FOLLOW ME
Acts 9:1-6,
(7-20) Psalm
30
Revelation 5:11-14 John 21:1-19
I admit to being somewhat partial to the story of Jesus waiting on the
shore, the fire crackling, and getting together a meal for the weary
disciples. As I was growing up, there were only a very few times
we did things as a family that were special. Three come to mind
and one of those was an early morning fishing trip to the river.
Dad built a fire and while he and my older brother went to fish, Mom
proceeded to put a pot of coffee on to boil and get the cast iron
skillet hot for cooking up a large breakfast. That memory comes
back when I hear this story and it casts a glow of warmth and caring
over the scene. I can almost smell the smoke of the fire and the
water, hear the early morning songs of frogs and water insects, see the
birds circling overhead, hoping for an easy meal. Our physical
senses are important for remembering, for connecting with the world in
which we move and live.
Perhaps that is why Jesus attends to the physical needs of those he meets with such grace.
The ways in which Jesus appears to people after his Resurrection are as
varied and misread as those before he is, through his death, revealed
as the Christ, God's Messiah. Just standing back and taking in
the wider scene, we observe how sensual, how physical his
self-revelation is to those to whom he appears. Whether in the
Garden, admonishing Mary to let him go, or in the Upper Room, inviting
Thomas to thrust his hand into his wounds; whether breaking bread with
the travelers to Emmaus, or cooking up a batch of fish on the open fire
on the shore of Galilee, Jesus meets folks where they are, touches them
where they hurt, addresses their deepest needs, and invites them to
forsake the tomb in which they are trapped in exchange for real life
with all its challenges. The word for that is conversion.
While following Christ can be difficult and even risky, God is with us
in our calling. A wonderful and legendary hymn with many
variations that is usually sung at ordinations is St. Patrick's Breastplate or Lorica. It is also called The Cry of the Deer.
One ancient tradition tells that Patrick and his companion missionaries
were traveling to the court of King Laoghhaire. Along the way,
waiting in ambush, were Druid henchmen who intended to attack and kill
Patrick and his followers. As they walked, they chanted the Lorica and
as they passed the would-be attackers, they appeared as a doe and
twenty fawns – hence the alternate title. The nature of the hymn
speaks of God with us in our vocation, our living out eternal,
meaningful life. One adaption is set in the form of a traditional
Irish blessing:
God be beside you when you walk, in your voice when you talk,
in your eyes when you see, in your ears when you hear
in your heart when you pray, in your mind when you think
and in your hands when you touch.
In every sense may it be that God is with you eternally.
Celtic Christianity is noted for its earthiness, its
pervasive presence in daily life – as well as a touch of the magical –
and draws much of its power from trust in a present and caring
God. We would do well to keep that piece of our heritage alive in
our own time as we face the challenges of walking our 21st century
paths.
Conversion is not a measure of how "nice" and well-mannered we are;
conversion is about opened eyes, opened ears, opened hands, opened
hearts. It is lived out in the grittiness of everyday life.
I wonder how Saul must have felt as he rode toward Damascus.
Although he breathed the fire of anger and hatred, I imagine he felt he
was doing God's work in attempting to eradicate this sect called The
Way. Then he is suddenly knocked from his horse, eyesight gone in
an instant – perhaps a bolt of lightning? Saul surely felt great
fear and a sense of being ill-used as he struggled to make sense of
what was happening. It seems so sterile to hear the event
described in Luke's record but Saul, lying there in the dirt, demoted
in an instant from a mighty if misguided warrior to a blind, confused
beggar cries out in words of uncertain confession, “Who are you, Lord?”
Conversion can be threatening.
What was going through their minds when in the early morning mist,
through the tired eyes of the fruitless efforts of an all-nighter, the
disciples in the boat see Jesus on the shore? Interestingly, John
uses the Roman name for the Sea of Galilee, Sea of Tiberias. John
also gives some perplexing images: “It is the Lord; none of the
disciples dared ask him 'Who are you' because they knew it was the
Lord.” But my favorite has to be Simon Peter putting his clothes ON
before jumping into the sea to swim ashore! Excitement,
confusion, visceral emotion! John suggests a great deal of
turmoil in this meeting.
