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Text: John
21:1-17
W 3rd Sunday After Easter Keeping Up
Appearances In the name of our risen Savior,
dear friends in Christ: I wonder if
anyone here is familiar with a BBC television situation comedy called Keeping
Up Appearances? I used to catch it
now and then on the Public Broadcasting Station. I don’t know a lot about it, but the handful
of episodes I did catch were pretty funny – especially for British comedy,
which can get pretty weird. The action
in this series centers around a working middle class couple named Richard and
Hyacinth Bucket. Richard Bucket is a
down-to-earth, mild mannered, mind-his-own business kind of guy who would like
nothing more than to live a quiet and unassuming life. Unfortunately for him, he rarely gets
to. That’s due to Hyacinth, his wife,
who is really the main character of the show.
Hyacinth Bucket is a would-be snob.
She imagines that she is part of England’s social elite and that her
blood is as blue as the Queen’s if not bluer.
Her main goal in life is to prove to herself and to the world that she
and her reluctant husband are more refined, distinguished, and cultured than
they really are. So she’s forever taking
on airs, pretending to be sophisticated, and trying to rub elbows with the upper
crust. The trouble is that all her
attempts to be what she is not are very transparent. Just for example, whenever someone speaks the
family name, she corrects them: “No
dear, not ‘Bucket’: it’s pronounced
‘Bouquet’” as if she were from a line of French nobles or something. Anyway, on account of her clumsy attempts to
prove herself to be “Lady Bouquet”, she’s never able to fool anyone for
long. But rather than cause her to
confront reality, her humiliating failures, which are many, only make her try
harder to come up with more outlandish ways to prove what she wishes to be
true. Hence the name of the series: Keeping
Up Appearances. It’s what she is
constantly striving to do: to project an
appearance – to maintain an image of herself that’s far grander than the simple
truth. And poor Hyacinth, who puts her
heart and soul into it, just isn’t equal to the task – and that’s what makes
the situations she gets herself into so hilarious. And so it can be – when we’re
dealing with fictional characters in a comedy.
But keeping up appearances isn’t nearly so funny when someone does it
for real. It’s really quite sad and
pathetic when people are so insecure and discontent with themselves that they
pretend to be something they’re not in a social sense; but it’s even worse –
it’s tragic and dangerous – when they try to do it in a spiritual sense. We saw something along these lines last week
in the story of Thomas, the disciple who refused to believe that Jesus had been
raised from the dead. He boldly claimed
“Unless I jab my finger into the mark of the nail in his hand, and thrust my
hand into the hole made by the spear in his side, I will not believe.” He presented his skepticism to the others as
stemming from his superior mind and lack of gullibility. They were fools to believe the
impossible. He, on the other hand, was
quite proud of his ability to see the situation so clearly. At least, that’s the way it presented it; but
as we analyzed the account of his denial we discovered that there was really a
lot more going on. The fact is that
there’s nothing rational about denying the eyewitness testimony of some ten to
twenty people that you know personally and know to be trustworthy. That isn’t scientific skepticism; that’s
pigheaded stubbornness. And it comes not
of having a mind capable of critical thinking, but rather of not wanting to
admit the truth about something else.
For Thomas, the resurrection of Jesus would mean that he’d been wrong
when he ran away and left Jesus to his captors rather than standing and dying
with him as he promised he would; it would mean admitting that he, Thomas, was
a weak, fearful, coward – and that he was guilty of who knows what other
sins. And in addition to that, I think
that for Thomas placing his trust in Jesus again might mean taking the risk of
having to suffer again the same kind of loss and disappointment that had filled
the preceding three days – and that he wasn’t willing to do. And so Thomas denied the resurrection of the
Lord not so much because he didn’t or couldn’t believe, but because he didn’t
want to – and he denied so emphatically because, like Hyacinth “Bouquet”, he
had an appearance to keep up. And in this Thomas is not at all alone. It often happens that the most outspoken
critics of Jesus Christ and the Christian Church are people who do not want to
confront the truth about themselves.
