"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?"
He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep."
The third time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, "Do you love me?" He said, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you."
As usual, Mr. Oswald Chambers has said something that disagreed with my spiritual stomach. I never thought about whether I loved Jesus or not. I think I thought it was a given. Jesus loves me (this I know for the bible tells me so) and so I love Him back. No big deal. Basic Christianity One-oh-one. Then I wake up one morning to the question. "Lovest thou me?" Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.
So someone explain to me why my heart is deeply troubled by this exchange.
Maybe it's the results of the love. Feed my sheep. Not going to lie, the Lord's sheep have been too hungry for too long and I have not done a thing about it. Maybe it's spiritual hunger among believers, but I haven't helped out there. Maybe it's physical hunger among the poor, but I've only fed myself this summer. Maybe it's feeding comfort, peace and joy to the world, but I see the starvation and I do nothing. Who are these lambs? Are they the same as my neighbors? Knowing who they are may serve to decrease, or increase, my guilt. I look at my fruits, the results of that love that I claim, and find that if I love the Lord, I have loved Him very ill indeed.
But then, maybe I do love Him, because the point of Mr. Chambers' short devotion is that a question, asked repeatedly by the Lord, can cause hurt to the faithful, as Peter was hurt when Jesus asked a third time if he loved Him. 'You can't say nice things' when corned with the question- Jesus asks in such a way that niceties are unacceptable. And of course, this scares me, because the quiet whisper of, 'No,' is enough to shake my world apart. 'Do you love Me?' No, Lord. I never knew You either.
And yet, from whence comes this hurt? I'm free, aren't I? I mean, if Jesus means nothing more to me than some old, old dead guy who started a revolution a long time ago, then there's no need to feel sorry for my fellow humankind, Christians especially. They got themselves into their mess and I'll help them out when it's convenient, but there's always someone else to deal with it. I have no reason to care about another person. I can go on living my life focused on me and I can find my own happiness. I can plan my own plans, go my own way, dream my own dreams and work however hard I want to achieve them. I don't need morality- it's been overrated for centuries. I mean, I'll stay a good person and that'll be good enough. Maybe then I'll have a boy who loves me, instead of waiting for whatever crazy idea I had about God sending someone into my life. I'll have a ton more free time, won't wake up late and feel guilty that I can't spend any time on a devotion. I can go to sleep at night with my thoughts filled of whatever I want, because then, no one else can see it. Yes, altogether, my life would be much better without this Jesus kid. I'd be in charge. It'd be great.
That hurt... hums... that hurt must be... loneliness. I mean, I'm far from my family, I'm just getting used to the planetarium staff to call them friend, everyone I'm close to is really out of reach a lot of the time. I must be lonely. Or maybe it's left over heartache- you don't stay single this long without longing for someone, sometime, and part of me thinks that the hurt of never knowing is just as bad as the hurt of losing love. Or best yet, perhaps that hurt is merely a growing pain- the sadness of losing my imaginary friend called god. But everybody does someday, right? The afterlife, the divine, miracles, things inexplicable except by the grace of God or some sketchy science, everybody knows they're like Santa Claus- something you believed in as a kid and think it'd be nice, maybe, if it continued, but you know, deep down, that you let that go a long time ago. So I'm not really hurting, I'm just mourning the loss of another part of my childhood and good riddance, because it was an abnormally consuming part of my childhood, youth, and later life.
Goodness, did Peter run through all of this in his mind before he answered the last time? They're lies, sigh, though comforting. I've been lonely before, it's not this. I've listened to my heart beat through an ache and it's only dimly like this, like the flash from a burnt-out light bulb is like a supernova of a dying star. Best yet, I've lost an imaginary friend, even slightly recently, and that was nothing like this. Maybe part of the reason we feel the stupid pains in life is so that we know, when God's got something to say, that these smaller pains, no matter how big, are not the cause behind it. Like Christian, at the beginning of Pilgrim's Progress, who knows that he must start a journey because this is no normal agitation of the mind and heart, we can come to know when our heart is being taken from us by this world and when God is tugging and we feel it a little less gently.
But this is Jesus! He's not supposed to hurt like everyone else. He is our refuge, our peace, our love, or so they say. And yet, He doesn't ask to hurt us, not in the normal way. The title of the passage in John is not, 'Jesus saying things that hurt Peter's feelings and make him feel guilty so he does his best to make it up to the Lord,' it's 'Jesus reinstates Peter.' It's a realization hurt, it lets us know what would happen if we found that we really didn't love Jesus, and it's bringing us to see how much He can't be seen, if He has to ask three times. And it's not like I don't hurt Him every day, in the normal way.
The Summons. Stanza Three:
Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in Me?
Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You. But how is such a love to be shown? And if I admit to what You really mean to me, how can I ever live up to that? Your love is never ending- mine is never-endingly finite. And yet, I do love Thee. Perhaps I'll borrow a bit of Your love, just to tide Your sheep over until You come back.
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