YEAR C 2025 easter 6

Easter 6, 2025
Acts 16:9-15
Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5
John 5:1-9
Psalm 67

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, I’ve told you about Asclepeions before. But in case—like me—you’ve forgotten what those are, let me give us the background again.  In the scene of today’s gospel reading, there’s a pool with five porticoes; think of those as five covered walkways leading to the pool.  And in all these walkways there are desperate people in need of healing.  That could be anything from, you know, a headache, all the way to leprosy and missing limbs.  As we heard in the reading, there were blind, lame, and paralyzed people.  And the reason they’re all there is because they believe that at particular times—when the water is stirred up—the first one into the water would be healed.

But think about what this means.  Only one person—the first person in—would receive the healing powers of the water.  Which means the healthiest person would be first, while the most needy person—the one unable to push to the front of the line—would be the least likely to get healed.  The most healthy would receive the powers of restoration from the water.  So, each time the water is stirred up, somebody with a little headache runs to the pool and jumps in first, while the blind, lame, and paralyzed slowly crawl to the edge, only to be disappointed.  Day after day.

In other words, the first shall be first, and the last shall be last.  That doesn’t sound right, does it?  Backwards even, at least us Christians.  Is this pool some kind of miraculous gift from God given for healing of the people?  Well, let’s think about the situation we see here . . . when do we ever see God rewarding the one who pushes to the front of the line?  When do we see God punishing the weak and powerless, while giving more advantages to those who already have the advantage?  The answer is never, that’s when.

Humans work that way; capitalism works that way; oligarchies work that way; but God never works that way.  The rich getting richer is never what Jesus taught.  God is always lifting up the oppressed, freeing the captives, caring for the widows and orphans, giving to the poor rather than the rich.  So, this is not God’s pool, sorry.  But if this magical pool is not a gift from God for the healing of the sick, what is it?

The answer goes back to Greek mythology—the Asclepeions.  Hang in there with me for a minute.  The god Apollo had a son named Asclepius, and taught him the arts of healing.  At some point, a grateful snake licked the ears of Asclepius and whispered healing secrets in his ears.  (Which is why Asclepius is always pictured with a snake wrapped around his walking stick—an image you’ve seen before if you’ve ever been to a doctor’s office or a hospital.)

So, Asclepius is connected to miraculous healing, and to snakes, and so the Greeks built these temples in his honor, called Asclepeions, where people would go for healing.  These temples featured non-venomous snakes slithering around, because of the magical powers of that snake that licked the ears of Asclepius.  The pool described in today’s gospel is generally thought to be one of these Asclepeions.  You hang around the temple when you need healing, and one of the ways you might get that healing is to get yourself in that pool at just the right moment.  (When the guy who only has a headache is hopefully distracted by a snake slithering over his foot.)

So all that is just to give us the background, to explain why everyone is gathered around this pool in the first place.  And the guy in our gospel reading says he has been sitting by this pool for 38 years.  Thirty.  Eight.  Years.    If people really are getting healed at this pool, one at a time, this guy has seen lots of people come and go, probably mostly with headaches and common colds, while he tries to drag himself back and forth to and from the water.  For 38 years.  The implied message here is this:  This system is not helping those who need help the most.  The healing system of Asclepius would tell us that god helps those who help themselves.  Which is not in the Bible.  Anywhere.

You know where we got the phrase “the gods help those who help themselves”?  From Ancient Greece.  That’s where.  You know, the very civilization that gave us pools where the healthiest people get more healthy, while the sick people can just lay there for 38 years.  So, yeah, the gods might help those who help themselves . . . but then, here comes Jesus, the actual son of the living God.

Jesus asks the man, "Do you want to be made well?"  It’s a yes or no question.  And the man says, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.”  This man immediately goes to why it is impossible: the unjust system prevents him from being healed.  And he’s not wrong.  Maybe he’s hoping that Jesus will carry him to the water at the appropriate time.  Maybe this Jesus guy will help him to finally beat the system.  Get him to the water before Mr. I Have a Headache can get there.  He wants Jesus to work within this system of first-come first-served.  Which also means, if he does get healed, someone else will not get healed.  It’s a zero-sum game, this healing water of Asclepius.  Only one person can get healed, and it’s the most able-bodied person at the front of the line.  The one who already has everything together except for a little headache.