Conversion can be confusing.
And then there is Peter, the shamed; the betrayer whose braggadocio
turned sour in the campfires of those gathered around the High Priest's
home that fateful night – has it only been a couple of weeks?
Surely that was a lifetime ago. Maybe the guilt reflects in his
eyes from the glow of this early morning fire that Jesus has
made. Peter, come with me for a bit and let's talk.
Simon, I can see you love these men and they love and look up to
you. Do you love me more than these? Feed my lambs.
Simon, do you love me? Tend my sheep. Simon, do you love
me? Feed my sheep. Follow me.
Conversion can be costly.
Those who read Morning Prayer each day will know that this last
Thursday, in addition to its infamy as tax day is also the day on which
we celebrate the life of Damien in our Lesser Feasts and Fasts.
In the 1800's, the Hawaiian Islands suffered a severe leprosy epidemic,
which was dealt with largely by isolating lepers on the island of
Molokai. They were simply dumped there and left to fend for
themselves. The crews of the boats carrying them there were
afraid to land, so they simply came in close and forced the lepers to
jump overboard and scramble through the surf as best they could.
Ashore, they found no law and no organized society, simply desperate
persons waiting for death. A Belgian missionary priest, Joseph
Van Veuster (Damien of the Fathers of the Sacred Heart), born in 1840,
came to Hawaii in 1863, and in 1873 was sent at his own request to
Molokai to work among the lepers. He organized burial details and
funeral services, so that death might have some dignity. He
taught the people how to grow crops and feed themselves better.
He organized a choir, and got persons to sing who had not sung in years.
From the moment he had stepped ashore in the settlement, Damien
disregarded warnings made by the board and his superiors concerning
infection. “Be careful not to expose yourself to catching this
awful disease,” his provincial had cautioned. Yet Damien could
see no alternative. Every month, the settlers endured visits from
skittish doctors, legislators, and clergymen whose detestation of the
disease was obvious. Damien decided that he must not be seen as
similarly fearful. How could he refrain from embracing the
members of his congregation, or touching a dying patient with oil, or
laying the host on the offered tongue of the communicant? To be a
genuine priest, he concluded, he had to behave as if the disease held
no power over him. Within days of arriving, Damien abandoned all
safeguards. A board physician later wrote, “Fr. Damien took no
precautions whatever. In the kindness of his nature, he never
forbade lepers from entering his house; they had access to it any time,
night and day.” Others observed Damien eating from communal bowls
of poi, sharing his pipe with patients, and bandaging “the most
frightful wounds as though he were handling flowers.”
There was already a small chapel on the island. It proved too
small, and with the aid of patients he built a larger one, which soon
overflowed every Sunday. Damien contracted leprosy himself in
1885, but continued to work there until his death on 15 April 1889.
The Irish blessing I shared a moment ago has a second part:
May the power of God guide you, The might of God uphold you,
The wisdom of God teach you, The eye of God watch over you,
The ear of God hear you, The word of God give you speech,
The hand of God protect you, The way of God go before you,
The shield of God shelter you.
– Adapted from the Lorica by St. Patrick
Jesus is not “somewhere out there” nor is he a nice figure
from history. And he is surely not the smooth-faced, blue-eyed
icon of romantic idealism. Rather, he is found among us in the
outcast, the hungry, the ill, the grieving, those who are our family
and our friends, those whom we meet at work, at play, and yes, even at
worship.
Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? Follow me.
Conversion is the door to life eternal and is found in the open invitation to all, “Come, let's eat.”
Amen
The
Rev. John Dryden Burton
St.
James Episcopal Church
Springfield,
Missouri
Easter III - 18 April 2010