St George's Cathedral, Cape Town

A Sermon preached by the Reverend Bruce W. B. Jenneker in the Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr, Cape Town, at Evensong on Sunday 18 January 2009, the Feast of the Confession of St Peter

Our celebration of the Confession of St Peter is informed by a scene from the last chapter of the Fourth Gospel. In it the risen Jesus appears to the disciples on the lakeside as they share a morning meal after a long night of fishing. This last chapter of John's Gospel is perhaps the most controversial of its 21 chapters. Some scholars argue that chapter 21 must be seen as an epilogue or addendum of sorts, the real climax of the Gospel coming with Thomas' declaration, 'My Lord and my God,' at the end of Chapter 20. How did the disciples so quickly get from behind locked doors where they had hidden themselves in fear back to the lakeshore and their fishing? How is it that they still do not recognise Jesus, having seen their risen Saviour several times already? Why this called the third appearance when Jesus has already appeared three times in chapter 20? Over against these questions, other scholars point out that there is absolutely no change in the vocabulary, grammar and style of this last chapter, it is of a piece with the rest of the Fourth Gospel.

The lakefront breakfast scene which is the content of our Second Lesson, is also the focus of much scholarly debate. The Greek words used here by Jesus and by Peter are problematic and interpreting them is difficult. To complicate the matter further, in the Greek text of the New Testament, Jesus and Peter use more than one word for 'love' in their conversation. On the other hand, it must be noted that Peter and Jesus would most probably have been talking to each other in Aramaic, and therefore the subtle nuances of Greek usage could not have been present in their discussion.

This is a controversial chapter and makes for exciting study and research. But none of that is our focus tonight. Peter was passionate and impulsive, deeply loyal and disappointingly inconstant. There was nothing about him of the arcane academic or disciplined analyst. He was all fire and fury, rushing headlong into a commitment he fully intends but is tragically unable to keep. It is Peter the person that we want to discover tonight. Peter, Christ's follower, his stalwart friend and the rock on which he built his Church. Peter, to whom Jesus turns and says, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these.”

Jesus does not address Peter by the name he has given him. It is to Simon, son of John, that Jesus addresses himself. Jesus uses his family name, with his patronymic, identifying Simon by the name he holds in the world and by which the world knows him. “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Jesus asks. It is not by the name that Jesus has given him in affection that Jesus addresses Peter, not by the name that sets him apart for this task and gives him a unique place in this mission. No, it is not Peter that Jesus addresses, not Peter-the-rock-on-which-I-will-build-my-Church, not Peter chosen, not Peter blessed, not Peter entrusted. Not Peter, but Simon. Simon, son of John. Earthy and unrefined, raw and crude, the elemental, essential blood-sweat-and-tears Simon, he, the native of Bethsaida, the fisherman of the lakeside, the son of John

Jesus found Simon on the lakeshore, in his expected place going about the expected routine of his regular life. Are we ready, you and I, to recognize Jesus when he breaks into the hum-drum of the expected routine of our regular lives? Or can we only recognize him in the silences of our meditations, the incense-clouds of our worship, the penitence of our confessions, the urgency of our prayers. Jesus comes to us on our lakeshores, where we are mending our nets or pushing out our boats, or struggling with a heavy catch we cannot manage. Can we lift our eyes to see him? Can we hear his voice above the noise of our days?

There on the lakeshore Jesus speaks to Peter. What is it that is encompassed by the sweep of Jesus' hand as he asks this piercing question, “Simon,” Jesus asks, “do you love me more than these?” The familiar lakeshore, the fishing boats, the lake teeming with enough fish for an excellent catch, the touch of sea-worn wood, the smell of fish on the nets. “Do you love me more than these?” The familiar details of life, the security of a livelihood, a well-known place, a trusted routine, a livelihood? “Do you love me more than these?”

Or is Jesus asking Peter about the relationships he cherishes and not about things and the livelihood they represent? “Do you love me more than these,” Jesus asks - more than you love your bother Andrew, or Philip, or Nathaniel, or James and John. Do you love me more than the relationships that identify you, give your personality its shape, define the range of who you are? Do you love me more than the friendships that support you, the bonds that strengthen you, the connections that encourage you, the affiliations that delineate the contours of your identity? “Do you love me more than these?”

Or is Jesus asking Peter whether his love is greater than the love of any of the others? Is Jesus asking, Simon do you love me more than any of the rest of them love me? Is your love deeper, more lasting, more encompassing, laying hold of the whole of you? Do you love me more than anyone and more than anything else?

Simon, Jesus asks, Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these? So too Jesus asks me and Jesus asks you. Do you love him more than the ordinary details that give your life its shape and make your life secure? Can you confront those details? Do they have your primary loyalty? Are you beholden to them? Jesus asks, “Do you love me more than these?” And the relationships that strengthen, encourage and support you, can you look them in the face, examine their importance to you, consider, assess and judge them? Do they claim your primary loyalty, Jesus asks, “Do you love me more than these?” And is your love the greatest love, offered to meet the greatest love of all? Or is there something held back, kept in reserve?

Ultimately it is this love upon which the Church is built – this is the rock. It is nothing less than the recognition that Jesus is the Love that made the Universe, that Jesus is the Love that saves the Universe, and that Jesus is the Love that holds the Universe together. In this is God made manifest among us and in history, that Love became flesh and took up residence among us to penetrate our history with the light of love that restores and redeems all things. It is love that comes seeking us, inviting us to love.

It would be easy to reduce a confession to a theological affirmation or adherence to a particular doctrine. What we celebrate in Peter's Confession is an avowal, that in Jesus Christ the love of God has come to seek and find us, to embrace us and bless us with abundant new life. By God's grace, may we embrace that love with all that we are and all that we can become.

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