Nobody Chooses Apples With Bruises — Part 2 - Damaged Goods

John 21:15-17

Ken Whitt         August 12, 2007

REVIEW AND UPDATE:

A couple Sundays ago I opened the sermon with the metaphor, “Nobody chooses apples with bruises,” and then I fairly quickly negated that metaphor by suggesting that we all have bruises and that if nobody was to choose apples with bruises, and if God only chose apples without bruises, none of us would ever get chosen. And I talked to you about, briefly, all the people that God has chosen: Moses, the murderer, Jacob, the deceiver, and on and on, Thomas, the doubter, and Peter, the denier.

And, I also talked to you about my Aunt Arlene who was one of the most bruised people I have ever known, and who went to her death, through a car accident, just a couple of weeks ago now. I told you that her greatest fear was that when she died she would be alone. That she would get what she deserved, so to speak. But things had changed in her life, they had changed profoundly. I learned at the funeral that she had become a beloved member of the evangelical Baptist church she joined about 10 years ago. She knew everybody and everybody knew her, and she knew the children and the children loved her.

That’s how her journey had gone after she began to recover from alcoholism. Then saw the last two of her children that I haven’t seen in 40 years; Jerry and Billy, who exited the family in a time of terrible stress many years ago and had not seen their mom in a very long time. But Billy and Jerry had been going through their own times of deep change in their lives and at the moment of their mother’s accident, when they were needed at the hospital, they were willing to come and had been planning to come to the reunion.

It was awesome at the reunion to see Jerry and Billy, now with wonderful families, and to learn how their lives had been healed. And Aunt Arlene was with her children, all 5 birth children, at the time that she died in the hospital after the car accident. She did not get what she deserved, she got mercy, grace, love.

The entire reunion was a time of miracles of healing. It was an opportunity to celebrate the best of being family and the best of the possibilities of all of our lives, and to celebrate the fact that God can redeem us, save us, transform our lives. Salvation is just around the next corner.

Well, today we’re going to start by looking at the life of one of the people Jesus chose, who was as bruised as bruised can be, although we don’t know exactly why, but I think we can make some pretty good guesses. Peter, the disciple of Jesus, was chosen not only to be a disciple, but also to lead the church into its future. Peter was one very bruised man. We see this wounding in his life when he rejects the children and tries to keep them away from Jesus. When he brags bombastically that he will never say no to Jesus. We hear about, we read about his wounds, but we don’t really know where they came from.

But since he was such an angry apostle who wanted Jesus to beat off the power of the Romans, I got to thinking that maybe one of the wounds that Peter had was that he grew up in a country under the oppressive rule of a domineering Roman Empire. He grew up where the Romans killed at will, and hung their victims on crosses beside the roads. He grew up like so many children in the world today in countries at war. There are millions of children who are being wounded and bruised, even as we speak, in various places around the world, who are growing up with the bombs and what do they call those things they bury in the ground? Landmines. Maimed children, maimed in mind and heart and body.

Maybe Peter was one of those maimed children, so that when Jesus began to indicate that he was not going to be that kind of messiah who would throw off Roman rule, Peter rebelled. Peter tried to push Jesus down a violent path. Eventually Peter’s way ended in tragic denial. And following the crucifixion and resurrection Peter, along with some of the others who had been fishermen, beat a hasty retreat back to the sea where they were fishermen. What else were they to do? They had lost their Lord and so they retreated. But one morning, by the Tiberius Sea, the resurrected Jesus returned to Peter and the other fishermen. I will read you the account of what Jesus did to pull Peter back from the edge of despair. This is the story of what Jesus did to restore Peter to leadership and to heal his bruises.

Now, as I’m reading it this account, ask yourself, “How is this possible? How is Jesus in these words healing or restoring anyone? How does it happen? Remember, these stories like the restoration of Peter were not written in a book at the beginning. That came only much later. They were told by storytellers, and then retold and told again. There was something in the story that had power to deeply wounded man to health. A lost man to faith. A misdirected man to God’s direction. Here is the story:

Jesus and Peter

¹⁵ When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” ¹⁶ A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” ¹⁷ He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.

