John begins his epilogue here, or at least that’s what biblical scholars call it, an epilogue, because it’s almost like he’s starting a new storyline . . . last week we read the end of chapter 20, and it sure soundedlike the end of the story: ”Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” It’s almost as if you could add a “The End” to it, or an “Amen,” like it’s the end of a sermon.
Now we find out that it’s not over after all, and in fact scholars think Chapter 21 was added at a later date, perhaps by John himself and perhaps by someone else. And what I like about it is that whoever addedit doesn’t carewhether we know it or not. For better or worse, he lets the seams show, something that in our days of artistic finesse is a big no-no.
Of course, it’s always possible that the original ending was really obvious, something like “and so endeth the tale of Jesus, his life, death and resurrection, the end,” but I don’t think so I just think whoever it was didn’t care one way or another. Or maybe—just maybe—the disjunction is part of what the author is trying to say, that it has some intrinsic theological value, like see: this is an ongoing, dynamic faith, with different remembrances, different stories, but it’s still the same never-ending tale . . . the faith will goon.
Whatever the case, John begins the epilogue to his Gospel with a deceptively simple statement: “After these things, Jesus showed himself again to the disciples” and the phrase “these things”—ambiguous though it is—is one of the biggest understatements of the last couple of thousand years . . . what a lot of “things” they are . . . a tiny thing called the crucifixion, a small event we call the resurrection, multiply-attested appearances by a supposedly-dead rabbi, little things like that . . . and it’s likely John had many other “things” in mind . . . the miraculous birth, the tramping and teachings in Judea and Galilee, and all those miracles, all those seven signs.
And one of the biggest of “these things” had happened after the crucifixion in the upper room, where the disciples were gathered for fear of the Romans and the religious authorities, and at that time, Jesus appeared to them—twice, on successive weekends—and the big “thing” he did thenwas commissionthem as apostles (from the Greek apostolos, “person sent forth”), conferring upon them the Holy Spirit in the process. And does it seem a little weird to you all that after all this, Peter and the others say “I’m going fishing?” It’s like they’ve simply returned to their old lives. Did they lose their nerve? Are they confused and unsure about where to begin, and so retreat to the place they know best, to get their bearings?
Or maybe they’re ashamed at how badly they messed things up when it mattered. They alldeserted Jesus in the end, but Peter is the deserter in chief. After vowing he would never deny Jesus, he did it exactly thatthree times, and his shame must have been deep. And Jesus’ resurrection may have made it even worse, because it highlighted Peter’s lack of faith and brought him face to face with the one he abandoned. Perhaps that’s what sent himhome to more familiar shores.
Whatever the case, just as Mary didn’t know the risen Christ at first—she mistook him for the gardener—Peter and company don’t recognize him, at least at first. And in fact, this is a themeamong the post-resurrection stories . . . Luke tells us two of Jesus’ other followers spend a whole trek to Emmaus deep in conversation with him and still don’t get who he is, and all this has led to speculation that Jesus didn’t look like he did before the crucifixion. And here in John, it’s stranger still . . . first of all Peter and his buddies had seen the post-resurrection Jesus before, twice! And they stilldon’t knowhim? What . . . did he change how he looked between his upper-room appearances and there on the beach? Did he shave off his beard or cut off his hair? Does he disguise his voicewhen he calls from the beach?
But wait . . . it gets even more weird. After the disciple whom Jesus loves recognizes him, sending Peter naked into the water in his excitement, and after they’d hauled a record one hundred and fifty-three fish out of the boat and Jesus cooks them breakfast, John tells us that “none of the disciples dared to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ because they knew it was the Lord.” HUH? If they already knew who it was, why would they even think to ask“Who are you? And why would John feel the need to tell us this in the first place? It only makes sense if the risen Jesus looks significantly different, so asking, “Who are you?” would arise as an option in the firstplace. And yet, different as he may appear, he’s nevertheless recognized by his companions over a breakfast of fish and bread– was that they remember the bread and fish with which they fed a crowd of five thousand?
All this has led some scholars to think that Jesus looked very different now that he’s been resurrected. It’s especially apparent here in John where it seems that Jesus’ resurrection is more than mere resuscitation, which makes sense, in a way: the resurrection, the eighth sign in John’s gospel, blows all the others away, especiallythe seventh sign: the resurrection of Lazarus, which John is at pains to make clearisjust that: the reanimation of a physical body. Jesus’ resurrection is of a completely different order; he’s back, but in a completely different way.
His followers don’t recognize him by how he looks, but by what he does:In Emmaus, it’s in the eucharistic breaking of the bread; in the garden he calls Mary by name;in the upper room he shows them his wounds and breathes upon them the Spirit of Life; and here on the shoreline, he provides for them miraculously andabundantly, before sitting down to anothereucharistic meal. Now we understand a little better what Jesus might have meant by “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” What is it that they have not seen, and how have they nevertheless come to belief?
If Jesus didn’t look like . . . Jesus . . . if he didn’t look like the guy who’d tramped around Palestine with them for three years, changed water into wine and healed the blind man at Siloam’s pool, who did he looklike? A random Emmaus-road stranger? A cultivator of Gethsemane’s garden? How about a wandering vagabond, camped out on a Galilee beach? Hmmm . . . is this a symbolic way of showing the reality of Jesus within each and every one of us? What if it’s like this: the disciples meet a stranger and only afterhe acts like Jesus—feeding them, creating abundancefor them, loving them—do they seeJesus in them? After all, Jesus doessay that he will be in us and we in him . . .
Unlike Matthew and Luke, John does not have an ascension scene, he doesn’t show Jesus physically leaving the earthly plane to be “at the right hand of God the Father” as they do. I wonder: is it John’s intention to show Jesus living on in each and every one of us? And if so, what does that say about Jesus’ present-daypresence in the church? Do people only see the resurrected Christ when we allow him to live through us?
After feeding his disciples Jesus takes Peter aside and asks him if he loves him, and Peter—feeling guilty and more than a little defensive—answers “Yes, Lord; you knowthat I love you.” Jesus answers “Feed my lambs.” A secondtime Jesus says, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” and when Peter againanswers “You know that I do,” Jesus says “Tend my sheep.” And a third time: “Do you love me?” “You know I do.” “Feed my sheep.” And it’s not a coincidence that three times, Peter denied Jesus, and now, three times, Jesus asks him to profess his love. Jesus knows very well what’s going on, that Peter is a flawed vessel, but he nevertheless tells him: tend my flock. He nevertheless makes him the shepherd—like Jesus, the leader—of the nascent church.
This is John’s version of the scene over in Matthew where Jesus declares Peter the rock upon which he will build his church; there, it’s based on Peter’s declaration, his acknowledgementthat Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Here, it’s based on something else: it’s based on love. Three times Peter messes up and denies the Lord, three times he declares his love, and three times Jesus names him shepherd. With this three-part—trinitarian?—declaration, Jesus is saying that not only does he choose Peter in spite ofhow he’s messed up but because of it. Only one who knows failure, only one who knows fallibility, only one who knows doubt can ever hope to be a compassionate shepherd of thisflock.
And that’s how it is with us today. Jesus comes to us where we are, aswe are, and he says “You’re worried you’ve let me down, that you’ve been disqualified, but on the contrary: you’rethe ones I’ve chosen. Do you really think I didn’t know your weaknesses when I called you? I knew you better than you knew yourself, and I called you and taught you and sent you, and now I send you again. Stop thinking in terms of limitations, of empty nets, and what you can and cannot do! I come that you might have life, and have it abundantly! Look at all these fish, filling the net to overflowing! Gather them up, take courage, and go!” Amen.
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