But notice that exchange they have:  Jesus asks him, “Do you want to be made well?”  It’s a yes or no question, right?  Jesus doesn’t ask him, “Why haven’t you been made well?”  Jesus doesn’t ask him, “How come you ended up so sick?”  Jesus doesn’t say, “After 38 years, couldn’t you have cleverly beat this unjust system that keeps you sick and oppressed, where the first are first and the last are last?”  No, Jesus simply asks, “Do you want to be made well?”  And the guy never says yes.  He doesn’t say yes.   He never says yes to Jesus.

John’s gospel is usually about spiritual stuff.  In the third chapter, Nicodemus comes to Jesus seeking spiritual truth, and he hears that he must be born again.  In the fourth chapter of John’s Gospel, Jesus talks to the Samaritan woman at the well and she learns about living water and proclaims that Jesus is the Messiah.  And here in the fifth chapter of John’s Gospel, we get . . . nothing.  No spiritual insight.  No deep theological content.  No hint of faith, or even self awareness.  It’s just a guy—who has no idea who Jesus is—who has no expectation of getting healed, other than beating everyone else to the water.  He can’t even answer a yes or no question, because he can’t imagine that world.

And Jesus heals him anyway.  This man does nothing to earn it.  He does nothing to prove he’s worthy.  He does nothing to show he even knows who Jesus is.  And Jesus heals him anyway.  It is pure undeserved and unexpected grace.  He is healed in spite of himself, not because of himself.

That’s not how this is supposed to work, right?  We expect people to act a certain way, to believe a certain set of things, to understand who Jesus is, so that he can save them.  Like, people have to meet God halfway.  The Lord helps those who help themselves . . . if that lord is Asclepius.  But that’s not Jesus: that’s Greek mythology.  Because Jesus heals the man anyway, asking and expecting nothing from him to make it so.

As Christians, we sometimes actually look and act like the people of God.  Like the people who know who Jesus is.  Like the ones who can answer a simple yes or no question about whether or not we want to be healed.  And sometimes . . . we don’t.  Sometimes, we can’t.

This gospel story reminds us that Jesus always heals, always forgives, and always raises us to new life.  Jesus asks us, “Do you want to be healed?”  And our first instinct might be to explain why things aren’t going as they should, or why we aren’t better at living up to someone else’s standards, or explaining how the system is keeping us down . . . because it actually is.  But that’s not the question.  The question is, Do you want to be healed?  

Jesus has come to the pool and announced that he is here for everyone.  And he comes first to the ones who are farthest from the water.  That is what makes the difference.  Jesus is here for everyone.  But especially the ones farthest away from the water.  You do not need to say yes to Jesus; you do not need to get yourself to the water by your own strength and effort; you do not need to bargain with Jesus to carry you to the water.  

In a system that says you need to get yourself to the water, that you need to get ahead of others in order to survive, you just need to let Jesus do what Jesus does.  To make you whole, and restore you to who you were meant to be all along.  Because when it comes right down to it, God helps those who can’t help themselves.  And that is every single one of us.  And no matter how we might respond to him, no matter how much the system works to keep us down, no matter how far we are from the front of the line, Jesus still comes to us and makes us whole. Turns out, the Lord helps those who can’t help themselves.  Thanks be to God.

Amen

YEAR C 2025 easter 5

Easter 5, 2025
Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

There is widespread disagreement in the Episcopal Church right now over the decision to shut down the office of Episcopal Migration Ministries.   If you don't know what I'm talking about . . . good for you!  I won’t go into all the details here, but suffice it to say, the response across the church can be called “Classic Episcopalian.”  Some say it was a bold and necessary step because the government forced their hand.  Others say it was flat-out racism against white people.  Very few people following the story are in the middle on this.

And yet, this morning, across the globe, Episcopalians on both sides of this issue (and all sorts of other issues) will gather together to worship God in unity.  Episcopalians are just as human as any other group of people.  And that means we will disagree on all sorts of stuff out in the big wide world we live in.

And I am well aware that there is overwhelming division in our country and the world right now.  It’s almost as if the one thing we can agree on is that we are divided.  And that’s because the power of evil always seeks to divide us from one another—to isolate us.  And evil often seems to have the upper hand outside these doors, where the goal to separate and divide is the actual point of what many people do and say.  But what about inside the church?

