“Now Jesus did many other signs the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”
Roll credits, right? At the end of chapter 20, the book is over. The movie is finished. The story is done, the voice-over narrator has given us his concluding thoughts and a bit of a blessing.
And then, out of nowhere, chapter 21 shows up, like a bonus bit of footage at the end of the credits. Truth be told, plenty of scholars think that this chapter was a later addition to the gospel, whether at the hand of John or someone else.
So it really, truly, seems to be an epilogue.
It opens with Peter declaring that he is going fishing. The rest of the disciples follow. It makes sense, doesn’t it?
They did exactly what most of us did once Easter was over. After the Easter trumpets and the Easter feasts, after staring wide-eyed at the empty tomb, after their post-Easter nap, after finishing off the last of the Easter candy and stuffing the Easter decorations back in their boxes in the crawlspace…they went back to normal life.
Fishing, because that is what normal life looked like before Jesus showed up. Fishing, because when the savior that you followed tirelessly dies, and then rises again, and then seems to disappear from regular participation in your everyday life, what else is there to do but go back to how life used to be?
And so they are fishing, just like they were when Jesus first called them.
Then, things start happening quickly, things that bring us back to other stories of Jesus and the disciples. There is a miraculous catch of fish, reminiscent of a similar story in Luke’s gospel that happens at the calling of the first disciples. Peter jumps out of the boat, just like when he tried to walk on water. There’s bread and fish for breakfast, just like the meal at the feeding of the 5000, and Jesus takes bread and offers it to the disciples in a gesture that takes us right back to the last Supper.
And then, Jesus and Peter stand together, and there’s a charcoal fire, just like there was when Peter warmed himself outside of Jesus’ trial, and Jesus starts asking Peter three times about love and devotion, as if to make up for the three denials, and all this talk of love and sheep reminds us of how Jesus, the good shepherd, gave the disciples a new commandment before his death: that they love one another.
It’s a great epilogue, isn’t it? Except that, in a book concerned with telling Jesus’ story, it really doesn’t add anything to what we already know about Jesus. And maybe, that’s the point.
The resurrection might be a perfectly ending to Jesus’ story in John, but the epilogue reminds us that Peter’s story, and the story of the disciples, and our own story don’t end at the moment of Jesus’ resurrection. Our story goes on. And maybe Peter and the rest of us need to be reminded of that. Maybe this is why we have an epilogue.
Because it’s no good for Peter’s story to end at his denial of Jesus. Peter, who goes on to preach and witness to Jesus and establish the church, who does amazing things in the book of Acts. Peter needs an epilogue in John’s story, lest we think that his denial of Jesus is the most important part of his story.
You’ve likely heard at some point that the Greeks had a variety of words for “love.” There’s eros, for romantic love, phileo, for brotherly or friend love (like Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love), and then agape, for perfect, whole love for everybody.
Jesus asks Peter a first time, “Do you agape me?” and Peter responds, “I phileo” you. Jesus asks Peter a second time, “Do you agape me?” and Peter responds, “I phileo you.” And then, the third time ‘round, Jesus asks, “Peter, do you phileo me?” changing his vocabulary to match Peter’s, and we don’t know if he is backing off, or demoting his question, or he is lowering the stakes, but we do know that Peter feels hurt, and he says, “Lord, you know that I phileo you.”
You can make a lot or a little out of this (probably better to make a little), but the vocabulary hints at the fact that Peter is loving Jesus the very best that he can, even if he can’t manage to agape Jesus and the world, and let’s be honest, can anybody really agape the world other than Jesus?
And, truth be told, Peter has been loving Jesus the best he can this entire time.
Yeah, he was the guy who was always leaping before he looked, but it was always out of love. He took the bait and tried to walk on water, he was the first disciple to answer Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?” with a confident profession of faith, he was the guy who argued with Jesus about getting his feet washed, and then wanted Jesus to wash everything, the guy who swore up and down that he’d go to death with Jesus and never deny him, who so missed the point of Jesus’ death that he cut off a guy’s ear in the garden when they came to arrest Jesus, the guy who, despite all of it, pretended not to know Jesus three times over when the going got tough.
But did you notice that, even at his words, even if Jesus rebuked him with harsh words, Jesus never revoked Peter’s calling? Jesus knew all along that Peter was loving and following the best he could. Jesus never kicked him out. Jesus never decommissioned him. And now, with this exchange at the end of chapter 21, Jesus is reaffirming Peter’s call. Love me, Jesus says. And take care of others. And follow me. Just like you’ve been doing this whole time. Because even Peter’s worst moment isn’t enough to separate him from Jesus’ love and call.
And isn’t this our epilogue, too?
That our worst moments in life and faith are not enough to separate us from Jesus’ love and call, that our story goes on, that our lives of faith don’t just stop and go back to normal after Easter and the resurrection?
The point of loving Jesus isn’t to spend all of our time fretting about whether we are loving Jesus perfectly, but trusting that Jesus is empowering us to love him the best we can, and that the point of loving Jesus at all is to let his love change us so that we can change the world.
The point of being a disciple is to live so deeply inside the agape of Jesus that even our beach vacations and summer campfires and fishing trips and breakfasts with friends can be signs and symbols to us of resurrection.
But maybe resurrection and Easter mean for us that Jesus is just as likely to find us in our everyday lives as we are to find him wandering in the garden outside the empty tomb. And that Easter life might look a lot like regular life, except that we now know for absolutely certain that our calling to love and to serve comes from not just a teacher, not just a miracle-worker, but God the power of life beyond death. And that neither our callings nor our lives will be revoked when we don't get it right, but that the resurrected Jesus on the beach is the best assurance we have that grace and forgiveness have stomped down all powers of sin and death and brokenness forever and ever.
Jesus, the resurrected one, comes to us by the water, in a meal, and asks each of us: Do you love me? Will you love others?
Friends, Good Friday has happened and Easter has happened and the credits have rolled to the very end.
What epilogue is God writing for you?
What epilogue is God writing for the world through you?
"Love me," Jesus says.
"Love others in word and in deed," Jesus says.
"Follow me."
May God grant us the strength to do this always.
Amen.
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