Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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   Insurance companies have salvage departments. They pay you for your home (which has burned) or for your automobile (which has wrecked) and get what they can for what is left. They'll search your home for stuff that would seem worthless: usable pieces of lumber, old bricks, restorable items of furniture. Your car they'll sell for parts and, finally, for scrap. It's the grungy side of the insurance business, but it's always surprising how much income an insurance company Salvage Department contributes to the bottom line.
   This odd breakfast by the sea, following which Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him, and Peter says, "Yes" three times - this is a salvage operation. This is taking something which appears worthless and finding value in it. Only, in this case, Jesus is salvaging a man - Simon Peter, the great fisherman. He will need him. He will need him to fish for men. He will need him to head the early Christian church. And he will need him to die a martyr's death. Jesus often conducts salvage operations.
   Peter has reached bottom, at this point. All his stupid boasting and bravado has come back to haunt him. He can no longer carry on his elaborate charade, can no longer pretend, after his denial of Christ, that he is somehow wise, or good, or righteous. All that is BS, has always been, but now everyone knows it. He will have to find self-esteem some other way.
   What's going on here is clear in Jesus' first question, "…do you love me more than these?" It refers to the other disciples, and (for clarity) should be understood as "…do you still claim to love me more than these others love me?" It is a stinging put-down. Jesus cuts to the quick. For, you remember, Peter's last foolish boast to Jesus, before the crucifixion, had been that even if all the other disciples should deny Jesus, he never would - rudely implying that his love and devotion were greater than the others'. But, of course, he had denied him, just as Jesus had said he would. Three times. And heard that awful cock crow. And saw himself true for the first time.
   And now, on the beach, by the wonderful grace of God, Peter is given three chances to make it right, one for each denial, and to get on with his life -- three painful questions which would make Peter a new man, and a towering human being, a saint for all the ages.
   Harry Miles used to tell the story of a very shy boy and a very shy girl who had been dating for some time, and although they were obviously fond of each other, always had trouble making conversation. In fact, she worried that he might never get up the nerve to propose marriage. One night they got into the car, and drove and drove for miles in silence, until finally he blurted out, "Will you marry me?" And she said, "Yes." And then they drove on, for miles and miles more, neither saying a word. Finally, exasperated, she said, "Aren't you going to say anything else?" He said, "I think I've said too much already."
   Sometimes it's important to say things, and to say them more than once - to affirm and reaffirm our love, our commitments, our covenants. That is another reason why Jesus put the question to Peter three times. So it would register. So he would remember. So he would never again have any question as to how it was that he was chosen to lead the church. I know that educators, today, frown on repetition and memorization. They say we don't learn much if we only learn it "by rote." But we have another expression for memorizing. We say we learn something "by heart." The educators are right, of course. There's no benefit in learning something just so that we can parrot it back, like some kind of digital recording, sound for sound. But there is great benefit in learning important things by heart. Bible verses. Wedding vows. Prayers. Words of apology. Words of forgiveness. Things that are from the heart and belong to the heart. And nowhere is this need for affirmation and reaffirmation more necessary than in the area of repentance and forgiveness. (Which is what this breakfast-at-the-beach is all about.) It doesn't come naturally. We have to keep reminding ourselves that repentance is important, and changes things, and forgiveness is real, and gives us hope. And the two together keep us from being defined by our past sins and enable us, instead, to be defined by the God's love.
   Garrison Kielor, who likes to tell stories on the radio about his make-believe home town, "Lake Woebegon" tells of a man named Larry who was saved twelve times at the Lutheran Church. Keillor notes that that was especially unusual in a church that never had altar calls and hardly ever sang, "Just As I Am." He says, "Even we fundamentalists got tired of him. God didn't mean for you to feel guilty all your life. There comes a time when you should dry your tears and join the building committee and grapple with the problems of the church furnace and the church roof. But Larry kept repenting and repenting…." Well, certainly God does not want us to feel guilty all the time, but there is a sense in which we need to keep repenting and accepting repentance from others, and to keep being forgiven and forgiving others. Denying our sinfulness is in the nature of our condition, and never goes away. So, in one sense, like Larry, we need to be repenting and repenting - and being forgiven and forgiving. "Jesus died to save our sins. Glory to God, we're going to need him again." There is a tension in the truth here. An old church legend says that for the rest of his life, whenever Peter heard a cock crow, he would weep. But, if that were so, his tears would have been tears of sadness and tears of joy at the same time. In the one person, Jesus Christ, we see our sinfulness and God's grace in single package, all at once.
   Important to remember that Jesus forgives Peter not so that he can feel good about himself but so that he can serve. "Feed my sheep." Someone has said, we are freed from sin so that we will be free to serve. In fact, I would make the case that it is impossible to serve others effectively if we do not have our own "issues" worked out. That is the difference between do-gooders and good doers. The order is very clear in the New Testament: we repent, God forgives (that is to say, salvages us) and then we go forth in service to others. If it doesn't happen in that order, we become only do-gooders, well-intentioned but not successful, because we are plagued by our pasts, caught up in our own fears and resentments, and therefore not able really to help. As Jesus said, it is the blind leading the blind. Most of our efforts at social reform, at improving mankind, founders on this rock: unrepentant, unforgiven people trying to salvage others. Trying to fix others when we ourselves have not been fixed.
   On the other hand, genuine repentance and forgiveness do help us improve human life, helps us (for example) to escape from the cycles of resentment and revenge. First there was Ruby Ridge. Then there was Waco. Then there was Oklahoma City. Escalating revenge. A grudge is a hard thing to exorcise. Only sincere repentance and forgiveness get rid of it.
   A while back the New York Times ran an ad with a large picture of Jesus. Under the picture it asked, "How can you worship a homeless man on Sunday, and ignore one on Monday?" Actually, we worship Jesus in service to others. "Feed my sheep." You cannot disconnect the two. I love to watch the Cajun people dance. When that music starts, with the accordion and the fiddle, and the guitar, they just jump up from where they're sitting and start dancing - automatically - as if there were strings attached to them, pulling them up to their feet, compelling them to dance. That's the way it ought to be with Christian worship and Christian service. When we hear the music start - the music of repentance and forgiveness and newness of life - we ought to jump up and start serving others, automatically, compelled by the good news.
   When we know that we are forgiven, and that any good thing we may accomplish is not our own doing, but is God's working in a sinful person to do something good, we lose our fear. In other words, when we think goodness is up to us, we are afraid. For we can't live up to the Gospel all alone. A religion of the law, one that just says, "Be good," is no comfort at all. In fact, it stops us in our tracks. Joe Garagiola, former major-league catcher, and later a sports broadcaster, tells a great story about the day he had a young, and very shaky, pitcher on the mound. They came to a critical moment in the game, and (and of all things!) Stan Musual stepped up to the plate. "I gave my pitcher a signal," Garagiola says, "and he shook it off. So I gave him another signal, and he shook that off. Finally, I signaled for his favorite pitch, and he shook that off. I walked out to the mount and said to him, 'Well, what do you want to pitch?'" "Nothing. I just want to hold onto the ball as long as I can." When we're afraid, that's what we do: nothing. We don't serve others, we don't take chances, we don't make the necessary decisions. This new life which Jesus promised is a life without that kind of debilitating fear. Consider Peter before this event on the beach. He obviously felt inferior, afraid, and he tried to compensate for it with boasting and bragging. But finally, now, he breathes easier. He has been forgiven and encouraged, and he never again fails to throw a pitch. He has been salvaged. Not a lot to be proud of, but not a lot to live up to either. From now on Peter would focus not on himself but on Jesus, the one who does the salvaging, and never be afraid.