Category: From Peter’s Perspective – Gospel Reflections

I keep thinking back to that conversation when Jesus forgave me and told me to care for the other disciples. When you look back, what you remember about your most sacred moments is curious. I remember the sting of the salt on my face as I wiped my eyes dry. I remember that sense of peace that came with knowing everything was settled, and that surge of tiredness as I finally allowed myself to let go of all that guilt. After working through the night, I was ready to sleep for a week and struggling to concentrate. I remember how I absorbed the fact that Jesus was going to build me up again, and there would be no let-up in the responsibility that had given me. After that, my immediate thoughts, what with Jesus saying ‘Tend my lambs’ and ‘Feed my sheep’, were of how Jesus expected me to lead, following his example as the Good Shepherd.

I have not been able to take in the rest of what Jesus said until now.  I do remember Him pointing out that whilst I am in control of my own destiny today, in the future that would change. He said that there would be a time when I would have to stretch out my hands, and that someone else would lead me to where I would not want to go. I am not quite sure what he meant. Until now, the resurrection has dominated all our thinking. We have been overpowered by life. But now, as I remember Jesus’ words I shudder at the memory of what Jesus battered body looked like, and the sores on his wrists that came from where the guards had bound him. Does Jesus mean that one day, I will face opposition and death just as He did? If so, it does not bear thinking about.

If you had asked me a week ago, I would have said the resurrection is the only thing that defines us. People remember the Essenes because they commit to a life of poverty. The Pharisees are remembered for their commitment to the law. The Sadducees are remembered for their commitment to the Temple. Meanwhile, we are becoming known as the people who follow Jesus and believe in the resurrection. This has been God’s way of telling us that Jesus is indeed, His Son. The resurrection has coloured everything and is forcing us to think about Jesus’ teaching in a different light. So yes, a week ago, still basking in the glory of it all, I would have said that we were the people of the resurrection. Today, however, I am not so sure. You see, the resurrection is only half the story. We cannot celebrate the resurrection without acknowledging that Jesus went through the death. He lived our life, died our death, and bore our griefs. Death and resurrection belong together. At first, this might seem morbid. But this is what has given me comfort as I have questioned what the future holds. If I am killed, I like Jesus will be resurrected. I just pray that my death is not a torture. If I am taken, I pray that I am taken quickly. But I do not fear death. None of us do.

I feel humbled when I think about the difference between how we responded as disciples when Jesus predicted his death, and the people that we now becoming. We still miss Jesus but we know he is present – and besides, reports of how he is revealing himself to others are still reaching us. We know that he will return, but meanwhile, God is moving so powerfully that we do not have time to sit around and contemplate. The resurrection has made our faith in God more secure. We are so different compared to how we first responded when Jesus told us that one day he would leave us. ‘Don’t let your hearts be troubled’, he said. ‘Believe in God; believe also in me.’ The minute he said that we lost all sense of proportion. I remember Jesus saying something about His going to heaven and preparing a place for us, and that we would know the way to the place where he was going. But Jesus words made no sense to us. I remember Thomas becoming exasperated with Him, ‘Lord we do not know where you are going, how can we know the way!’ And then Philip challenged him. He said something like, ‘We’ll believe you when we see this Father in heaven that you keep referring to. Show us the Father!’ Then Jesus berated Philip for his lack of belief. In Jesus mind, Philip had seen enough. How much more did Jesus need to say? How many more miracles did Philip need to see? Meanwhile, I was confused and holding my head in my hands.

I could see where Thomas and Philip were coming from. Up until now, we took much of what Jesus said as figurative. He spoke in parables all the time. It was one of the ways in which he used to avoid conflict. Don’t misunderstand me. Jesus was prepared to confront – but he was always in control of what would happen, and when. Jesus was a master at speaking in parables, saying enough to allow people to find the truth for themselves, but not so much that he would be arrested. So, often, after Jesus had spoken, we would discuss amongst ourselves whether we thought Jesus meant us to understand Him literally. I remember, on one occasion in the early days, when Jesus declared that he would suffer, be put to death, and then be raised after three days, how I became indignant. I thought he was talking nonsense but he scolded me. ‘Get Behind me Satan’ he said. That put me back in my place.

As we journeyed with Jesus it was easy to accept that he had power over the underworld and all the raging spirits that wreak havoc on us – we had witnessed him calling on God to calm the storm on Galilee. It was easy to accept that God through Jesus could bring healing – we had seen so many healings that we had lost count. It was easy to see that God through Jesus could meet our needs – we had seen him feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish. But we were still unsure, especially when Jesus spoke of his own death, about what he meant. It was not until we saw Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead that we began to grasp that he might be speaking literally. We became aware that the authorities were already plotting to kill Jesus and we fled to Jerusalem. Jesus followed on later. When we witnessed the scenes in Jerusalem this sense of foreboding became even sharper. Things became unbearable. When Mary anointed Jesus feet with burial oil it was as if she was giving up and accepting his fate. And so, when, at the beginning of Passover, Jesus spoke about his dying again, we were in a very different frame of mind. He said, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’

We were beside ourselves. Whilst we could accept that Jesus could raise other people from the dead, the fact that he would be put to death seemed an affront to what God was doing. We did not have the capacity to believe that God could raise Him from the dead. All we thought about was how his death would be a failure, and what we had to lose. Who would lead us? What would become of us? We who had given up so much to follow Jesus. His words of reassurance seemed hollow. As far as Thomas saw it, Jesus had no plan. There was no instruction of what we should do when the time came. Philip, ever the practical one, agreed. Philip had faith, but he did not have enough faith to simply trust Jesus’ Word.

I am not sure that anyone accepted Jesus’ assurances, or his promise that those who believed in Him would do even greater things. We were preoccupied with our questions and, if I am honest, thinking only of our own survival. That is why I feel so humbled. Our lack of faith has been exposed. Now we have seen the resurrection; the proof with our own eyes, it is much easier to believe. It is much easier to accept that God has everything in hand than was the case before. But I pray for those who will, in future, hear the promises of God – that they will question less than we did. I pray that they will be able to let go of that desire to be in control or to know more than they need to know, so that they can receive all the blessings that God has for them. At times, our scepticism, or our desire to know God’s plans in detail, undermines what God can do. As for us, we will concern ourselves only with what today brings and strive to live faithfully for God. And if death is indeed around the corner, we will not be distracted because we rest secure in the knowledge that death is not the end.

 

The weight of that conversation is still sitting heavily on my soul. ‘Do you love me more than these?’, ‘Do you love me?’, ‘Do you love me?’…‘Feed my lambs.’ ‘Take care of my sheep.’ ‘Feed my sheep.’ As if it were not enough for Jesus to forgive me and make his peace with me, he then tells me to look after everyone. I know that God can do all things through the power of the spirit but, at the same time, I am aware of how fragile and vulnerable I will become if I do anything but trust in God. I am conscious that there is no room to be lukewarm in my commitment. It is either all or nothing. It is like standing with my back on the edge of a precipice but looking forward to paradise. I am still fearful that I might lose my balance and fall back.

I must admit that despite all that Jesus is, how he speaks of the others seems quite old-fashioned. Almost romantic. No one could describe any of us as pretty! Quite the opposite. Most of us are hardy, practical people. Some of us look more like spent wrestlers than rabbis. None of us looks vulnerable, like lost sheep But I understand what Jesus is saying and why he is saying it. We might look strong and rugged on the outside but on the inside, we are weak. How we all behaved (apart from the women) – how we all scattered and denied all knowledge of Jesus once he was taken from us – shows what the worst in us can amount to if we lack courage. I also understand that Jesus is pointing to how God wants his leaders to be good shepherds of the sheep, and how I must be different from those who have failed in the past. Part of me wants to be a leader; the part that wants to react, confront and commit. Meanwhile, another part of me so easily longs for the journey to end here, and to settle for the quiet life. Sometimes I have the boldness of a lion, but the timidity of a mouse.

I was thinking the other day and remembered that time when we were travelling with Jesus, and He spoke about how he was the ‘gate for the sheep’. It took place just at the point where things were beginning to turn nasty. We were in Galilee and we knew that some of the leaders were already plotting to kill Jesus. So, we urged him to go to Judea. We thought, ‘What have we got to lose?’ If we stayed in Galilee, the authorities would catch up with us. Besides, how could Jesus raise his profile whilst hiding away in some rural backwater? In the end, we went on ahead and Jesus followed in secret. We could see the tension between the leaders and the crowds. They were losing their grip. The scent of fear was already in the air. Those who wanted to know about where Jesus was, or say anything positive, whispered it. Then, halfway through the festival, Jesus appeared at the temple and began to preach.

He was like a cat in a snake pit as the teachers of the law questioned his authority and ridiculed him when they saw the people’s hopes raised. When the people began to think for themselves and question whether Jesus could, indeed, be the Messiah, the leaders tried to ridicule Him, along with anyone who supported him, by saying that he was demon possessed. But Jesus confounded them all with his plain-speaking, his claim that he had been sent by God, and the promises that he made to the people. The truth has something about it that is resistant to ridicule; the more they tried to decry Jesus, the worst they looked. Then, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus came across some Pharisees and Teachers who were about to stone a woman for adultery. Again, the leaders tried to undermine him, by asking whether he would obey the law. Jesus silenced them by writing on the ground. I don’t know what he wrote before wiping it clean, but whatever it was, they shuddered with apprehension. When Jesus said, ‘Let he who has no sin cast the first stone’ they scattered. These exchanges were relentless. On another occasion, as Jesus talked with the people and declared that he had been sent by God, the authorities were keen to twist this and accuse him of blasphemy. But Jesus was clever. He said enough for the people to make up their own minds, helping them to piece together the fragments with answers that all pointed in the same direction. I remember one of the clearest statements being, ‘You are from below, I am from above.’ He was nonetheless still lucky to escape intact. Then, the final straw for Jesus came on the Sabbath, when he healed a man who was born blind. Despite all the evidence – not only from the man who was healed, from all those who had seen the change in him, and from his parents, the Pharisees would still not accept that Jesus was from God. Jesus, the misfit from Nazareth, whose parentage was questionable, and who did not possess any formal learning qualification, did not fit their understanding of the kind of person that God could be at work in, let alone the kind of person who could lead a band of disciples and form a community.

Then Jesus lost it. To be honest, he did not lose it. Jesus never did anything without reason. But it was one of the few times – apart from when he turned the tables in the temple – when I saw an outpouring of His righteous anger. He was indignant. He shouted, ‘I am the gate for the Sheep’…‘I am the good shepherd…’All who have come before me are thieves and robbers’…’I am the gate…whoever enters through me will be saved. In other words, I am not like these leaders. I am faithful: they are not. I can be trusted: they cannot. My message comes from God and is pure: their message is human and self-centred. But the Pharisees could not understand Jesus’ figures of speech. So he pressed the point home relentlessly. He declared with such force; ‘I am the gate; whoever enters by me will be saved. They come to rob, kill and destroy: I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.’ In other words; ‘Choose Life. Choose me and only me.’ The response from the leaders was much the same. Discredit Jesus by saying that he was demon possessed. But not all of them were convinced. Some did begin to think. If Jesus was possessed, how come he managed to heal the blind man in the first place.

As I think about Jesus being the gate I am led to think about my role, and how Jesus is urging me to stay with – to abide with them. I am just realising that to follow him is to give my life to this work and to support the others. It is to live, breathe and sleep alongside them. It is to preserve His teachings nd deter those who would prefer to domesticate them – or to distort them do that they might be used to justify and armed uprising. Our task is to follow Jesus wherever He leads. The Kingdom of at God is in hand. God is doing a new thing. There is no room for being lukewarm or complacent. Stepping back is not an option.

I have never seen the city empty this quickly. By this time the roads should be busy with pilgrims returning home after the festival, but today the streets are empty. There are no market traders selling their wares. Anyone without a reason to stay has gone. Meanwhile, there is a menacing silence about the place as the Roman soldiers continue to search house to house, and people keep their heads down.  But there is more to this mood than our fears about Pilate’s barbarism and what the soldiers are capable of. Although we despise it, bloodshed and crucifixions are commonplace. The bitter truth, however, is that on this occasion, rather than being mere bystanders, some of our leaders have been complicit in the torture and death of one of our own. Jesus blood is on our hands. For generations, we have always held the higher moral ground. But last week, our leaders failed us. Let us say it as it is: Jesus death was pure political manoeuvring. Ciaphas even declared it ahead of time; ‘Wouldn’t it be more expedient for one man to die than for a whole nation to be destroyed?’  The truth is that the Sanhedrin were never worried about Jesus leading an armed uprising. They were more concerned about preserving their own authority as he pointed at their failings. So Jesus became their whipping boy, their fall guy, their scapegoat. Put simply, their case does not stack up. How could a man who saw the greatest faith in a centurion, declared ‘Render unto Caesar what is Ceasars’, and forbade me to fight back in the Garden (healing the high-priests servant in the process), ever be accused of inciting an armed struggle? The table that Jesus turned over in the temple courts belonged to them, not to Rome.

About the resurrection: everyone is thinking it but no-one dare talk about it in the open. We know that all the authorities are incensed that they cannot find the body of Jesus. And even though it seems ridiculous, we know why. The official position is that somebody has stolen the body. Defending anything else is difficult. The authorities cannot deny that Jesus died; the soldiers witnessed it and Pilate made sure Jesus was dead before releasing the body to Joseph. Even so, the authorities have yet to present a convincing argument; one that accounts for how the perpetrators were able to overcome a detachment of sixteen men, with at least four on guard at any one time, and how they managed to move the stone. The Sanhedrin are suggesting that there has been a conspiracy; that someone paid off the guards to release the body and stay silent – but why would the guards risk being handed down the same punishment? And why would his followers risk their own lives for a corpse? And why, when Joseph had given Jesus such a beautiful grave, would they risk death by disrespecting the authority of Rome and move him?

I saw Cleopas the other day. He asked to see me. He had that wide-eyed look with which I am becoming increasingly familiar. He told me that he had seen Jesus on the road to Emmaus, on the evening of that first day. He was travelling with another disciple. I cannot remember who it was – but that is not the point. The point is that it could have been you or I or anyone else. They were leaving the city at the time, surrounded by other pilgrims. As the military presence lessened, talking became easier. They were both joined by a man who overheard them discussing events. They were in the middle of one of those conversations that was full of complaint, despair and grief which, although it felt good at the time, was heading nowhere. Jesus’ death was the end of all hope that change was possible. Religious self-interest and corruption would continue, with minorities being overlooked and the poor remaining hungry. Life under Roman rule would remain brutal. Cleopas and his friend were talking so intently that they did not look at the man, who asked what they were referring to – as if anyone who had been in Jerusalem would not know! As they put their grief into words, the man simply listened. When they had finished speaking there was silence, and then he declared bluntly that their interpretation of events was ‘Foolish!’ They assumed that they were speaking to a teacher, since he reminded them of what was written in the prophets and that the Messiah would suffer before He was glorified. Despite this harsh rebuke, the man’s words gave Cleopas hope that this Jesus death might not be the end after all. Strangely, Cleopas felt encouraged rather than upset.

As dusk approached, the man made out to carry on, but Cleopas and his friend insisted that they remain together. Then something unusual happened. At supper, rather than Cleopas breaking the bread, the man took the initiative. He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them both. And as he did so, they remembered the last time that they had shared. They caught sight of the wounds in the man’s hands and wrists, and realised who was before them. And then Jesus simply….disappeared.

And so there was Cleopas, sat in front of me with this uncontainable belief that he and his friend had met with the risen Lord. I sat back and marvelled at what God had done, and I tried to contain a rye smile as he struggled to tell me how real all this was to him. Like so many others, he could not find the words. Jesus was no ghost. I told him that he did not need to convince me and that he was not the only one to see Jesus alive. I think Cleopas was relieved that he could share his experience with someone – and that they would believe him rather than think him deluded. Cleopas also shared how he could not understand why, at first, he did not recognise Jesus. Yes, they had been talking intently. Yes, Jesus walked alongside them rather than being in front of them, but this was no excuse. Yes, Jesus appeared different: but not that different. But the main thing preoccupying him was Jesus teaching on the road, and the fact that Jesus became real to him as He broke the bread.

Breaking bread will never be the same for Cleopas – or me – again.