Now, here you’re going to have use your imagination a little bit. What in the world is he talking about? “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” These? What are these? This is the resurrected Jesus speaking. They’ve just cooked breakfast by the sea, now it’s time to do something really serious to get Peter back, and Jesus said, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”

What is Jesus referring to? What are “these?” I think that when Christian storytellers reminded their listeners of this encounter of Jesus with Peter, the storyteller would have shaken his hands as if he was holding on to something, something smelly or slimy. Simon! Son of John! Do you love me more than these?” And he shakes the fish that they had just caught by the Tiberius Sea. Do you love me more than these fish? And Peter responds, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you”. Peter doesn’t think that love is the issue. Peter thinks that his weakness, his bruises, have ruined his life. But Jesus is not interested in bruises. Everyone has bruises. Jesus is interested in love—what does Peter love most?

Jesus keeps pushing his point. He shakes those fish again. “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Well, what else has Simon got? He’s lost it as a disciple; he’s returned to the sea; that’s what his whole life is about, the sea and these fish! That’s it. That’s all there is to it. And Simon almost complains, “Lord, you know that I love you.” As if to say, “But that’s not the problem. The problem is my bruises, my wounds. I’m a failure.” .

So Jesus has to come at him one more time. “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Well, yes Lord, you know that I love you.” This time Peter’s words sound like a protest—a shout that even a bruised man could finally hear. Of course he loved Jesus. And love is enough. And Jesus commands Peter for the third time, “Then feed my sheep.” Peter has been given his marching orders and now it is time to march.

Everything is possible, when grounded in love. Everything can be.

In the nick of time, Jesus brought Peter back from the brink of despair and failure. Peter became the leader of the early Christian church. He led the church in Jerusalem and then as it went forth from Jerusalem. He led the early church counsels. He was where he needed to be. He never stopped being wounded. He never stopped having bruises, but love for Jesus saved and transformed his life.

Now, I want to tell you another story. I have a brother, Jim, that I sometimes don’t like, sometimes we still don’t get along. Mostly we do, mostly we forgive each other and move along, but it’s not always easy because there’s a lot of history, a lot of childhood tension, you know, but we work it out, but it’s hard.

There was one time in our growing up that I recall, one time, in all those years, he’s only one year younger, that I was on Jim’s side, that I stood up for my brother. It was such a painful time for Jim that I actually can remember it and I can remember being on Jim’s side. The whole family was on Jim’s side. Dad commanded this, and we all obeyed my dad. Jim was having a terribly hard time in the fourth grade because of a teacher that he experienced as oppressive, and that my mom experienced as oppressive and that my dad experienced – everybody in the family was united in recognizing that Jim was having a really bad time in the fourth grade that deeply wounded, almost crippled, his life.

Now, let me read part of a sermon Jim sent me that he preached on the first Sunday in July. The title of the sermon is, “Who makes Things New?” This is my brother speaking.

Every year for millions of children and teens that moment in June when suddenly life is new, no more pencils, no more books, no more teachers dirty looks, one minute, you’re stuck there and the next minute you’re free. With the ring of a bell, its over and life is new. Walking home from school at the end of the last day of fourth grade, how I remembered the bounce in my step. Oh, freedom!

No more homework on my back. Any unfinished assignments, irrelevant. The burden of it all, washed away. (Notice in his writing how Jim uses spiritual metaphors like “washed away.”) And never again would I have to pass the threshold of the doorway of Mrs. Sullivan’s stern and rigid domain. She wouldn’t have Jim Whitt to kick around any more. Little did I realize that she too was jumping for joy because no longer would she have to contend with the likes of me.

Although, if God is just, another hyperactive, loud, blond kid would enter her classroom the next post Labor Day, and that’s the problem with most new starts. Whatever inner torment led Mrs. Sullivan to torment me, remained within her. Her need to project here own pain on another fourth grader just continued.

But as for me, bouncing along High Street in Ogdensburg toward my house, life was not as new as it felt that day for years to come. I would carry for a very long time the anxiety about school that Mrs. Sullivan drummed into my soul. The stutter and the stammer I developed under her tutelage would remain--vestiges still remain.

You may meet Jim some day and you’ll notice when he’s stressed he still stutters some, but it was terrible back then, and that was when we united and stood together as on family on Jim’s side. We didn’t pick on Jim. That may have been the only time during our childhood that I did not pick on Jim. My dad was able to help us all to understand that we had to be family for Jim, we had to stand together. So I did not tease Jim. Jim continues his sermon:

When my nervous system acts up I still carry the memory of her abuse. It might astound you to know that for years, from fourth grade until after college, I was terrified to open my mouth in public, (Jim is a pastor and a superb musician at this church near Syracuse.) for fear, I think, of Mrs. Sullivan cramming my words back down my throat. I remember vividly the day that all that changed. I was home from seminary and the Methodist preacher in the Hancock, New York church asked me, suddenly, unexpectedly, to pray the invocation. With Mom beside me, I couldn’t say no, but as the organist played the prelude, I sat there in a sweat terrified of what could happen when I walked to the pulpit unable to choke out even a short prayer.