Back in the 1950’s, the Episcopal Church was often referred to as “The Republican Party at prayer.”  Then in the 60s and 70s, we became a mixed bag of social justice and conservative principles.  (There’s a folder in the archives from the early 70s labelled, “Conflict With The Diocese,” in case you ever want to dive into that hornet’s nest of our parish history.)  In the early 2000s, with the election of Bishop Gene Robinson, some people found the need to leave the Episcopal Church altogether and join other denominations, or become part of ACNA: The Anglican Church of North America.  The Episcopal Church went from being conservative, to a mixed bag, to liberal, to fractured, and now back to a mixed bag again.  And that mixed bag is a good place to be, in my opinion.  Our Diocese may not be so diverse in terms of race and ethnicity, but we are definitely diverse in social and political terms.

We don’t necessarily agree with one another outside these walls.  But inside this sanctuary—notice the name—it’s another story.  On the best of days, we leave our politics and cultural positions outside the building when we gather together.  The late great Judy Wigginton once said to me as she dropped off her stewardship card, “I’ve upped my pledge this year, even though the priest is a little too liberal for my taste.”  Said that to my face!  But you know what?  Judy kept showing up.  On our best days we leave all that outside the building.

And that’s fitting with our history as part of the Anglican Church from the very beginning.  The Elizabethan Settlement intentionally set us up to be a people who do not agree on things, but who do agree on how to worship together.  What Queen Elizabeth I pulled off in the mid 1500s somehow managed to bring British Catholics and Protestants together under one roof—two groups who had been literally killing each other, based on who sat on the throne.  They might not have agreed on much outside the building, but inside the church, they got along, and agreed to worship together using the same book—the book of common prayer.

And that’s who we are: the middle way, the via media.  The place where everyone is welcome.  The place where we leave our politics and social opinions at the door.  While the power of evil would like nothing more than for us to be divided and isolated, the power of the Spirit brings us together to worship God in peace.  And when we find ourselves becoming divided over things outside of church, let us keep that in mind: the power of evil wants to separate us; the power of God brings us together, as the body of Christ..

With that background in mind, let’s look at that first reading, from the book of Acts.  It’s an amazing story!  Peter is being criticized by others for daring to eat with gentiles, with people who are different from them.  And Peter tells them of his vision, of the sheet with the unclean animals, and his refusal to eat them, and then the voice saying, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”  What God has made clean, we must not call profane.  Can you see how that relates to us leaving our divisions outside the church building?  God has declared us one body, and we must not declare ourselves otherwise.

And then, Peter says, “The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us.”  I feel like I want to have that printed on a banner and hung outside the church building:

The Spirit told us not to make a distinction between them and us.  
Join us for worship on at 8 and 10.

And then Peter asks the rhetorical question, “Who was I that I could hinder God?”  What a question!  What an indictment, actually.  If God is calling people to follow Jesus, who are we to hinder God?  “When they heard this, they were silenced.”  Indeed!  Though we might invite people to join us at church, it is God who calls them to follow Jesus Christ.  The Spirit calls people to faith.  Who are we to hinder God?

And let’s look at our gospel reading, from John’s gospel.  Jesus is at the last supper with his disciples.  He has washed their feet, and has just sent Judas out to do what he must do, and then he turns to the remaining disciples and today’s reading picks up the text.  

Jesus says, I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

Now there’s an interesting thing about that section.  In the first two cases, “love” is an active verb.  That is, Jesus says, love one another.  But the third one is passive . . . or the love is passive.  Here, the word love is a thing to be possessed.  To have love, rather than to love.  And some translations see that last phrase reading, “If you have love among you,” and that is a much better translation in my opinion.  When there is love among us.  As a community.

And so we could think of this passage as something like this:  Jesus commands us to love one another, just as he loves us.  And if there is love among us, people will know that we are the disciples of Jesus.  It’s collective, you see?  When we gather together, there is love among us.  Yes, individually we love one another.  But when we gather together—like we are gathered here today—there is love among us.  And that is the sign that we are disciples of Jesus.  In the community.

And that takes us right back to where I began this morning.  We have our disagreements when we are outside these walls.  On political and social issues, we are all over the map.  But when we come together for worship, we are united, and there is love among us.

And we get a wonderful visual of this with our east-facing Altars in this building.  One of the great benefits of St. Tim’s holding out against the trend to pull the Altars off the wall so the priest could stand behind them is exactly this.  When we pray, we all turn the same direction.  During the prayer of consecration, we all face the same way.  During the creed, we all face the Altar.  Because we are united in talking to God.  We are one body in worship.  One spirit in Christ.  All facing the same way.

