Witness to the Resurrection: Simon Peter given 4/5/15

            I can recall as if it were yesterday. The sun was shining on my head, so my face was bent down as I sat, mending a net after the night’s work. Suddenly a shadow fell and I knew someone was standing in front of me-- I looked up. He was standing there, looking down at me. Before I could say or do anything-- he spoke.  “Follow me.”  That was all he said.

            I can’t tell you why at that moment it seemed like the most important thing in my life to get up and do so.  But it did.  I knew somehow that everything-- learning Torah at the synagogue as a boy, learning the trade of fishing from my father, marrying, having children, making a living-- everything that had happened to me up till then had led up to that moment. 

            I knew suddenly, deep inside, that in the moment of my meeting this man, I stood at a crossroads in my life. It was Judgment Day for me. No matter what I did-- my life would never be the same again. .

            If I stood up and followed, it would be the end of my old world and the beginning of a new one. And if I remained sitting there, I would remain in my old world-- the unspoken emptiness inside my heart, the vague dissatisfaction with my life, the sense that there was something important that I was missing-- those would remain with me forever.

            I knew that unless I stood up and went with this man,  the questions I didn’t even know how to ask,  the pain I could not even name, the thirst I could not quench, the loneliness in my spirit would go on and on for time without end.

            I can’t tell you how I knew all that-- but I stood up and I followed. I left behind boat, nets, fish, my old life. My brother Andrew and the sons of Zebedee stood up too.  It was the same with all of us. Believe it or not, later on, none of us were ever able to name what it was about him that had gripped us so tightly.

            But all of us had that same feeling-- the same certainty. This was a moment of choice-- for our lives-- for  eternity.    Suddenly all the wondering about an after-life,  all of the fears about heaven and hell were not something we’d have to  face on the day of our deaths. Suddenly, life and death, heaven or hell were not worth worrying about, or ever wondering about.

            Everything was utterly simple. Heaven meant following him. It meant life- a new life—beginning at that very moment.  Hell meant-- eternal loneliness-- being without him forever. And I knew that would be worse than death. And so I followed him.

            He taught and we listened-- parables and jokes mainly. I didn’t always get the point at the time. But what he said touched our spirits-- and our minds. Listening to him-- the coming Reign of peace and justice he spoke about seemed to be possible—even immanent.

            Listening to him--the struggle to live a good and pious, God-fearing life was no longer a matter of learning and following and arguing about the laws of Moses. It was simply a matter of life lived with him-- life as he lived it-- with out pretense, or anger, or anything else but kindness and forgiveness--  accepting and caring for one another and loving God.  Listening to him, I knew there was a lot more to me, and to my life, than I’d ever imagined.

            He healed and we watched. He fed multitudes. He told us that his healings were a sign from God-- who had sent him-- a sign of God’s care. And we also knew that these things were done as a sign of his own compassion.

            He did many other things-- mighty acts of deliverance that  we could barely believe-- even though we beheld them with our own eyes.  He claimed we could do such things as well-- if we would only believe. He challenged us to believe in that way-- And looking into his eyes-- it was possible for even me to believe in that way-- once or twice-- if only for the moment. 

            He led us and loved us and cared for us.  He made us his family-- men and women,  old and young, rich and poor, fishermen and tax collectors, collaborators and revolutionaries, respectable widows and women of the street.  We found ourselves united in our love for him.  And as the days and weeks passed, he showed us with his love-- how to accept and respect and love one another. We became a new kind of family-- just as he’d said--  a new community.

            Years, months, weeks, minutes-- it doesn’t matter how long we had him with us-- it wasn’t long enough. We followed him all around the lake of Galilee, and then up and down the Jordan River valley, back and forth across the river,  into Samaria and the ten towns on the coast,  and the Roman cities.  It was the best time of my life-- of all our lives.

            Finally we followed him into Jerusalem.  We didn’t realize it but that was another crossroads. We walked so proudly beside him, as the crowd cheered that day he entered the city. We beheld in awe the beauty of the great Temple. We wondered at his courage when he drove out those cheating, money-changers . 

            Then at that last Passover meal we wondered-- at his washing our feet--  at how he took this holy moment for our people and  transformed it-- with all due respect-- so that it was still holy-- but now it was his own moment.

I’ll never forget my shock when he told me that I’d deny him.  I’ll never forget that moment in the garden later that night, when they seized him.

