3rd Sunday of Easter
April 10, 2016
10 AM & 12 Noon Liturgies
J.A. Loftus, S.J.
By now most people know that when Pope Francis was asked
what he really expected from this Jubilee Year of Mercy, he
answered rather quickly, “that the church initiate a Revolution of
Tenderness.” It’s an odd pairing of words: revolution and
tenderness. Many found themselves asking, “What’s that supposed
to mean?” What might it mean for me? Today’s gospel might
provide an answer. It is, in my thinking at least, one of the most
tender post-resurrection stories we have. There are no fireworks;
just a fish and real fire.
Most scholars consider this section, chapter 21 of John’s
gospel, to be a later addition. It is an epilogue composed most
certainly by one of the original author’s disciples. (If you
remember the end of last week’s gospel passage (the end of
Chapter 20), it concluded with the author saying that, “not
everything Jesus said or did is in this book, but these things are so
that you may come to believe that Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ
and Son of God.” This section today ends with a similar passage,
“That the world would not contain enough books to say it all.” They
are both endings for the same gospel.
But today’s ending story has the first appearance of Jesus to
Peter specifically. We can presume Peter was present last week
when Jesus appeared in the upper room (once without Thomas
present and one with). But here Jesus comes to talk with Peter
personally. This scene is a very personal missioning.
To set the stage, Peter and the others are lost again. They
have been milling around the Sea of Tiberius in a fog, listless,
perhaps a bit still depressed, but certainly aimless. The impulsive
Peter says, “I’m going fishing. Want’a come?” They all jump in the
boat for no particular reason and with no particular result.
Then the familiar stranger appears on the beach. And for a
second, Peter stands naked before his Lord. (I know some
translations soften that line to “he was lightly clothed;” in fact, he is
as “naked” as were Adam and Eve in the garden. Same words used
in both cases.) And then, typical Peter jumps ship and waddles
through the waves panting. There he finds a second charcoal fire
burning. (There are only two charcoal fires in John’s gospel: the
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fire outside Jesus’ trial scene where women recognize Peter, and
this fire on the beach.)
And here the tenderness bleeds through Jesus’ ministry to
them. Jesus is cooking breakfast for them. And he’s using fish and
bread, clear Eucharistic symbols. But an even more tender
personal chat is about to take place. Jesus pulls Peter apart and
asks the now famous three-fold question. But in typical Johannine
fashion the words used that seem so repetitive in English disclose
more depth in the original.
The first time Jesus asked Peter, the word he uses for love is
agapeo. This is the perfectly good Christian way we should all love
each other. But the final time he asks Peter the question, it is a
different kind of love entirely. The word used is phileo. This is the
deep love of a profound and very personal friendship. This love
speaks of a very intimate and special relationship. I am reminded
of the title of one of Fr. Bill Barry’s many books; it is called A
Friendship Like No Other: Experiencing God’s Amazing Embrace
(Loyola Press, 2008).
These three questions are the final job interview for Peter.
His position (which he probably did not want anyway): leader of
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the motley band of disciples. And there follows immediately the
prediction of Peter’s death.
There you have it: St. John’s version of a Revolution in
Tenderness. No fireworks at all; just some fish and a beach fire.
Pope Francis keeps telling us the invitation is for all of us. If
you love me, really love me in deep friendship, then do as I did:
feed my lambs, feed my sheep. Labor in love on the peripheries of
hope for the least of my brothers and sisters. And come have
breakfast. Peace!
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