The Spirit told us not to make a distinction between them and us.  And the love we have for one another means that there is love among us.  And when we worship together as the body of Christ, all the world can see that we are disciples of Jesus Christ, because there is love among us.  We worship God together.

Amen.

Frances Perkins, Social Reformer

Frances Perkins, Social Reformer, 1965

It is notable that the collect for today says that in faithfulness to her baptism Frances Perkins envisioned a society in which all might live in health and decency.  And the proper preface assigned for today is the preface for baptism.  Though the promises we make today in baptism from the 1979 prayer book are different from the ones Frances Perkins would have made using the 1892 prayer book, the connection is there: in baptism, we are born into a new relationship with God and the world.  And when we are true to that new relationship, it changes how we treat our neighbors, turning us away from selfishness toward selflessness.

We see this in God’s command in the reading from Deuteronomy.  Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.”  When we have enough, we are called to share with those who don’t.  This is key to our Christian faith.  Feeding the hungry and clothing the naked are things Jesus talked about all the time.  To be a Christian is to be concerned for our neighbor’s well-being. 

But that’s Christianity.  What about the government?  Should caring for my neighbor inform how I vote?  Do I bring my faith into the voting booth?  Well, in Frances’ view, yes.  As we heard, Christ’s incarnation informed her conviction that people ought to work with God to create a just Christian social order.  In other words, since Jesus walked among us as a complete human being—a real person—Jesus sanctified what it means to be human.  People are holy creatures of God, and must be treated as such.  And if we are to play this out, that means we care for our neighbors by supporting policies that care for our neighbors. 

There’s an interesting thing that happens in the Gospel reading for today.  Whether intentionally or not, the disciples’ solution to people’s hunger is to send them away.  On the surface, it looks like legitimate concern for the people around them.  The disciples say to Jesus, “Send the crowd away, so that they may go into the surrounding villages and countryside, to lodge and get provisions; for we are here in a deserted place.” Sounds compassionate doesn’t it?  Caring for my neighbor by sending them away?  But Jesus says to them, “You give them something to eat.”  

And the disciples immediately default to a scarcity mentality.  “We have no more than five loaves and two fish—unless we are to go and buy food for all these people.”  They are standing there with the creator of all that is, the One who was at the beginning of all creation, the Word made flesh, and they can’t seem to see what Jesus can see.  Namely, they have everything they need.  They don’t need to send the people away.  They don’t need to go into town to buy supplies.  They only need to trust Jesus, open their hand, and distribute from their own abundance.

It’s hard to be generous when we convince ourselves we don’t have enough.  It’s hard to care about others when we are focused on ourselves.  And that is just as true for nations as it is for individuals.  There is a saying—often wrongly attributed to Gandhi, but true nonetheless—“The greatness of a nation can be judged by how it treats its weakest member.”  Are we great when the poor are suffering?  Are we great when children are starving?  Are we great when the elderly can no longer afford food and heat?

Frances Perkins was a baptized child of God, and she knew deep in her heart that there was plenty to go around, and there always will be plenty to go around.  We don’t need to send people away when they are hungry.  We don’t even need to go shopping for supplies.  We only need to trust Jesus, and do as God commands: “Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbor in your land.” 
 

YEAR C 2025 easter 4

Easter 4, 2025
Acts 9:36-43
Revelation 7:9-17
John 10:22-30
Psalm 23

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

So, today is what we call “Good Shepherd Sunday.”  The fourth Sunday of Easter is always Good Shepherd Sunday.  But it’s been six years since I preached on that first reading, from the book of Acts.  And we only get to hear that story once every three years.  So I think it’s time to talk about Dorcas again.  That’s kind of an unfortunate name—to our American ears, at least.  In Aramaic, her name is Tabitha, which means gazelle, which is lovely.  But, when it gets translated into Greek, she becomes Dorcas.  And there’s no need for that, so I’m going to go with Tabitha today..

If you look over to your left, you’ll see our lovely window, depicting Tabitha and the widows.  It’s unclear at first glance whether this is after she was raised back to life, or if is is Tabitha distributing clothing to the needy before she fell ill and died.  However, as with all good art, further study provides additional clues.  The woman on the right is carrying a basket of what I am convinced are pomegranates.  (Opinions on this vary in my household.)  But in Greek mythology, the pomegranate is tied to the myth of Persephone and the arrival of spring, which is the rebirth of the earth each year.  