            I’ll never forget the moment when he told me to lay aside my sword.  He didn’t speak out of anger  or disappointment.   It was resignation.   It was as if he knew me so well that my actions were an open book to him.  It was as if he know this was all he could expect of me at that moment.  But that was alright-- because he knew and accepted and loved me. It was as if he had already forgiven me for denying him.  

            And then I did deny him-- not once, but three times! Just as he’d said I would. My whole soul was covered in shame. I remembered all the times I’d let him down. All the times I’d not really listened to him and then opened my big mouth and spoken out of turn. All the times I’d doubted him. The way my faith had failed when I’d tried to walk on the water.  The way I’d tried to dissuade him from coming into Jerusalem.  The arrogant claim that I would never forsake him.

            As I stood there in that courtyard shivering from cold, and fear, and disgrace, the soldiers brought him by in chains. The crowd around him surged and suddenly he was so close to me that I found myself looking into his face for one last time. And there was forgiveness in his eyes. Forgiveness I hadn’t earned. Forgiveness I didn’t think I could bear or even accept. I fled.  I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t face myself.

            On the morning after the Sabbath I found myself back in that same room where we’d shared that last Passover.  How did I find the courage to go back and face the rest of them?  I had no where else to go.  And I hungered for the others who remembered-- for my family in him--with a hunger greater than my shame.

            When those women suddenly burst through the door with their incredible news, I could not believe it.  What were they talking about? The body missing? How could I dare to believe this absurd tale?  But then and again-- how could I not go and see for myself?

            I’m not a young man. But I found myself running, running to the place where he had been laid.  John raced alongside me-- the one he loved. He was young and he outran me.  At the tomb he stopped-- not daring to enter. Later he told me that seeing the stone rolled away,  looking in, he understood. That one glance was enough. He believed.

            As for me-- like the clumsy bull that I am, I had to charge  into that empty cave. I had to see with my own eyes the shroud laying on the floor, tossed aside like a stained garment unfit to wear.  I had to see the linen bandages, folded neatly and lying in the stone shelf.  I saw. I did not at that point understand. I could not yet believe. But at that moment-- hope at least was reborn in my heart.

 And that was enough for me to accept the forgiveness I’d seen in his eyes.

            I don’t know about you, but Peter is hands down  is my favorite Apostle.  He’s so human-- so easy for me at least-- to identify with.  I love him-- not despite his faults and foibles-- but because  I know that I share of some of them.            More than that though, I love Peter for the incredible unfolding of faith and growth we see in him.  He goes from virtual comic relief in the Gospels, to spokesman for the Apostles. Peter grows from Jesus’ dumb, foot-in-his-mouth straight man,  to leader of the early church.

            It’s the greatest and most impressive personal journey-- from sidekick  to saint-- in the entire Bible.  Peter’s passage into new life and spiritual maturity began at the loving call of Jesus.  Every step was guided by the Spirit of God. And I’d argue that Peter’s journey is your and my journey as well.

            That’s the Easter message.  Resurrection  happens. Growth happens.

New Life lies before us. We’re not trapped by our old habits, old sins, old addictions, old patterns of relating and acting and being.  Our sins can be forgiven.  We can become new people.  We can know new life.              

            There is a story of two garment workers in New York City. One was a cutter and one was a stitcher. They were working side by side. They got to talking about vacations. One said he was looking forward to his vacation and the

other said he was not going on a vacation this year. The question was asked,

            “Why?”

            “I went to Africa last year. I went elephant hunting.”

            “Did you get any elephants?”

            “No, I found an elephant. He charged me, but my gun was jammed, and I was killed.”

            A little stunned he looked at his friend and said, “What are you talking

about, you was killed? You aren’t dead. You’re sitting here living.”

            And the other fellow looked down at his scissors, looked across at the

needle and fabric in his friend’s hands and replied: “You call this living?”

            Friends, the Good News of Easter is that you and I need not lead meaningless, pointless lives that will mean nothing when we are dead. Death-- physical,  spiritual, or emotional death does not have the last word.

            The Good News of Easter is that our eternal fate is not dependant upon how many black marks we get  in a some cosmic ledger in the sky.  New life,  forgiveness, change, growth, hope, meaning and possibility are not abstract concepts-- they are real and available to us now-- at this very moment.

            Judgment Day happens when we finally encounter the Gospel in it’s fullness and possibility and joy.  Resurrection Day occurs for us when we hear Christ’s call, and we rise up from our nets to follow him.

            The path of new life lies  before us. And it can begin here-- now -- in this world.  You and I are not stuck the past-- or even in the present.  Christ is Risen! And the future-- our future-- is totally and utterly open.  Happy Easter