How do I love thee?
Commentary
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach ...
Without question, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnet XLIII" of her Sonnets from the Portuguese is one of the best-known love poems ever written in the English language. More than just expressing the worthiness of the beloved to receive such devotion, her sonnet genuinely extols and praises the powers of love itself. Such love calls forth the noblest of human desires and actions from the poet. It calls to mind the struggle for justice ("I love thee freely as men strive for Right"), the passions and griefs of life, the fullness of being ("I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life!"), and the need to find its energy and source in the Divine ("and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death").
This sonnet speaks of the love we all long both to receive and to give, but which we probably most often feel we could never experience either within ourselves or from another. It is the love of the grand gesture -- the love that indeed overcomes and conquers even death. Browning describes human love in its full reach from the most sensual passions to the strongest ties of moral commitment. And it suggests that the model of human love for one another should be our love for God, an ideal she likewise suggests that we seldom achieve ("I love thee with the passion put to use / In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. / I love thee with a love I seemed to lose / With my lost saints"). Yet just because Browning's description of love most often simultaneously reminds us of both our longings and our failings in achieving the ideal, that doesn't mean that we give up our efforts to demonstrate our love and commitment to another -- even to God -- by the grand gesture.
Of all the disciples, Peter stands out in the Gospels as the one who most longed to express his devotion to Jesus by the love of the grand gesture. Catching a brief glimpse of Jesus' divine glory at the Transfiguration, it was Peter who impetuously announced his desire to construct shrines not only to Jesus but also for Elijah and Moses. It was Peter who refused to remain in the boat, but rather asked to go and meet Jesus even if it meant walking upon the waves of Lake Gennesaret. As the disciples gathered for what would be their last meal with Jesus before his death, it was Peter who objected that he should be the one to wash Jesus' feet rather than to have his own feet washed by Jesus. As that meal continued and Jesus warned that one of those gathered there would betray him to the authorities, it was Peter who boldly pronounced that not only would he never betray Jesus but that he was gladly willing to die in his defense -- and would prove it later that night by drawing his sword against one who had come to seize Jesus. Probably only that man's quick reflexes spared him decapitation, if not his ear.
The question is: Do Browning and Peter really model for us the best ways to demonstrate love? Is love, really, about the grand gesture?
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20)
Traditionally this pericope has been referred to as "The Conversion of Saul." More recent scholarship has called that description into question, however. Inherent in the word "conversion" is a rejection of a former commitment in favor of a new one. That Paul in that sense converted from "Judaism" to "Christianity" would probably have been rejected by the Apostle himself, and is at the least historically anachronistic. There simply were not separate and distinct religions of Judaism and Christianity at the time of Paul's encounter with the resurrected Jesus.
How then should we characterize this story? Answering that question presents a solid argument in favor of using the lectionary's optional extended reading through verse 20. The opening verses only serve to set the stage. Even Jesus instructs Saul at the moment of their encounter that the point of it all will only be revealed once he has made his way to Damascus (v. 6). What we find in the later verses is a rather unconventional call narrative. It is unusual in that the traditional formal elements of these types of stories are associated with Ananias (see especially v. 10). He is called by God to go and pray for Saul's healing (v. 12). Yet the reason given to Ananias by God is because God had "chosen [Saul] to bring my name before Gentiles" (v. 15). That the story ultimately serves as Saul's call narrative is underscored by the twofold repetition of the story as reported by Paul in the narrative of Acts (22:4-16; 26:9-18).
If not a genuine conversion account, Saul's call does nevertheless incorporate the element of repentance that is sometimes an element in the call of Israel's prophets (most notably in Isaiah 6:5-8). Here the need for repentance is presented by Jesus' question to Saul, "Why do you persecute me?" (v. 4). That Saul indeed repents of resisting Jesus and accepts at least a beginning sense of his call is clear from the report that "he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues" (v. 20). In Acts, Saul's awareness of his specific call "to bring my name before Gentiles" is only gradually revealed over the course of his actual ministry (cf. 13:44-49).
Although there are significant differences between the reports of this encounter within Acts and Paul himself possibly refers to the experience only in the most oblique of references about the resurrected Jesus having appeared to him "as to one untimely born" (1 Corinthians 15:8), both Acts and Paul's own letters agree that it was the very foundation of his call to be a minister of the gospel. Whether construed as a call to be a "prophet and teacher" (so Acts 13:1) or an apostle (so 1 Corinthians 15:8-10), to encounter the resurrected Christ is to be called to service in the furtherance of God's reign.