 

For Christians, the pomegranate is a symbol of the resurrection and the hope of eternal life.  If you look around the room, you will see lots of pomegranates and lilies in our stained glass windows.  These are symbols of resurrection to new life, which is why we decorate the Altar with lilies at Easter.  And although the overwhelming pollen can be rough, something would be lost if we put bowls of pomegranates on the Altars at Easter.

Back to Tabitha.  So, given that the woman with the pomegranates is holding the hand of the woman in blue, it seems this is after Tabitha has been raised from the dead.  And the woman in front of Tabitha is showing the widows and orphans the tunics and other clothing that Tabitha had made, as a reminder of why she was so beloved in the community.  There is one man depicted in the window, on the left side, holding a shepherd’s crook.  I got nothing on this guy.

So this window is dated 1905 in memory of Emma Dielhenn who died that January.  My German instincts tell me to pronounce that name as Deel-hen.  But this being Ohio, I'm told the name is pronounced Dillon, at least here in Massy-on.  And, just a few blocks from here, you can find Dielhenn Avenue, which is named for the Dielhenn Petticoat Co., which employed many city residents. In 1908 the “Dry Goods Reporter” declared that Dielhenn Petticoat was America’s leading petticoat specialist.

So, knowing all of that, look again at the window.  See the angel up top holding the cloth?  And all the fabric in this scene?  You can see why our Tabitha window—featuring a woman who was known for making robes and clothing—is dedicated in memory of Emma Dielhenn, whose family dealt in fabrics, right?  Here endeth the history lesson.

Now back to the text.  Tabitha was known for her acts of charity, and is one of the first female disciples mentioned by name, after the resurrection.  She fell ill and died.  Her friends gathered together to prepare her for burial, and they call a prominent pastor, Peter.  He comes right away when he receives word.  And then, those who gathered and are in mourning tell stories and share mementoes of Tabitha’s time among them.  It sounds very much like what we do today when someone dies, doesn’t it?  Gather together, share stories, call the pastor?

Then Peter sends them all outside, and he kneels down and prays.  We don’t know the content of his prayers, or what he was asking.  But eventually, he turns to the body and said, "Tabitha, get up.”  And, as we heard, she opens her eyes, sees it is Peter, and he helps her up, “calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive.”

SO many interesting things about that little section!  First, we specifically heard, “he turned to the body and said . . .”  Luke, the writer of Acts, makes it clear that she is not in this body.  It is just a body.  This is not Tabitha.  This is a body.  And then, he calls her by name, and she rises from the dead.  Now I won’t stand here and tell you that I understand all this, where she went when she wasn’t in the body, or how calling her by name brings her back to life.  But I will say that this sounds a lot like what will happen to each one of us when the new heaven and new earth are proclaimed.  Jesus will call each of us by name, and we will rise with all the others to a new life.

And then there’s that phrase, “calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive.”  What saints?!?  We had heard mention of widows earlier in the story.  But to what saints was Peter showing her?  It suggests that it’s not just the people in the room, doesn’t it?  Like maybe he’s showing Tabitha to the saints who have gone before?  Or showing her to the saints who will come after?  To me and you?  Again, I have no answers here, but Luke was careful with language—unlike Mark—so using the word “saints” certainly means more than showing her to the people in the room.

Six years ago, I didn’t know anything about Emma Dielhenn.  Yesterday, I went and visited her grave in Massillon Cemetery, and found that she died at the age of 45.  And I drove up Dielhenn Ave. on my way back to church for good measure.  Then I looked through the Vestry Minutes from 1905 to get more clues,  And after all that, I still don’t really know much.  But I know that someone dedicated this window to her memory.  And because of that, I learned that the Dielhenns made one of the best petticoats in the country.  But the only reason I know any of that is because of this window.  So the phrase, “In memorium” at the bottom is most appropriate, right?  By memorializing this window depicting Tabitha, future generations are remembering and talking about Emma Dielhenn on this fourth Sunday of Easter, 120 years after her death.

And this window also honors someone named Tabitha, (or Dorcas, in Greek).  There are fifteen sentences about her in the book of Acts.  Out of 31,102 verses in the Bible, she got 8.  Ask most Christians to identify Tabitha or Dorcas in the Bible, and not many could do it.  Before I started as your rector, I could not have told you off the top of my head who she was without looking it up.  It’s kind of an obscure story, within the context of the whole of our scriptures.  

