There have been many times--too many--when I've had to wrestle with that question over the past several years. I've lost communities that were deeply part of my identity, dreams that I wasn't ready to give up, and relationships that were caught in the crossfire.
And the pain is real.
Maybe that's why I connected with the story of John 21 so deeply this week-end while away on a retreat, with time and space to tend to my own spirit and my own relationship with God.
I've lived through the horrific events of Good Friday, seen death where it seemed unfathomable that it should be found, wondered how on earth to pick up and move on.
And, like the disciples, I've found myself back in my fishing boat, returning to what I know, more than once along the way--the magical lustre gone from the fishing, because we can never truly go back once we've walked in step with this man--returning to doing the only thing we know how to do, mechanically going through the motions. One foot in front of the other, step by painful step.
I also know Jesus well enough to recognize that even today, in the midst of the pain and the anguish of doubt and hard questions and numb disbelief, Jesus is given to showing up right in the very midst of the mess. Sometimes, as with the disciples, we don't realize who it is right away. Until, through the fog, we recognize a familiar shimmer, a certain aura, as if we're in the middle of a dream.
The One we thought was gone forever is not quite so fragile as we might want to believe.
In John 21, Peter is thrilled to see Jesus--throwing on some clothes, he dives into the water, in his haste to reach Jesus as soon as humanly possible. They eat breakfast, in what seems to be stunned awe and disbelief that Jesus, who had died, has appeared to them, broke bread for them, shared a meal with them.
After the meal, Jesus and Peter have an awkward little conversation. Jesus asks Peter three times, "Do you love me?" And Peter, the rock upon which Jesus has promised he will build his church, the one who denied Jesus three times just days earlier, responds, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
But in a little Greek twist that isn't at all obvious in most English translations, Jesus and Peter are using two different forms of the word 'love' in their conversation. Jesus asks Peter, "Do you agape me?" Agape, some scholars argue, is the highest form of sacrificial love among the Greek words that we translate as the English word love.
Peter, however, responds not in kind but rather with, "Yes, Lord, you know that I philia you"--I love you as a brother would is the implication.
Not quite the same thing, some scholars argue.
A second time, a very similar exchange takes place.
But the third time, Jesus changes the question to ask Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you philia me?" (This is all really poor Greek grammar here, but you get the point...)
Peter is hurt, but tries to assure Jesus: "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
Some will argue that in this third repetition of the question, Jesus is willing to meet Peter where he's at.
Maybe that's true.
But it strikes me that Jesus follows this question immediately by telling Peter that "when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." He says this, the passage tells us to make sure we catch Jesus' point, to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.
A kind of death which sounds very much like agape love in action to me.
It's powerful to me that after Peter's denial of Jesus, through the fog of confusion and pain and uncertainty, Jesus gives Peter his calling back. "Feed my sheep."
To have your vocation restored when you thought for sure you had lost it truly is a gift beyond measure.
But more than that, I think that Jesus knew the bond of love that Peter shared with Jesus even before Peter himself understood it. The lengths that Peter would go with and for Jesus. What if Jesus knew all along that Peter already did agape love him? What if even when his language changed to that of philia love he knew that Peter's love would indeed go the distance, that Peter's love for Jesus would stay loyal to the very end, that Peter would indeed lay down his life for the sheep Jesus called him to feed?
What if Jesus' love is always so great that we don't have the capacity to hold it for ourselves, to give it adequate language, or to understand what we're feeling and where it will lead us?
And what if that doesn't bother Jesus. Maybe, as with Peter, Jesus is happy to hold the magnitude of that love, offering us little glimpses of what will continue to grow in us.
Maybe Jesus holds the love that we can't yet hold, the belovedness that we're not yet able to absorb. Maybe Jesus carries all of that for us, until bit by bit we're able to hold more and more of it for ourselves.
Maybe, as with Peter, all we need to do is what Jesus invited us to in the first place: "Follow me!"
So, what do you do when your world falls apart?
You slowly pick out a way forward, one step at a time--knowing only that you love this man, and that he loves you
even more.
You are loved. Always and forever loved.
Not quite the same thing, some scholars argue.
A second time, a very similar exchange takes place.
But the third time, Jesus changes the question to ask Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you philia me?" (This is all really poor Greek grammar here, but you get the point...)
Peter is hurt, but tries to assure Jesus: "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
Some will argue that in this third repetition of the question, Jesus is willing to meet Peter where he's at.
Maybe that's true.
But it strikes me that Jesus follows this question immediately by telling Peter that "when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." He says this, the passage tells us to make sure we catch Jesus' point, to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.
A kind of death which sounds very much like agape love in action to me.
It's powerful to me that after Peter's denial of Jesus, through the fog of confusion and pain and uncertainty, Jesus gives Peter his calling back. "Feed my sheep."
To have your vocation restored when you thought for sure you had lost it truly is a gift beyond measure.
But more than that, I think that Jesus knew the bond of love that Peter shared with Jesus even before Peter himself understood it. The lengths that Peter would go with and for Jesus. What if Jesus knew all along that Peter already did agape love him? What if even when his language changed to that of philia love he knew that Peter's love would indeed go the distance, that Peter's love for Jesus would stay loyal to the very end, that Peter would indeed lay down his life for the sheep Jesus called him to feed?
What if Jesus' love is always so great that we don't have the capacity to hold it for ourselves, to give it adequate language, or to understand what we're feeling and where it will lead us?
And what if that doesn't bother Jesus. Maybe, as with Peter, Jesus is happy to hold the magnitude of that love, offering us little glimpses of what will continue to grow in us.
Maybe Jesus holds the love that we can't yet hold, the belovedness that we're not yet able to absorb. Maybe Jesus carries all of that for us, until bit by bit we're able to hold more and more of it for ourselves.
Maybe, as with Peter, all we need to do is what Jesus invited us to in the first place: "Follow me!"
So, what do you do when your world falls apart?
You slowly pick out a way forward, one step at a time--knowing only that you love this man, and that he loves you
even more.
You are loved. Always and forever loved.
