Fishers of Men Again

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Hi Friends,

I don’t want to jam up your inbox so here’s several messages in one package.

Substack recently informed me that I’m #51 on the Faith and Spirituality Leaderboard (It goes up and down). That an End Times prophecy charlatan is parked in the One Spot is kibble for the Old Adam in me. As an Enneagram 8, my first thought was, “I’ve got to overtake this a@# clown.”

To that end, and if you’re so inclined, Substack has set up a deal. Become a paid subscriber before the end of May, and you’ll get 25% off. It’s cheaper than everything but Tubi so no complaints— don’t make me play the Cancer Card.

Here’s the link.

A few other housekeeping items:

I will be on Substack Live two times today1:

Will Willimon, Tony Robinson, and I will be talking about Fleming Rutledge’s work (for a project) at 2:00 EST. Join us here.

Rabbi Joseph, Ken Jones, and I will convene at 3:30 EST. We hope to make this a regular gig with the three of us. Join us here.

I just returned from a few days in the Twin Cities as a part of the Making Meaning Project with Ryan Burge and Tony Jones. A half dozen of us reviewed the data last week. The project is funded by a Templeton grant and has collected the largest trove of data on the Nones heretofore surveyed. Look for future posts and if you have questions, let me know.

Sneak Peak: The Nones are not who you think.

And: The folks who say they’re Spiritual But Not Religious aren’t either.

Now for the post with the most:

John 21.1-19

It is a marvel of our forgetfulness that we imagine the church was birthed in Paschal triumph.

The tomb was empty but the first Easter alleluia was not full-throated. The women ran from his grave, terrified by the angel’s news, never to share the resurrection word. The disciples on the road to Emmaus— having witnessed the death of God, decide to return home. The gospel’s chief apostle began his vocation “breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord,” hardly an auspicious start to the faith. Meanwhile the conclusion to the Gospel of John reminds us the church was born in failure. After everything — after healings and exorcisms, after the raising of Lazarus, after the foot-washing and the ghastly death — the disciples are back in the boat. They’ve gone fishing. They’ve returned to the nets they laid down “immediately” upon Christ’s call.

When the world turns out not to be what you hoped, you do what you know.

You go “fishing.”

You survive.

Stanley Hauerwas writes, "The church is not the place of safety but the place of risk." They go fishing not because they are wicked, but because they are unimaginative.

The unimaginative Peter who brought a sword with him to the Garden of Gethsemane— so much for following the Prince of Peace— is the same pedestrian Peter who responds to the Death-shattering news of resurrection by attempting to resume his former life.

Just like us.

Unlike us, the risen Christ does not shame them for this failure of imagination.

Jesus does something far worse than scold, own, or troll them.

He calls them again.

He catches them, so to speak, again.

Indeed he must call the called anew.

If the Father had not raised him from the dead, then every moment he spent with the disciples was merely a lesson in godforsakeness.

As Wolfhart Pannenberg writes:

“The divine confirmation of Jesus in the Easter event extends also to his earthly ministry and on this basis to his proclamation of the divine rule and of its coming with himself. The implied claim of Jesus for his own person— namely, that the future of God is present in and by him— no longer seems to be human arrogance in the light of the Easter event. The resurrection of Jesus now gives confirmation that already in his earthly ministry he acted on the Father’s authority… the confirmatory thrust of the resurrection is that the Easter event has retroactive force…it confirmed not only his message and work but Jesus himself.”

The empty tomb casts everything that led to the cross in Easter light.

To word of Golgotha, Peter had recoiled. And Jesus had replied, “Get behind me, Satan!” Just so— of course— the risen Jesus had to call Peter all over again.

A surprise from my pilgrimage to the Holy Land a few years ago— Capernaum was an incredibly tiny village on the Sea of Galilee. The shore where Jesus of Nazareth called them to follow him was in shouting distance of the home of Peter’s mother-in-law. Likewise, the place where the risen Jesus summons them to follow him once again is the very spot on the beach where Mary’s boy had first invited them to become “fishers of men.”

Just as in the beginning, when he had called them from their nets, so now he calls them again — but this time after they know full well what following him means. Which is to say: they no longer have the excuse of ignorance.

The American church loves a second chance. We are a people addicted to second chances because we think grace means getting to do what we were doing before, but with a clean conscience.

Jesus doesn’t offer Peter a second chance.

He offers him death.

"When you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go."

You thought the gospel was your ticket to living your best life now?

Welcome to the kingdom!

Here’s your cross.

Easter is not the escape from Jesus’ cruciform life.

Easter is its vindication.

As Robert Jenson puts it, “The gospel is not that we can have life without death, but that death is not the final word.” Peter’s restoration is not psychological therapy. Jesus doesn't sit Peter down and say, "You need to forgive yourself." He doesn't tell Peter that it’s okay, that everybody makes mistakes. He simply asks him, "Do you love me?" And because Peter is still Peter, all raw nerve and compulsive speech, he says yes— but notice how the yes becomes more painful with each asking.

Love is not a feeling.

It is not a sincerity test.

It is being conscripted into a life that is no longer your own.

"Feed my sheep." "Tend my lambs." "Feed my sheep." That is, take responsibility for a people you did not choose and would not choose, a people who will devour you as you try to feed them, a people prone to wandering, wolves, and lostness.

Ministry is not heroism. Ministry is not therapy. Ministry is not managerial efficiency.

Ministry is the slow martyrdom of tending to people who have no idea how to want what God wants for them.

And that, in case you missed it, is not a job description just for pastors. It is the vocation of the whole church. To love the world— and especially the very people who betray you, misunderstand you, and bore you— because Christ has fed us first.

Jesus’ breakfast on the beach is not sentimental. It is a foretaste of the Eucharist: a meal that gives life precisely because it costs life. Every time Christians so gather, we are not celebrating ourselves. We are rehearsing our death. "This is my body, broken for you." "This is my blood, poured out for you." And if you dare eat and drink, you are signing up for that life.

Peter’s restoration by Jesus on the beach (“Feed my lambs”) is exactly why John’s gospel does not include the Last Supper.

This is that.

Jesus says to Peter— and to us— not “Be successful.” Not “Fix the church.” He says, simply, “Follow me.” Follow me— into the company of the unlovable. Follow me— into the foolishness of feeding sheep who bite. Follow me— into death.

Resurrection is not an escape from death. Resurrection is God's refusal to let death have the final word. Which means we who follow the risen Christ must be a people who have already died to the lies of this world— the lies of safety, of success, of self-fulfillment — so that we can become a people made strange, a people made free, a people who know what love costs.

It’s no wonder we prefer to go fishing.

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1

We’ll be transitioning to Substack Live for the pods too, FYI.