Sermon Archive

I'm currently teaching a course at Fordham University on the 4 Gospels, and we're just approaching that time in the semester when, after completing our survey of all four of them—Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John—I ask the students to decide which is their favorite.

And naturally after I've asked the students their opinion, they always ask me mine. Interestingly, I find that from year to year I decide differently.

Now, I know I haven't given you any warning that I was going to ask you to indicate this morning your favorite gospel, and I understand that a number of you won't be able to decide this matter on the spur of the moment, but I'd like nonetheless to take a quick survey among those of you who can say what your favorite gospel is.

So how many have as your favorite the gospel from which we've read our two lessons today—John?

And how many, the gospel from which most of our Second Lessons have been coming for the past 5 months—Luke?

And how many, the gospel that was at the heart of the lectionary last year, the shortest and earliest of them all—Mark?

And how many, the gospel that narrates the Visit by the Wise Men and gives us the Sermon on the Mount, the gospel that we'll be focused on next year—Matthew?

As for me, I'd say that right now my favorite is Luke. But, as I said, my choice shifts from time to time, and at one time or another I've voted for every gospel—except John!

I've never listed John as my favorite, and one of these days, I'm sure I'll explore my reasons with you.

But I've noted that for a number here today John is your favorite, and the consúmmate literary quality of today's lessons combined with their tremendous theological significance enables me to understand why John is so popular, not only here but the world around.

Even though John as a whole has never been my favorite gospel, these two passages from John, taken in tandem, have always been high on my list of favorite portions from Scripture.

The literary artistry used by the final editor of the gospel to link these two passages about Simon Peter is superb and unmistakable.

First, both scenes share the unique feature of being set around a charcoal fire.

Then, too, the earlier scene, which is profoundly tragic in mood, is set in the dark of night, just before the dawn is signaled by a cock; and the later scene, hope-filled and positive in mood, is set just after the dawn, in the increasing light of early morning.

Finally, in both scenes, Simon Peter is asked an identical question not just a second time, but a third time as well.

So, taking these scenes together, twice near the time of dawn, Peter is seated by a charcoal fire and is asked the same question thrice. Thrice—twice—by a charcoal fire.

Through these literary devices, the final editor of our gospel links for all time the story of Peter's denial of Jesus the night before the crucifixion and the story of Jesus's recommissioning of Peter soon after the resurrection.

Now, just prior to the gospel's description of Simon Peter's denials of Jesus around the fire, it describes Judas's betrayal of Jesus in the garden.

Of the two actions, Judas's betrayal is certainly the more ultimate, but Peter's denial seems to me the more haunting.

For I believe actions like Peter's are far more typical of people like us than actions like Judas's.

You see, Simon Peter's denial of Jesus came in response to a question that we ourselves confront all the time: the question, "Are you a follower of Jesus?"

And Peter's denial of Jesus was rooted in a weakness of resolve that we can understand altogether too well: the weakness of a willingness to acquiesce and compromise when our personal security and well-being are at risk.

Jesus's love and fidelity toward Simon Peter knew no limit; but Peter's love and fidelity toward Jesus did have a limit—the boundary between security & risk, well-being & jeopardy. Peter was not ready to follow Jesus beyond that boundary into the realm of jeopardy and risk.

As I said, the question, "Are you a follower of Jesus," is one that comes to us countless times a week in a myriad of forms.

The question comes—sometimes explicitly, more often implicitly—whenever we are tempted to be dishonest by an employer or employee, by a family member or friend, by self-interest or personal advantage.

The question comes—sometimes explicitly, more often implicitly—whenever we are tempted to be dishonest toward an employer or employee, toward a family member or friend, and, most recently, toward the I.R.S.

The question comes—sometimes explicitly, more often implicitly—whenever we are tempted to not stand up for Christian principle—in conducting our business, in operating our church, in building our personal relationships, in carrying out our civic responsibilities.

When the question comes and there's not a lot on the line, it's relatively easy to say, "I'm a follower of Jesus."

But when the question comes and there is a lot on the line, as there was for Simon Peter on that night long ago, it's not so easy to say, "I'm a follower of Jesus," and we, like Peter, may find it expedient to deny Jesus.

What if an employer offers you a promotion to a job that requires you to do things you consider unethical?

What if your boss refuses to give you time off on Good Friday or another important religious holy day and says something to you like: "You're not religious, are you?"

What if you're married or living in a long-term partnership and a third party whom you value as a friend + find sexually attractive says to you, "I don't believe in monogamy. Do you?"

What if you get a hot tip from your broker that the price of shares in a company known for its unscrupulous business practices is likely to increase by 50% in the next year?

What if a politician appeals for your vote by saying, "I'll lower your taxes by voting against food stamps and health benefits for legal immigrants?"

When Peter's well-being was in jeopardy, he thrice denied his allegiance to Jesus, while warming himself at a charcoal fire.

And I venture to say that most of us are able to identify with Peter's having done that. For we have ourselves denied Jesus when push has come to shove.

But here's the good news! Jesus forgives us for what is past and invites us into a future that will be new and different.

Christ offered Peter a chance for forgiveness and redemption. Three times Christ asked him "Simon, son of John, do you love me?" and thrice Peter responded, "Yes Lord; you know that I love you."

Each one of Peter's three affirmations of love canceled out, as it were, one of his earlier shameful denials.

And the whole exchange offered Peter the radiant resurrection hope that one's future need not be defined by the sins of one's past.

Christ's exchange with Peter freed Peter from his cowardly denials and then Christ went on to challenge Peter afresh with 3 new commands: "Feed my lambs." "Tend my sheep." "Feed my sheep."

Peter was first forgiven and was then commanded again to follow Christ not simply so that he could once more feel good about himself, but also so that he could be re-empowered to serve others with energy, intelligence, imagination, and love.

This same exchange betweeen Christ and Simon Peter can be true for us: Christ offers to us also freedom from the burden of our past denials & power for recommiting ourselves to the service of others.

Christ speaks to us this morning, asking, "People of Rutgers, do you love me?"

And Christ invites us to respond by saying: "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."

So let's do it; let's respond to Christ's question. Christ asks us, "People of Rutgers, do you love me?"
[All:] "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."

"Then, feed my lambs—commit yourself to working for the well-being of all my children and all my youth. Tutor a child; share a skill; offer your financial support."

Christ asks us a second time, "People of Rutgers, do you love me?"
[All:] "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."

"Then, tend my sheep—commit yourself to working for the well-being of all my people in need. Bake a casserole for one who is sick or grieving; write to your senator and representative about legislation; offer a moment for mission in church."

Christ asks us a third time, "People of Rutgers, do you love me?"
[All:] "Yes, Lord, you know I love you."

"Then, feed my sheep—commit yourself to working for the well-being of humankind. Stand up for principle at home, at work, & in the market place. Stand firm in your witness to the word and will of God, and show forth my love and justice in all that you do."

Long ago, by a charcoal fire, after thrice asking about Peter's love, the Risen Christ addressed a final hope-filled challenge to the forgiven Peter, saying, "Follow me!"

And today the Risen Christ addresses to us, the forgiven people of Rutgers, that same hope-filled challenge, saying to us quite simply but quite directly, "Follow me."

Let us pray: