Easter 3: “Simon, Jesus’ Friend”

John 21.1-19

April 22, 2007

The gospel stories of Jesus and his disciples after the resurrection are all really quite remarkable. Last week we heard the account of Thomas—heard it from Thomas’s perspective, actually. Today the camera shifts to Simon Peter. He couldn’t be here himself this morning, so we’ll have to consider John’s telling of the story.

First let’s set the context. This incident takes place after the resurrection. Jesus has appeared to his closest disciples now twice—once on the evening of that Easter day, and once the next week, when Thomas was present. John doesn’t give us a time frame for this appearance, but it seems to be some time later; the disciples have left Jerusalem and are back in Galilee.

Now think for a moment about Peter. He had been so full of bravado! Jesus had told his disciples at that last supper just what was going to happen, including the fact that they were going to deny and desert him. “I will lay down my life for you!” Peter protested. “Truly I tell you,” Jesus had replied, “before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.” And of course he did. Of all the disciples, Peter must have been the most conflicted in these days after the resurrection.

Yet there has been no hint of rebuke, no conversation about the denial. So when Jesus appears to the disciples, Peter must feel terribly on edge. Have you ever been there? Maybe there’s been a falling out between a friend and you. Things have been said or done that were hurtful, maybe on both sides. Perhaps there was a long time of silence. When at last you were together again, it could be pretended for a while that everything was normal . . . but of course, it wasn’t. There was that thing they often call “the elephant in the room”—the issue that nobody wants to talk about. But it must be talked about and there must be some resolution; until that happens, it’s like walking on eggshells.

So that’s where Peter is. Jesus has appeared to the disciples as they were fishing; he has invited them to breakfast. They have shared this time together. All of them are no doubt a little on edge, but none more than Peter. “What is he thinking about me?” he must be wondering. “Why hasn’t he said anything? Why is he even still here with us?” When you put yourself in Peter’s shoes, this being with Jesus has more about it of pain than joy.

Then breakfast is over, and the moment comes. We aren’t told whether this conversation takes place in the presence of the other disciples, or whether Jesus and Peter have gone off alone. From Peter’s perspective, at least, I suspect it seems that he is alone with Jesus, completely alone, no matter how near the others may be.

“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” The question is startling! What do you think Peter was expecting? “Simon, I told you so?” “Simon, are you sorry?” “Simon, now will you promise to be faithful to me?” None of that. “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” With this simple question, Jesus gets to the heart of it. It is not a question about obedience, about faithfulness, about intentions, about failures—it is a question about love.

But there’s a puzzle here. What does he mean, “more than these?” More than these what? There are three possible meanings here, but the one that seems right to me is this: “Do you really now think you love me more than these others do?” Peter, you see, had been the one who insisted that he was the most faithful, he was the one who would never run away. Subsequent events proved that his fear was more powerful than his love. His response is to say, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you”—but notice he doesn’t add the phrase “more than these”! He has learned through his terrible ordeal that comparing himself with other disciples is not a helpful thing. The question is addressed to his own heart: “Do you love me?”

One of the most puzzling aspects here, of course, is that the question is asked three times. Most scholars see this as an important symbol: Just as Peter had denied Jesus three times, so now he must undo that by professing his love for Jesus three times. That’s an interesting interpretation, and it’s probably right. But there is more to it than that.

You may recall that the Greek language has several different words which can be translated as “love.” We usually distinguish between eros, which usually means sexual, passionate love; phileo, which is friendship; and agape, which is usually the kind of indiscriminate love that God shows, and that he asks us to show to one another. Here in this passage the two forms phileo, friendship, and agape, divine love, appear in interesting combinations. The first two times that Jesus asks “Do you love me?”, he uses agape; and the first two times Peter replies, he uses phileo. The third time, both Jesus and Peter use the term phileo. What does this strange variation mean?

Well, the words themselves have some peculiar implications in John’s gospel. In much of the New Testament, agape seems the highest form of love, like God’s love for us. But in John, one might argue that phileo, friendship, is even deeper. In John, at the last supper, Jesus makes a big deal about calling his disciples “friends.” “No one has greater love than this,” he says, “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. “I no longer call you servants, I have called you friends.” For John, the fact that Jesus calls the disciples “friends” is an expression of great intimacy. He loves them with a love that is even deeper and more affectionate, more intimate, than the more general ascribed to God. This love, John is suggesting, isn’t just the love the Creator has for his creatures, but the intense personal love one has for dear friends. That’s how Christ feels about us.

So in this passage, Jesus begins by asking Peter if he has this more general love, this care for him; and Peter replies that, in fact, he loves Jesus very dearly. Let’s use those phrases to see if we can understand it.

Jesus says, “Simon, do you believe you care for me more than the rest of these disciples do?” Peter replies, “Lord, you know I love you dearly, you are my dearest friend.” Again Jesus says, “Simon, do you care about me?” Peter replies, “Lord, you know I love you are my dearest friend, and I love you.”

Then Jesus says, “Simon, do you really love me dearly? Are you really my dear friend?” What is happening, you see, is Jesus is probing the depth of Peter’s love. He is challenging it, not casting doubt exactly, but forcing Peter to be perfectly honest.

And Peter’s response to this last question, this gentle yet sharp question, is striking. Our translation says he was “hurt” that Jesus asked a third time, but that translation isn’t very good. It isn’t that Peter’s feelings are hurt, but that he is deeply grieved. It is the same word Jesus used some chapters back when he was describing what was about to happen. “When I am gone,” he had said, “the world will rejoice, but you will be grieved” (same word as “hurt” in our passage). “But your grief will be turned to joy.” Indeed, he had compared it to a woman in labor: Just as her anguish turns to joy when her child is born, so your anguish at my death will turn to joy. So when John says Peter was “hurt,” he really means that he is experiencing this terrible grief, this pain, this sorrow—and why? Because in Jesus’ question he finally faces the reality of what it would mean to be separated from Jesus. Peter, who had denied he even knew Jesus—he’s seeing what it would mean if that were really true.

And his response is also striking, but again somewhat obscured by the English language. He says, “Lord, you know everything, you know that I love you dearly.” But the word for “know” here is different from that he had used before. In his previous answers, it was a word that simply meant, “You’re aware of this fact.” But here he uses the word that means the most intimate kind of knowledge, the word Jesus had used frequently when talking about his Father: “As the Father knows me, so I know the Father.” Peter here is confessing that Jesus knows him completely, intimately, totally. He is acknowledging that there is a bond between them that could not be severed even by his own failings, even by his own sin. He is, in short, finally learning just how completely Christ loves him, and he loves Christ.

We do not have time to discuss the other puzzle here, Jesus’ repeated but differently-worded admonitions, “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, feed my sheep.” I suspect the general meaning here is that Peter’s task, as a friend of the Good Shepherd, is now to care for the sheep just as deeply as the Shepherd—indeed, to love them even to the point of dying for them. But that will have to wait for another sermon.

For now, let us just marvel at the complete forgiveness and the incredible love shown to Peter by his friend, Jesus. Let us take it to heart, putting ourselves there with all our own failings, betrayals, denials—and knowing that Jesus responds to us, just as he does to Peter, by reaffirming his love and probing our love. From him we do not hear condemnation or resentment, conditions or anger. From him we hear that gracious invitation: “Come and eat with me! You are my dear friends!”