You know, a lot of time when we pray, we think we’re praying but we’re really not. We’re praying not out of a deep need or desire for God, but out of a habit or because we’re supposed to. Not because we really need to. We don’t often bear ourselves, bruises and all, before God or others. But sitting in the front pew of that Methodist church on that Sunday morning, I was lost enough and scared enough to actually, really pray. God help me, help me to do this. Not for me, but for you. Help me forget about me and see you up on the cross and may this prayer be for your glory.

What happened was that I meant it. I knew I would fail if I was on my own and deep within me I cried out my need for God. And openly right then there washed a feeling of peace and confidence. What I didn’t know at the time is that right then and there, the Holy Spirit was healing my memory. The Holy Spirit was washing most of Mrs. Sullivan’s torment out of my body and sprit, leaving just enough of it to remind me when necessary that any really good thing I can ever do is done in his strength and not mine.

And to this day, you see, I take my stutter as a sign that I’m thinking too much about myself and not about God. Even the return of the old stutter is no longer about Mrs. Sullivan, for she has been cast out completely. Now, it has become like Paul’s thorn in the flesh, a God-provided gift to remind me of just who is my help and my strength.

And when I stepped to that pulpit to pray that day, life was truly made new in a way I’d never known before, fresh, free, unencumbered, unburdened and possible in a way that it hadn’t been possible since the fourth grade.

Thanks to my brother Jim for sharing a great story, for living a great life, bruises and all.

“Nobody chooses apples with bruises.” Yes, they do, God really does and so do we. You may recall another metaphor I’ve been repeating in recent months, “Deep change or slow death.” I believe we are talking here this Sunday, two Sundays ago, abut one of the most difficult, deep changes for all of us, the telling of our stories, the acknowledgment of our bruises, openness to allowing God’s healing to happen in our lives.

The fact is that it would be entirely possible to attend church for many years without sharing any of our bruises, without knowing how we need God’s healing. No one can tell anyone else when it is their time to share their stories. No one can tell you that you must trust a particular person at a particular time with the bruises of your life. That’s all about God’s timing. However, it is always the right time for the church to create opportunities for such sharing and healing, to invite us to tell our stories and to establish safe places for bruises to be exposed in order that we may learn, 1) that healing is possible, 2) that Jesus always chooses apples with bruises, and 3) that we have been chosen for God’s purpose.

When we begin Adult Sunday School in September that is exactly the kind of opportunity and safe place we will be seeking to create. We’ll learn about how Jesus restored Peter, but the real point is to learn how to receive this restoration in our lives. We will learn about the prodigal son and the father who loves him, but the point is to experience this forgiving love. The first series of classes in our new adult forum will be entitled, “Jesus 101.” And the first class will be on Jesus reveals God, and the parable of the prodigal son, and the ways we need God to love us as the Father loved the repentant son.

But what if we show up and there’s no one around like the younger son who is repentant? What if we show up for church and everybody is the elder son? Already got it together. Thank you very much, but have not done anything wrong lately. Not that I can think of. Well, in such a situation in such a church it would be possible to have some interesting conversations, but nobody’s ever going to be saved. Nobody’s ever going to realized how deeply they need God’s healing. No one is ever going to experience forgiveness.

So, if that’s what you prefer, everything to be as it has been, like the prodigal son slithering around a pig sty or Peter abandoning hope and returning to his fish or like a bruised apple that eventually will be thrown away, like damaged goods that are treated as trash, if that’s the way you prefer to live your life, never to share your story, not to seek new hope and new life, well, the best I can do is to pray that one day you will not feel that way…

All I can really say is that God, the father and Jesus his son, are always waiting for us to come to them with our stories, with our prayer, help me, with our home that tomorrow is a new day.

I’m waiting for you. In fact, the primary reason Baptists have an altar call at the end of the service where they say we invite you to come forward during the singing of the final hymn is because we believe that you just never know when God’s going to act in someone’s life and when someone is going to say yes to the invitation to bring their prayer before God and the people of God to share a decision to let God be God in their life, to seek God’s kingdom, to seek church membership, Baptism, whatever is required as the next step towards abundant life.

So, you are invited to come forward as we sing our closing hymn, Trust and Obey.

So be it. Amen.