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It’s the phrase “and Peter” that
captures my imagination. “Tell my disciples…and Peter.” Was
it an afterthought, an add-on, a throwaway line? Or is this
cryptic little note at the very heart of the message of the
Risen Lord?
“And Peter.” Bold Peter,
brash Peter, self-absorbed, always needing to be out
front Peter. Peter the hard living, hard-working,
hard-headed, hard-nosed fisherman. Peter, whose name
literally translated means “rock,” and Jesus
said he was the rock on which the church would be built. But
we all know the rock turned into jelly when the going got
rough. Jesus predicted it, and Peter fulfilled it, at
the hands of a simple servant girl. He buckled, he crumbled,
he denied ever knowing Jesus. And now to hear the
message of the Risen Christ: “Tell my disciples…and
Peter.” WOW!
Fred Craddock tells the story of a
funeral for a 17-year-old boy killed in a car crash—one of
eleven children. The other ten circled their grieving mother
who cried out, “Oh, he was my favorite. I loved him the
most.” Someone tried to comfort the siblings by saying, “You
know, she doesn’t really mean that.” One responded, “Oh yes
she does, but it’s okay, because I know if it had been me,
she would have said the same thing.” (Craddock Stories,
page 52)
1. “…and Peter.” It is the
forgiving word of the Risen Christ.
The healing word, the redeeming word, the
word that renews and brings new hope. It is the word of
grace abundant and mercy unfailing, the word of unending
love, the forgiving word of the Risen Christ.
Can you imagine what it must have meant
to Peter when Mary and the women returned from the tomb with
the word of the angel? “Wait! What was that? What did you
say? Did he really mention me? Call my name?”
Can you imagine what that must have meant
for Peter, lost in his regret and grief, his burden of
having failed his Lord? Can you imagine? Well, of course you
can, because we have all been there, haven’t we?
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times
when we failed to live up to what we profess, to be true
to our best self
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times when, looking
back, we realize that intentionally or inadvertently we
have denied our Lord
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times when we
“coulda, woulda, shoulda”…and we didn’t
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those “Gee, I should
have had a V-8” times when we failed to be our
best and gave in to our worst
Of course we can imagine. In fact, we
don’t have to imagine, because we’ve all been there.
The Bible says it, and we are the living proof: “All have
sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. All we like
sheep have gone astray.” And in those moments, can you
imagine…no you don’t have to imagine…listening, and also
hearing the Risen Christ calling you by name with the
forgiving, redeeming, refreshing, life-giving word of
grace.
Alexander Maclaren was one of those great
Scottish preachers from the days of the powerful pulpiteers.
He once said:
Jesus Christ comes to us, and no sin of
ours, no denial of ours, can bear out his lingering,
restoring love and grace. No fault, no sin, cuts us off from
the love of our Lord.
(Alexander Maclaren, After the
Resurrection, page 19)
Except our unwillingness to
receive.
No sin is inexcusable, but no sin is
unforgivable. Grace abounds. Grace always means a second
chance, even for Peter.
2. “…and Peter.” It is the
inclusive word.
It is the word which draws even Peter
back into the circle of grace, the fellowship of love, the
community of Christ. We’ve tried to imagine what it meant
for Peter, but I wonder about the disciples? What about
them? Can you imagine what this word meant for them?
You know how it is. Someone fails,
someone falters, someone sins, and especially if it’s the
preacher, you know how the whispering campaigns begin—the
innuendos, the sideward glances, the reservations about
conversation, the holding back to see what is going to
happen. And I am sure that for the disciples, Peter’s denial
must have been a major blow.
“How could he do it? Peter, the
rock. He promised he would never deny his Lord, and now
this!”
And of course, part of it was extremely
personal. I mean, if Peter can fall, then what about me?
So, the word of the messenger at the
empty tomb was a word for the disciples as well: don’t leave
Peter out, draw him back in. Don’t shun him…love him and
welcome him home. Don’t exclude him…include him and throw
your arms of love and mercy around him, because that is
exactly what Christ would do. Make sure he knows he is
welcome, he is loved, and that he still belongs. In these
two little words, the Risen Christ calls for a new kind of
inclusive community which welcomes all who come to hear the
forgiving, renewing, redeeming word of grace.
The hymn we will sing at the end of the
service was written by Frederick Faber who, interestingly
enough, started out as an Anglican priest and converted to
Roman Catholicism. He wrote about 150 hymns, including the
well-known “Faith of Our Fathers.” We will only sing four of
the verses, but the original had twelve verses.