Our beautiful window here focuses our attention on her good works and acts of charity.  The main focus of this window is showing the “tunics and other clothing that Tabitha had made while she was with them.”  And that seems right, because we honor her for what she did before her death.  She wasn’t just some random person raised from the dead by Peter.  She was a disciple of Jesus, who used her wealth and privilege to help the people around her who needed help.  And we are reminded of those good deeds when we look at this window.

But that’s not why we know Tabitha’s name.  We only know her name because she was raised from the dead.  She did laudable deeds, but we only know about those deeds because of God’s deed of raising her from the dead.  We honor her in the window for what she did before her death.  But we only even know about her because she was raised from the dead..

The point is not what she did with her life.  The point is that she was raised back to life.  Which is just like you and me.  Some people do great things with their lives.  Get streets named after them, or windows dedicated in their memory.  But lots of us struggle through difficult lives, just trying to keep breathing, to keep living, to rely on the kindness of strangers.  And in God’s eyes, not one of us is any less important than anyone else.  Each person created in the image of God.  And as we heard in today’s gospel reading, not one will be snatched out of the hand of Jesus.

And at some point, like Tabitha, every single one of us will be just a body.  With people gathered to share stories about us while they wait for the pastor to show up.  And at some point, on some unknown day, the Good Shepherd will call each of us by name, and say to our mortal bodies, “get up.”  And then Jesus, the Good Shepherd,  will call all the saints  to show them that we too are alive.  That like Tabitha, we too will rise to new life because of Jesus.  And all the saints will rejoice.

Amen.

YEAR C 2025 easter 3

Easter 3, 2025
Acts 9:1-20
Revelation 5:11-14
John 21:1-19
Psalm 30

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I think the theme running through all these readings today is this:
God is not afraid to meet us where we are.  Whether we are against God, or forgetting God, or even unable to perceive God at all.  No matter how we feel,  or what we do, God is always showing up.  Let’s start with the reading from Acts.

Saul is actively hunting down Christians in order to bind them and deport them to Jerusalem.  When I look around the United States today—and I promise this is not a political position, but—the closest analogy I can find is that he is acting like an ICE agent chasing people down and taking them away.  As we heard, he is combing through letters people have written, looking for evidence he can use to arrest them and take them to another country.  He is committed to doing whatever it takes, and is on his way to Damascus to round up the infidels.

And of course, on the way, Jesus appears to him, asks why he is persecuting him, and Saul is struck blind.  Now, as I said, your bulletin insert left off the rest of the story because it is optional . . . for some reason!  But to me it’s the most important part of the story!  God tells a disciple named Ananias to go and pray with Saul.  And, Ananias is understandably reluctant.  He knows of Saul’s reputation as an ICE-like agent, and he’s certainly not looking to be rounded up and deported to Jerusalem.  But Ananias does as God tells him, and goes and prays with Saul.  Then Saul regains his sight, gets baptized, eats some food, and regains his strength.  But then we heard . . .

“For several days [Saul] was with the disciples in Damascus, and immediately he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues, saying, ‘He is the Son of God’.”  Just think about what that means for the Christians living in Damascus.  This guy, who just days earlier was on his way to bust into their homes and drag them off in chains to a foreign country, is now claiming to be one of them.  On a smaller scale, just imagine how uncomfortable you would be if Bruce the street preacher decided to join us on Sunday mornings, claiming to be converted to our belief in baptizing babies and taking communion.  I feel like we’d welcome him in, of course.  But would we trust him?  With that kind of sudden change of heart?

In some ways the most remarkable thing about this story is that the Christians in Damascus trusted in God enough to worship alongside the person who came to town for the express purpose of dragging them away for their faith!  Saul was actively persecuting the followers of Jesus, and Jesus came to him anyway.  And the Christians in Damascus trusted God enough to welcome the very person who was “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord.”  God comes to us, even when we are against God.

And then that gospel reading.  Every three years I get the chance to say, “When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea.”  And it makes me smile.  But the thing I want to look at today is the start of that reading.  First, the context of the timeline.  

Two weeks ago, we heard the Easter story of the Resurrection of Jesus.  You’re familiar with that one.  It’s the start of the 20th chapter of John’s gospel.  Then last Sunday, we heard of Jesus appearing to his disciples twice, with Thomas being there for the second one.  So the disciples have already seen the resurrected Jesus two times before we get to today’s reading.  They’ve already seen him twice.  Thomas has touched the holes in Jesus’ hands.  And that’s the end of chapter 20.