Revelation 5:11-14
To properly understand the impact of the two brief songs of worship in this short passage requires that one begin by looking at its broader context. Beginning at 4:1, John the Seer reports a vision of the heavenly throne room. The particular concern in the divine court is over who is worthy to open a scroll that will not only reveal the course of God's ultimate triumph in the world, but in so doing actually begin the process that will bring it to fruition. That is why John weeps "because no one was found worthy to open the scroll" (5:4). The issue is not simply satisfying some morbid curiosity about the future, but actually bringing about God's just rule.
Hope is restored, however, when one of the elders tells John that "the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David" will be able break the seals and open the scroll. These images clearly echo the messianic expectation of many that God would send forth a political leader who would destroy the enemies of God's people and restore the longed for golden age of David. But when John actually looks to see this figure, he is confronted not with a mighty Lion but with "a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered" (5:6).
The oxymoronic language of a standing, slaughtered Lamb provides a vivid symbol of Christ as both crucified and raised. This vision shatters not only expectations about the future but also perceptions about the present. With regard to the future, the Lamb is a reminder that God does not ultimately triumph by destroying those who do evil but by suffering the consequences of their evil in order to redeem them. It is imperative that theological insight set forth at the very outset of John's book continually temper the visions of judgment that follow once the seals begin to be broken in chapter 6. This Lamb may act in some very "lionhearted" ways (particularly in 19:11-21), but it is always pointedly as a Lamb rather than as a Lion that he is worthy of worship and dominion. Indeed the only time in Revelation that Christ is referred to as a lion is in 5:7.
With regard to perceptions about the present, the fact that it is Christ as both crucified and raised (both already accomplished in the past) who brings about God's triumph means that the process is already underway. Despite what may be all the seeming contrary evidence as viewed from an earthly perspective, those who look upon Christ from a heavenly perspective can see that God has already acted to redeem the world. Moreover, it is precisely because of the death and resurrection, and not some future triumph, that the Lamb is "worthy ... to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might" (5:12). The "one seated on the throne" and "the Lamb" have already triumphed; all that remains is for the process to fully unfold. That is why there is such joyous singing by the "myriads and myriads" around the heavenly throne, and not because of the judgment about to be meted out on evil per se. If every creature in the cosmos could see this truth -- even those "on the earth" -- then they too would join in the worship of God (5:13).
John 21:1-19
Yes, Peter was always reaching for the grand gesture to express his love for Jesus. But whether it was Jesus' corrections in Gethsemane or at that final Passover observance, or whether it was his eventual slipping beneath the waves of Galilee or the gentle rebuke of God's voice from heaven on Mount Tabor (if rebuke in such form can ever be considered "gentle" no matter the specific terms of its expression) -- at every turn Simon Peter's grand gestures of love seemed to fall flat. Is it any wonder then that he became so defensive when the resurrected Jesus asked him over breakfast along the lakeshore, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" And not just once; three separate times Jesus asked him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Some have suggested that these three questions were a way of allowing Peter to undo the three times he had denied Jesus in the final hours before his crucifixion. But Peter, at least, didn't seem to understand it that way. The gospel lesson tells us, "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.' " And as in each of the first two rounds of questioning, Jesus responded simply, "Feed my sheep."
Now, the fact of the matter is that there is a good bit more variation in wording in the Greek version of this exchange than in its usual English translations. The first two times Jesus poses the question he uses a different verb meaning "to love" (agapan) than Peter uses in his response that he does "love" (philein) Jesus. Finally, the third time Jesus asked the question, he used the same word that Peter had used all along. Perhaps, commentators have long suggested, Jesus and Peter are really talking about different kinds of love. The word that Jesus originally used typically referred in New Testament Greek to the highest, moral kind of love possible -- the unconditional and totally self-giving love that God has for each of us. Peter responded with a word usually used to describe the fraternal love between members of a family, or between the closest of friends or colleagues. Maybe Jesus was asking for a higher kind of love than Peter thought he could give? Maybe Jesus' grace is demonstrated in that final question by his choosing to accept that fraternal love that describes the limit of what Peter believes himself capable?