There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like
the wideness of the sea;
there’s a kindness in God’s justice,
which is more than liberty.
There’s a welcome for the sinner, and
more graces for the good;
there is mercy with the Savior, there
is healing in his blood.
Here’s a verse that didn’t make it into
our hymnal:
But we make his love too narrow by
false limits of our own
and we magnify his strictness with a
zeal he will not own.
There’s a wideness in God’s mercy. Often
the narrowness is in ours, our unwillingness to:
receive those who differ from us,
love those who disagree with us;
welcome those who are different from us;
forgive those who wrong us;
include those who need to hear a word of
mercy and love, welcome and grace.
To the disciples, the Risen Christ says,
“Expand the circle, widen your hearts to match the wideness
of God, stretch your circle to include even Peter.” I am
sure you have all heard it before, Edwin Markham’s
well-known bit of poetry:
He drew a circle that shut me out;
heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win;
we drew a circle that took him in.
It’s the forgiving, inclusive word of
grace.
3. “…and Peter.” It is the word
that sends.
“Tell his disciples and Peter that he
goes before you into Galilee. There you will see him.”
The Risen Christ is already out there
ahead of us, out in the world, out there in Galilee, out by
the lakeside, on the city streets, in the real world. And
that is where you will find him. You won’t find him hanging
around the garden tomb. You won’t find him snuggled up in an
upper room. You won’t find him in the confines of your own
boundaries and barriers, the narrow limits of our own minds
and hearts. You will find him out there, ahead of you, in
the world to which He sends you.
I was so proud and impressed last Sunday
night. I wish you all could have been there to hear our
youth talk about their Redbird mission trip experience and
to describe where they saw Christ in the world around them.
They can tell you. They experienced it, “the Risen Christ
goes before you into Galilee, there you will see Him.”
Today, amid all the life changes and
transitions we face:
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High
School graduations which, next to getting your driver’s
license, are about the only rite of passage we have into
American young adulthood. Out of the security of home,
into the world, onto the campus: “He goes before
you. There you will see Him.”
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For
newlyweds and new parents and new grandparents with all
the excitement and the uncertainty of the days, go into
those new relationships knowing that Christ will be
there: “He goes before you. There you will see Him."
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For
empty-nester and single-agains, for widows and widowers,
even in the aloneness, you will discover that “He
goes before you. There you will see Him.”
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In the
midst of all the career changing, downsizing, and
out-placing which is going on around us, go…knowing that
“Christ goes before you. There you will see Him.”
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And even
when we face the last crossing, the final transition,
the Galilee of death itself, we can go in peace, for
Christ goes before you through death into new life. And
there you will really “see Him, for you will see Him
just as He is.”
Tell my disciples…and Peter.
It’s the word of forgiveness and
redeeming grace.
It’s the word of inclusion and welcoming
grace.
It’s the word of promise and sending
grace.
And now, to bring it all down to
this table….
Here we gather to hear once again the
forgiving word, the welcoming word, the sending word of
grace. In the breaking of this bread, God’s forgiveness is
offered to you and me through the broken body and shed blood
of his son, our Savior, and we hear God speaking our name in
mercy and love. We offer this all-inclusive cup to all. All
are welcome here, all are welcome to receive God’s amazing
grace. And this bread and cup empower us, for they send us
in the promise of the Christ who journeys with us through
all of life, the Christ who goes with us into whatever life
may bring.
A couple more verses from our closing
hymn which are not in the hymnal. They offer the invitation
to this table, the table of grace. Here, at this table:
There is grace enough for thousands of
new worlds as great as this;
there is room for fresh creations in
that upper home of bliss.
There is plentiful redemption in the
blood that has been shed;
there is joy for all the members in
the sorrow of the Head.
Was there ever a kinder shepherd, half
so gentle, half so sweet?
As the Savior who would have us come
and gather at his feet?
Tell my disciples…and Peter.
One more “mother” story. It’s the story
of an old woman in the Appalachian Mountains who had a flock
of children and scores of grandchildren and
great-grandchildren. Someone asked which one she loved best.
She said she loved them all the same. But the questioner
continued to press, “There must be one you love just a
little more than all the others.” She thought for a moment
and then said, “Yes, I guess there is one I love more than
all the rest…it’s the one who is sick. I love the sick one
the most. Then, when he gets well, I love them all the
same.”
Tell the sick one…tell Peter.
Note:
The hymn quoted in several places is #121
in the United Methodist Hymnal. The additional verses and
information on the writer were found at
www.markmcallister.com/hymn.htm.
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