Then Chapter 21 opens with the disciples being gathered together, and Peter says, “I am going fishing." And they say to him, "We will go with you.”  Stop right there.  Think back to how we got here.  Peter and several other disciples were fishermen.  And when they met Jesus, they left their nets behind and they followed him for about three years.  Then Jesus is arrested and put to death.  Then he rises from the grave and appears to them inside a locked room.  Twice!  After all of that, Peter says, “I am going fishing." And they say to him, "We will go with you.”

You’ve just had a real-life encounter with the risen Lord.  Twice!  And the next thing you do is say, “I’m going fishing”?!?  After all Peter has been through, after all he has seen and done, he decides to go back to what he was doing when he first met Jesus.  Like, “Well, we had some laughs.  I guess it’s back to the old grindstone.”  But I think there’s a lesson for us in that.  Because sometimes a life-changing experience doesn’t actually change us.  Or not permanently anyway.  People tend to stick to what they know.  Or return to what they know.  In a way, Peter has sort of given up on Jesus.  But Jesus hasn’t given up on Peter!

After the disciples take some fishing advice from the stranger on the shore, they catch a ton of fish, and they realize that it’s Jesus.  A third time!  And, since Peter was fishing naked, as one does, he puts on some clothes and jumps into the sea.  For comic relief I guess.  And then we have the encounter on the shore, and then Jesus and Peter have that conversation.  Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him, which we can see as a redemption for the three times Peter denied him.  There’s an aspect of this conversation that I’ve told you about before, but it bears repeating.

The Greek language has more than one word for love.  In English, love is love, and the context is the only thing that can give us more information.  In Greek, the three main kinds of love are eros, philios, and agape.  Eros gives us erotic love, maybe we could say romantic love.  Philios gives us brotherly love, or love for our neighbor, as in Philadelphia.  And then agape is usually thought of as the perfect selfless love, the kind God has for us.  Agape love is what we see in John 3:16, where God so loved the world, unconditionally, that He gave his only son.

So, here’s the big thing:  the first two times, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you agape love me?  Do you perfectly and selflessly love me?  Would you lay down your life for me?”  And Peter responds with, “Lord, you know that I philios love you.  I love you like a brother.  I love you as my friend.”  The first two questions and responses are the same.  “Do you love me selflessly?”  “Lord, you know I love you as my brother.”

But the third time Jesus asks the question, he changes it.  The third time, Jesus doesn’t ask Peter if he loves him with that perfect love, that agape love, the love that would lay down one’s life, would never deny or abandon him.  No, the third time Jesus asks Peter, “Do you philios love me?  Peter do you love me as a brother, a companion, a friend?”  And Peter’s response is the same as the first two times.  Peter says, “Lord, I love you as my brother.”  

Jesus, in this third question, comes to meet Peter where he is.  He does not ask Peter to become perfect.  And, he does not keep asking until Peter makes a promise Peter knows he cannot keep.  It’s not as though, after the resurrection, Peter suddenly becomes able to live up to his promise to lay down his life for Jesus.  I mean, as we heard, he decided to go fishing!  But Jesus comes to Peter.  Saul was against Jesus, and Jesus came to him anyway.  Peter was forgetting Jesus, and Jesus came to him anyway.
And then do you remember the third category I mentioned at the beginning?  Against God, forgetting God, and unable to perceive God?

There’s a little phrase tucked away in the reading from Revelation today.  John writes,

I heard the voice of many angels surrounding the throne and the living creatures and the elders; they numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, singing with full voice,
"Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might
and honor and glory and blessing!”
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, singing . . .

John hears the angels, and the elders, and every creature singing praises to the Lamb.  Every creature in heaven, and on the earth, and under the earth, and in the sea, and all that is.  ALL of them singing.  Singing.

But that raises a deeper question.  Do dogs perceive God?  Do birds?  Do whales?  Do earthworms?  I think we’d all be inclined to say no.  And yet . . . and yet.  One day, every creature in heaven, and on earth, and under the earth, and in the sea, and all that is.  ALL of them singing.  Even the ones who do not even perceive God.

As I said at the beginning:  Jesus is not afraid to meet us where we are.  Whether we are against God, like Saul.  Or forgetting about God, like Peter.  Or even unable to perceive God at all, like all the creatures that surround us.  No matter how we feel, or what we do, or what we know of God, God is always showing up.  Always meeting us where we are.  Jesus will always come to you.  No matter what.

Thanks be to God.

Amen