Pilgrim Pines, Family Camp, August 2017. At the exhortation of the week's teacher-in-residence ( the inimitable Steve Wiens ) I am meditating upon Jesus' "reinstatement" of Peter in John 21: on the beach, cooking breakfast, in the glorious immanence of his resurrection.
One question, asked three times: "Do you love me?"
The experience of this post-crucifixion-&-resurrection Peter has always been one that resonated with me, for one reason or another. This present season is no different in that respect. Peter has faced the trauma of dramatically overturned expectations: every hope of the last three years, strung up and mocked upon the cross of Jesus. Then, the impossible rebirth and resurgence of hope, in the resurrection. But hope, transfigured somehow, like the resurrection body of Jesus himself. Now in profoundly uncharted territory, unsure of himself and unsure of his expectations, the allure of the sure footing of the life he had previously known is strong.
"I'm going fishing."
And it is here, as before, that Jesus meets him.
Shades of Peter's loss and disorientation - albeit pale shades - draw near, today. Looking back, the past year and a half has been one of attrition, frustration and disappointment; slow, protracted desolation. I struggle to know with conviction what the way forward ought to look like; what tangible vision of the future my aspirational trust in Christ ought to produce in me. And in the discouragement and disorientation lies the temptation to despair, to seek out the life I once knew or aspired to before the call of Jesus drew me off into this seemingly wayward adventure.
But there, on those disillusioned shores, the risen Christ makes camp and prepares a meal. The breathtaking patience and love of the Savior God. And to the wayward, disoriented, wilting heart he poses only this question:
"Do you love me?"
Not, "Do you now understand?". Not, "Are you feeling alright?" or, "How's your confidence?". But only, "Do you LOVE me?"
Peter's not certain about much, anymore. But, for all his questions and doubts, it has not been his faithful adoration which has waned. His confidence is shot, his clarity and certainty for the way ahead has withered in the heat of trauma and shame. But, the force of his love runs unabated through his veins, making his present wandering all the more tortuous. This may be the only question he still knows the answer to. It is also the only question that Jesus sees fit to ask him.
"Lord... You know I love you."
As the Lord questions Peter in his place of disillusionment, I hear him question me in mine. Perhaps it is the only question Jesus will ever, truly, see fit to ask me; the only meaningful measure of Christian faithfulness and ministry.
"Do you love me?... Feed my sheep."
How will I answer? And will that love make me faithful in the feeding, even if every other metric and measure of "success" has fallen away?