Third Sunday of Easter

Lectionary: 48

Jesus said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”
Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him,
“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.“Cast the net over the right side of the boat and you will find something.”

The Jansenist/Presbyterian strain of Christianity that has afflicted the Church since the seventeenth century stressed the sovereign authority of a supreme god who needed nothing from us. He would judge each person closely, weighing their every thought, word, and deed against the standards of his own perfection. Not many should expect to pass this close inspection; the majority of people were doomed from the start. If a very bold journalist were to question this unapproachable magistrate and ask, "Would you prefer to be loved or feared?" the answer would be feared. 

That image of God arose out of the human experience of the life of many people, especially of the poor. As the ancient freedoms of peasants were curtailed; their property confiscated by debtors; their agrarian labor straitened into manufacturing; their income reduced to bare subsistence; and they relocated from country cottages to urban tenements, they could not love the authorities. With the ever-widening gap between poverty and wealth resentments had to be contained by violent threats and severe punishment. 

The church often conspired in this oppression as it urged people to accept their hardship and avoid every form of violence . Until the 1891 encyclical of Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum, the Church opposed organized labor. Rather, she urged the wealthy to give to the poor; and the poor, to be grateful for charity. They should love their betters. 

When I grew up in the early 1950's, although unions had grown powerful and the right to organize was honored in the United States, the image of God and the experience of authority had not changed. In those postwar years, jobs were scarce and wages were minimal. However, the prosperity of the 1960's allowed the poor to hope for economic and social progress. They might own their own home and pursue a better life through inexpensive education. Millions of veterans received bachelors, masters and doctoral degrees in the newly flourishing universities. The ancient wealth gap was actually narrowing for a while as union leaders confronted capitalists across negotiating tables. A rising tide floated all boats. 

And the image of God suddenly became more humane, more endearing, more like Jesus of Nazareth. We imagined supreme power as shared by a Triune God who radiated compassionate, sympathetic love. 

Suddenly, "the love of God" meant God's love for me, rather than my love for God. The image of a severe old man remained somewhat fearful for those with unhealed memories, but the invitation was clear: "Come to God's love!" Competing churches within a consumer culture radiated friendly hospitality. They were nonjudgmental, gracious, and open to everyone regardless of their criminal past or religious beliefs. Bowing to market forces, Protestantism became non-denominational; and Catholicism abjured its Latin obscurity to pray with the faithful in their native languages. 

In today's gospel, Jesus's repeated question, "Do you love me?" made the Apostle Peter very uncomfortable. The powerful smell of burning charcoal reminded the disciple of his thrice repeated denial in Herod's court by another charcoal fire. "Sure I love you!" he said once and twice. Why would I not love you? Aren't we good friends? Buddies? I know you love me! 

But the third question pierced his defensiveness. It might bother us also. The Lord asks you and me twenty centuries later, "Do you love me?"  

The preacher might insist Jesus, the Son of God, has earned our love by his passion and death and the promise of salvation, but love is not earned. It is simply given. Nor is love given at first sight. We have seen him like a tramp on the street,

...spurned and avoided by men,
a man of suffering, knowing pain,
Like one from whom you turn your face,
spurned, and we held him in no esteem.

The dominant, secular culture, in its relentless pursuit of growth and security, despises wretchedness. They see neither him nor his misery. But we are lingering idly by this charcoal fire, fishing to pass the time, enjoying an unexpected leisure with the Lord. And then we're asked, "Do you love me?" 

The question might be, "If you were arrested for being a Christian, would they have enough evidence to convict you?" Do you sacrifice time, talent, and treasure with his Church? Does your love actually make a difference, or is it merely spiritual? 

Our all-powerful, all-sufficient, ever-resourceful God has turned to us like an anxious spouse or a whimpering child and asked, "Do you love me?"