This sermon was preached on the 4th of May 2025, The Third Sunday of Easter, in the Anglican Parish of Kalamunda-Lesmurdie.
Texts:
Hearing today’s Gospel, I think of Peter, and I find myself reflecting on just how difficult the path to reconciliation and forgiveness can be. When you’ve done something wrong, and you know it, it’s can be hard to accept forgiveness. And when you’ve done something very, very wrong, it can be hard to believe that even the possibility of forgiveness exists.
This morning, let’s walk, imaginatively, alongside Peter, starting on Maundy Thursday.
That night, Jesus and the disciples were gathered together at table: gathered together at table, on the cusp of tragedy and death. And on that night, Peter, always one to act first and think second, committed to Jesus: “I will lay my life down for you.”
And we all know the reply of Jesus: you will deny me three times. You will deny me three times, and then the cock will crow. Well, how did Peter feel? Did he feel shock, or surprise? Or did he know in his heart that Jesus spoke a secret truth – that he lacked courage, that he was not truly willing to suffer for his master, his lord, his friend?
And then suddenly, all too suddenly, the mob was there, and Jesus was captured and taken away. I can almost picture the mob vanishing off into the night, bearing away Jesus… the light of their torches dwindling away into flickers in the distance, the sound of their shouts swallowed by the night.
And then Peter and the other disciple followed. Imagine that experience, hurrying off into the darkness, and the darkness wrapping itself around him. And a cold coming upon him, a cold whose origins were more evil than mere weather and damp. Peter found himself feeling very much alone.
And then he caught up with the mob… and he sat down with them. He sat down with them, and he warmed himself at their fire, and sitting by that fire, he breathed in the deep, earthy scent of charcoal. And there he made his choice.
Peter chose the warmth of that fire, the safety of his own person, over love and fidelity to his lord and to his God. The cock crowed. And the next day, Jesus died upon the Cross.
And then, one morning, Mary Magdalene burst in, running, breathless, and she told Peter and the beloved disciple: “They have taken the Lord, and we do not know where they have laid him.”
Imagine that, imagine the shock and horror. Jesus has been killed, and now he has been denied, seemingly, the dignity of burial. And then Peter and the other disciple, they’re off running again, all the way to the tomb, and there they find that Jesus is indeed gone.
And I imagine that same cold returned: the same cold, the same evil chill, that he felt on the night of Jesus’ arrest. A cold that entered deep into his marrow, a cold that took away all hope, that took away any possibility of future joy. And Peter slunk away, back to his home.
And then, once more, Mary Magdalene burst into the room, again breathless, again running: “I have seen the Lord!”
“I have seen the Lord!” Words of utter joy! Words of Good News! Resurrection had burst forth into the world.
And yet the disciples remained huddled, huddled in a room, huddled in fear. Jesus had left the cave, Jesus had left his burial chamber: but the disciples had not left theirs.
And then, He was with them. Jesus was with them, and the disciples rejoiced as one.
But the Gospel says nothing of the experience of Peter himself. I am certain that he rejoiced…. but standing there in the room once more with Jesus, I imagine he also felt shame; I imagine he avoided the gaze of his Lord, his risen friend. I’m sure he wondered if he could ever be forgiven and restored.
This is where we meet Peter today. And he does a very good thing, a very human thing: he goes back, in a time of crisis, to what he knows, to what brings him simple joy. He goes back to the sea: he goes fishing. And he doesn’t go alone – he goes with his friends.
And that morning, out there, the air bore upon it a familiar scent: a scent he couldn’t quite make out, a scent he couldn’t quite place, a scent that made his heart ache, although he knew not why.
And then he heard a voice on the wind, he looked up, and saw a figure on the shore, a figure who called to his children, calling to his children tired and hungry and lacking in hope.
Jesus called gently to them, and instructed them how to fish. And so they followed. They cast their nets off to the right, they cast their nets off into the abundance of God.
They waded ashore, dragging the boat, dragging the net, a net swollen but not bursting, swollen with an unprecedented catch.
And there before Peter it stood: the charcoal fire.
All through Holy Week, I preached about remembering. Well, that morning, standing before the charcoal fire, Peter remembered. Peter smelled it, and he remembered his betrayal, his shame, his denial.
And then Jesus took bread, and gave it to them. Jesus took fish, and gave it to them. Peter, and the other disciples, each and every one, shared in the hospitality of God.
And so Jesus remembered them. Jesus put them back together. Jesus made them whole.
And that cold, that evil cold, that deep and horrible chill of desperation, of hopelessness, and shame, that left them forever, forever banished from them.
Peter denied Jesus three times. And Jesus replied, not with retribution, but with three opportunities for reconciliation, with three forgivings, with three commissions.
This is our God! This is the very God who took upon themself sin and death, the worst that we can do, and replied not with retribution, but with eternal life.
Peter rejected Jesus, our very God, three times. And three times, Jesus replied to that with love. It puts a lump in my throat. How great is our God! Well, it’s still Easter, so let’s have some alleluias! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
The truth is that what Jesus did for Peter, he did for all of the disciples. He does it for us. He looked upon them with love, total and uncompromising love. And then he fed them, in the deepest and most profound way. And so he does for us. So you he does for you, for us all.
Many of us, most of us, maybe even all of us, have experienced a moment when we thought we were beyond forgiveness.
Maybe beyond the forgiveness of a family member, maybe beyond the forgiveness of a friend, beyond the forgiveness of someone we love dearly. Even beyond the forgiveness of God.
And in those moments we can feel that we are beyond hope. But in the deepest sense, the very deepest sense, that is never, ever true.
For God’s capacity to forgive is without bound; God’s hospitality and care and love is without limit.
This is what Peter came to know, and to live, and to embrace. And so, he didn’t feel the need to hide his story. All four Gospels tell of the denial of Peter, that he failed, that he broke in his discipleship. And surely that is because Peter told that story – a bittersweet story that ended with him forgiven, that ended with him transformed, freed from guilt, freed from pride, freed from shame.
Peter, and the disciples, passed through death, and into resurrection. We are called to do the same: that is the very heart of baptism. Death and sin, these things hold no more sway over us. So let us not fear them, for God’s grace, and hospitality, and love, are with us, forever and ever, world without end.
Embrace the example of Peter.
Don’t deny your sin: confess it to God, and God will reply always with charity and love.
Let go of shame, let go of guilt, let go of pride.
Go forth, and fear no darkness.
Arise, as Jesus arose!