After all, the Christian faith starts with the premise that you are a
sinner in need of salvation, and that you cannot save yourself. Every person naturally hates both of those
ideas. And one way to avoid the truth is
to deny it. So, someone might turn to
denying the existence of God, for example, because if there’s no God, then
there’s no such thing as an absolute standard of right and wrong, no one to
whom we are ultimately accountable, no such thing as sin, and ultimately no
final judgment. And at some very basic
level we all know that’s not true – the concepts of right and wrong and final
justice are built into the very core of our beings; but the one who wishes to
deny them will very often make a great big show if it, loudly making all kinds
of pseudo-intellectual arguments denouncing Christianity or religion in general
as foolish superstition. And they have
to do that because they have an appearance to keep up – an appearance that
says, “I’m not afraid of any God or what’s going to happen to me after death.” Of course, people that keep up that
kind of appearance would be found outside of the Christian Church; but a
similar thing happens with many people on the inside who want to deny only
certain parts of the faith. In such
cases a very successful method has been to put forth the appearance of biblical
scholarship. It seems that once you
acquire a sufficient number of academic qualifications, you are then considered
worthy to “reexamine” and “rethink” those scriptural passages that treat any
subject for which you’d like to see the traditional teaching of the church
changed. You name it: take the existence of Hell, the exclusivity
of salvation apart from faith in Jesus Christ, the ordination of women to the
pastoral ministry, or the moral acceptability of divorce and homosexuality, as
long as you can keep up the appearance of being scholarly and knowledgeable,
you can deny any clear teaching of Scripture – and you’ll find lots of people
who are eager to accept and believe what you have to say. But that kind of “scholarship” is
not the only way that the disciples of Jesus contrive to keep up
appearances. Today’s Gospel lesson
provides us with a classic example of another all too common tactic. And if those who use false scholarship to
bend God’s Word are in danger of falling overboard from the port side of the
ship of the church, then today’s example shows us quite literally how to fall
out to starboard. It takes place on the Sea of Galilee during the third
appearance of the resurrected Lord Jesus to his disciples. They had been told to come here and wait for
Jesus who, when he came, would be able to spend time with them away from the
crowds and hectic hubbub at Jerusalem.
And so they went, obviously much relieved at seeing the Lord alive and
very much looking forward to seeing him again.
But the way the story unfolds, it’s clear that there are some unresolved
issues for the disciple named Simon Peter.
These issues center around his denial of the Lord the night of his
arrest. You recall that while eating the
Passover meal together that night, Jesus told Peter point blank that he would
deny him three times. Peter said that
there was no way; that nothing could ever get him to disown his master. And doubtless when he said it, he meant it,
perhaps envisioning being held at sword point and threatened with death by the
enemies of Jesus. But, as we all know,
when his faithfulness was put to the test, he surrendered all not to an angry
lynch mob, but rather to the high priest’s kitchen help and a teenaged girl who
answered the gate. This failure on
Peter’s part is a source of deep personal shame. And just seeing the resurrected Lord the
couple times he has, as great as that has been, has not made his shame go
away. Instead, it’s festering in his
soul and consuming him. Just as a point
of comparison for those of you who have seen the film Braveheart, recall how Robert the
Bruce feels after he betrays William Wallace on the battlefield. The personal knowledge of his treachery is
bad enough, but what makes it even worse is that Robert knows that Wallace
knows that he betrayed him – and how his treachery broke his hero’s heart. The result is that Robert the Bruce can
barely live with himself. He says that
the shame of his disloyalty to a good man is tearing him apart. So also is it for Peter as long as he carries
his disgrace silently within. But on the other hand, Peter has an image to maintain. He knows that he’s the one the other
disciples look to for leadership. He’s
the Simon the Rock. The last thing he’s
going to do is confess his shortcomings to any them. So he’s a man torn: inside he’s dying in secret shame, but on the
outside he keeps up the appearance of the good and faithful disciple. And notice how he deals with it. First we’ve got him waiting with the others
for Jesus to come; but waiting means having time to think – and that’s the last
thing a guilty souls wants: time for
introspection. So he resorts to one of
the tried and true methods of keeping up appearances, and that’s staying
busy. It’s the old diversion
tactic. “I’m going fishing”, he
announces to the others; and you can almost feel his impatience: “I just can’t stand sitting here
waiting”. And that much is probably
true: he really can’t stand it. The others readily agree to join him. But no surprise – they don’t catch a thing
that night. And there’s a lesson for
us: when doing something for the sake of
keeping up appearances rarely is anything worthwhile accomplished. At dawn the next morning Jesus stands on the shore of the
lake looking out at his weary and frustrated disciples. And what follows is practically a replay of
the miraculous catch of fish that took place on the day that Peter was called
to be a disciple three years earlier.
Jesus calls out, “You boys didn’t catch anything, did you?” “No” comes back the grumpy reply. “Well, give it another try then on the other
side of the boat.” And of course when
they do, the nets are filled with whoppers.