Maybe, but I have my doubts. First, although there is a difference in nuance and connotation between these different verbs in Greek generally, the Gospel of John tends to use them somewhat interchangeably. Perhaps more importantly, we have seen that Peter was not one to be timid about making the grand gesture of his love. No, I think the variation in wording is simply the evangelist's way to avoid monotony in the repetition. The key point to this exchange, I believe, lies in Jesus' responses to Peter's answers rather than in the verb choices. Follow again the exchange: Jesus asked, "Peter, do you love me more than these?" (that is, "these" other disciples gathered around them). Peter confidently asserts, "Yes, Lord; you know I do!" "Then," Jesus said, "feed my lambs." A second time Jesus asked and Peter answered, then Jesus responded, "Tend my sheep." The third time Jesus asked, and Peter, hurt and frustrated, said, "Lord, you know everything; how can you question my love for you?" And Jesus once again responded, "Feed my sheep." By his threefold admonition to be with and care for those dearest to him, Jesus was telling Peter and us that the truest expressions and proofs of love are not the grand gestures but the constant, abiding, loving presence with those we love.
Application
On a weekend several years ago when my children were quite young, I spent a large number of hours on a project in our backyard. From sunup to 10 p.m. on a Saturday and from the time I got home in the afternoon until sundown and later on Monday and Tuesday I worked to build a play structure with slide, rings, rope ladder, monkey bars, climbing rope, and baby swing as a joint birthday present for my then toddler-aged daughter and grade-school-aged son. My next door neighbor stopped over a couple of times to observe my progress, and commented at its completion that should I ever leave the pastorate he was confident I could find work as a carpenter. I told him that there are things I would do for love of my children that I wouldn't do for any amount of money.
But throughout those hours of work, my wife would bring my daughter out to the backyard. She would tell me, "Larissa misses her daddy." Larissa kept going over to the backdoor, or looking out the bay window in the kitchen, not trying to gauge the progress of her swing set but to figure out what was keeping Daddy from playing with her. And I thought, "How stereotypically American male is this? I'm out here working hard to build the big thing for my daughter's happiness, and what she really wants is for Daddy to come in and play blocks, or even just lie there on the floor, close by, as she goes about her own play." I wanted to demonstrate my love by the grand gesture; she just wanted to be with the Daddy she loves.
The point is not, however, that there is no time when we should show, "How do I love thee?" by the grand gesture. Even in his exchange with Peter, Jesus foretold a time when Peter would be called upon to demonstrate his love by the grand gesture. "But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." Just in case that reference to impending martyrdom was too subtle, the evangelist added parenthetically, "Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God." But not even the agony of a martyr's death would write the end to Peter's love for Jesus, for surely he was among the "numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands" who gathered around the heavenly throne and sang: "Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!" Or to return to the closing words of Browning's sonnet, God has indeed chosen that each of us "shall but love thee better after death."
There are indeed many more ways we love and demonstrate our love than we can count, from the grand to the most simple. What we must not lose sight of in our desire to prove that love for our family, friends, and even God, is that all these ways are important, and sometimes we show that love most when we may think we are doing the least. We show the depth of our love for God by caring for the Divine's beloved "sheep," nurturing them physically and spiritually. We show our love for our spouses when we simply take time to be with them, or to be with the children born of that love. Like life, sometimes the biggest part of love isn't the grand gesture, but "just showing up."
An Alternative Application
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20); Revelation 5:11-14. Eastertide is the time of the church year when we are most consistently reminded that the church already lives in fellowship with its risen Lord. In a spiritual sense we all bear witness to the truth, "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!" The question is: How will we respond to our own personal encounters with the resurrected Christ? Sure, they are not as vivid as the encounters described in Acts or Revelation, but they are no less real and so should have no less impact on our lives. These scripture lessons suggest two responses that are appropriate: to worship the Lord we have encountered, and to respond to his call to spread the Good News of the gospel so that others may encounter him as well.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 30
The main theme of this psalm is captured profoundly in the movement within a single verse: "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with morning" (v. 5). Casting life experiences between light and dark is not unique or novel, of course, but the poet's treatment of these themes offers some fertile ground for reflection.
The psalmist gets right to his awareness of the perils of "the night." He calls them "foes" -- the darkness of conflict and violence. Then there's the "pit," the dark place of the dead, Sheol. The psalmist may be referring to a close encounter with death either from the hands of a foe or maybe an illness. Either way, he has seen the face of death and it is a face made of shadows.