But what’s even more remarkable than the catch is Peter’s amazing lack
of insight. This same thing happened
once before with Jesus telling them to let down the nets after a long night of
fruitless toil; and they are here, after all, for the express purpose of
waiting for Jesus to arrive. You’d think
the realization that it was Jesus on the shore would have been a no-brainer;
but Peter didn’t see it on his own. He
had to be told that it was Jesus. Why is
that? It’s because a person who works to
keep up an appearance of some kind is actively engaged in suppressing the
truth. He is deliberately clouding his
mind in a spiritual sense, and clouds that are put up to conceal what’s inside
also block the light from entering. Upon hearing that it was Jesus, it makes sense to Peter –
and this is where he really begins to put up an appearance. Recall that the first time there was a
miraculous catch of fish, Peter was so astonished and humbled that he fell down
at Jesus’ feet and confessed his sin and unworthiness to be in his presence,
but not this time. This time he is
trying to hide what’s ailing him, so he makes a great show of proving his
devotion and loyalty to Jesus. He
attempts to hide his past failure by overcompensating in the other
direction. He launches into this “I’ve
got to get to you Jesus, and I can’t wait for the boat to get to the shore”
theatric. But it’s very revealing how he
does it. Peter, with the rest of the
guys in the boat, has stripped down to what was essentially his underwear: the wrap around loincloth that men wore under
their tunics in the first century. And
it was not unusual or immodest for workingmen to dress this way. But now, before leaping into the water and
swimming the hundred yards or so to the shore, he puts on his heavy
mantle: a thick wool garment that did
double duty as a sleeping bag. Now ask
yourself, if you were going for a hundred yard swim, would you be inclined to
first put on a big hooded poncho, or is that more like something you’d take off
before swimming? What’s Peter
thinking? Let me suggest that he’s
reaching for the proverbial fig leaf. As
he prepares to go to the Lord, he’s covering up – which is a precise picture of
what he’s doing in a spiritual sense by his zealous display of devotion. But what a difficult way to go: that must have been one hard swim – which is
one of my points this morning: keeping
up appearances is a lot of hard and unnecessary work. But it doesn’t end there.
When Peter gets ashore, Jesus asks him to bring some of the fish they
were in the process of catching. Our
text tells us that it’s Peter who takes the net from the guys in the boat who
have just arrived at the shore, and that he more or less manhandles it onto the
beach all by himself. And again, let me
suggest that it’s still more of Peter’s attempt to prove his undying
faithfulness and loyalty, as if he were trying to make up for his past mistakes
– cleanse himself of his failures by … well … by going “overboard” now. It’s still part of the appearance he’s trying
to keep up. “See Jesus, I know I let you
down in the past – but just watch: I’ll
prove my worth to you now.” But that burden of constantly keeping up the appearance of
faithfulness and devotion is an awful cross to try to bear. How many times do you have to prove yourself
loyal to cancel out one act of disloyalty?
How could you ever know if you’ve done enough? You know, Benedict Arnold was one of the
greatest generals in American history.
He won many stunning victories for this country; but no one remembers
them. His name is now a synonym for
traitor because of just one act – and Peter denied the Lord three
times. By keeping up the appearance he
is, Peter is attempting to do the impossible – to atone for his own sin. And not only is it impossible, it’s so
unnecessary. Strangely enough, what
Peter is doing by all his effort to prove himself loyal is a just another way
to deny the Lord Jesus. By trying to
make up for his own guilt he’s denying the atonement that Jesus made on the
cross to take away his sin. But here we see the great love of the Lord Jesus in taking
Peter aside to lift the impossible burden he’s trying to carry. He wants to get Peter to stop denying him by
refusing the forgiveness he died to achieve.
And to do it, he has to strip away the devoted appearance Peter is
working so hard to keep up. He gets
directly to the point by asking the question Peter thinks he’s been answering
by his efforts. “Simon, do you love
me?” Put yourself in Peter’s shoes:
“What do you think I’ve been trying to show you? Yes Jesus, of course I love you.” Jesus responds with words of pure grace: “Feed my lambs. It means, “All is forgiven and forgotten,
Peter. Now I’ve got work for you to do –
namely to share my forgiveness with others.”
But that isn’t the way Peter takes it at first. It sounds to him like more work he can do to
prove his loyalty – and he’s more than willing to do it. So Jesus asks him again – and gets pretty
much the same response; but this time Peter is asking himself “Why is he asking
me the same question again?” The third time the question comes there can be no doubt
about what Jesus is getting at: three
questions to match three denials. There
it is right out in the open. No more ways
to hide it or try to cover it up. No
need to keep putting up an appearance.
It cuts Peter to the core to be so exposed – but what Jesus has actually
done is to point out the obvious so that he can take the burden away from
Peter. Peter’s comment, “You know
everything” speaks volumes. It means,
“You know exactly how weak and miserable I am – and how I’ve been putting on a
show for you now.” But this time, Jesus’
response gets through to him. “You’re
right, Peter, I know your sin and the game you’ve been playing – and what I’ve
been telling you is that it’s all been forgiven. And I know that you love me. So, Peter, stop wasting so much effort trying
to impress me, because I’ve got real work for you to do. Feed my sheep.” For Peter it meant no more “keeping up appearances” and the
freedom to serve the Lord in the full confidence of his love and
forgiveness. What does it mean for
you? May the Lord Jesus in his mercy
reveal to each of us what he knows about the appearances we keep up, so that we
all may have our burdens lifted and be truly freed to serve the Lord in his
love and forgiveness. Amen. Soli Deo Gloria! |