But the psalmist does not leave us alone in the dark. There is light in the morning that comes in the form of joy. In the morning we are "lifted up" (v. 1). In the bright light of a new day we can see God's face. In the light of a new morning our grief gives way to dancing and we are "clothed with joy" (v. 10).
All of this may give the impression of an emotional roller coaster. We are pitched back and forth, up and down, alternately steeped in despair or happiness. Obviously there are times when life is just like that.
But the psalmist may just as well be giving expression to something more recurring, more regular. There is a rhythm to life that is not so much the violent rocking of a roller coaster as it is the gentle ebb and flow of a tide.
Over the course of a lifetime we are likely to spend a considerable amount of time "in the shadows." Facing the loss of loved ones, dealing with dramatic changes brought on by aging in ourselves or those we may provide care for, loss of jobs, accidents, natural catastrophes -- all of these and more are portals to what the psalmist describes as "the pit."
But over that same span of time, there will be many bright and shining mornings. There will be births and graduations, weddings and anniversaries, birthdays and homecomings. There will promotions and retirements, mortgages paid off and diseases cured.
These are the normal events of life that all of us experience to one degree or another. Sometimes they come like roller coasters, dramatic ups and downs, but not always. Sometimes the shadow and sunlight meander along together in the course of a life. We move from one to the other gradually, over time, with one occasionally giving way to the other.
If this is what the psalmist has in mind, then the message of the psalm could not be more important. This recurring pattern, this rhythmic moving from shadow to morning, leaves no room for us to become stuck in despair. As we find ourselves in the shadows, we must know and believe that the morning's light will not be far behind.
The psalmist offers a practical and helpful pattern of behavior as we move from shadow to light. In the shadows as we face the threat of "the pit," we give voice to our pain. "To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication." As we face the shadow times of our existence, we discipline ourselves to seek the Lord's help, and wait for that help to come.
When it does come, we remember to give thanks. "O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever."
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach ...
Without question, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's "Sonnet XLIII" of her Sonnets from the Portuguese is one of the best-known love poems ever written in the English language. More than just expressing the worthiness of the beloved to receive such devotion, her sonnet genuinely extols and praises the powers of love itself. Such love calls forth the noblest of human desires and actions from the poet. It calls to mind the struggle for justice ("I love thee freely as men strive for Right"), the passions and griefs of life, the fullness of being ("I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life!"), and the need to find its energy and source in the Divine ("and, if God choose, / I shall but love thee better after death").
This sonnet speaks of the love we all long both to receive and to give, but which we probably most often feel we could never experience either within ourselves or from another. It is the love of the grand gesture -- the love that indeed overcomes and conquers even death. Browning describes human love in its full reach from the most sensual passions to the strongest ties of moral commitment. And it suggests that the model of human love for one another should be our love for God, an ideal she likewise suggests that we seldom achieve ("I love thee with the passion put to use / In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. / I love thee with a love I seemed to lose / With my lost saints"). Yet just because Browning's description of love most often simultaneously reminds us of both our longings and our failings in achieving the ideal, that doesn't mean that we give up our efforts to demonstrate our love and commitment to another -- even to God -- by the grand gesture.
Of all the disciples, Peter stands out in the Gospels as the one who most longed to express his devotion to Jesus by the love of the grand gesture. Catching a brief glimpse of Jesus' divine glory at the Transfiguration, it was Peter who impetuously announced his desire to construct shrines not only to Jesus but also for Elijah and Moses. It was Peter who refused to remain in the boat, but rather asked to go and meet Jesus even if it meant walking upon the waves of Lake Gennesaret. As the disciples gathered for what would be their last meal with Jesus before his death, it was Peter who objected that he should be the one to wash Jesus' feet rather than to have his own feet washed by Jesus. As that meal continued and Jesus warned that one of those gathered there would betray him to the authorities, it was Peter who boldly pronounced that not only would he never betray Jesus but that he was gladly willing to die in his defense -- and would prove it later that night by drawing his sword against one who had come to seize Jesus. Probably only that man's quick reflexes spared him decapitation, if not his ear.
The question is: Do Browning and Peter really model for us the best ways to demonstrate love? Is love, really, about the grand gesture?
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20)
Traditionally this pericope has been referred to as "The Conversion of Saul." More recent scholarship has called that description into question, however. Inherent in the word "conversion" is a rejection of a former commitment in favor of a new one. That Paul in that sense converted from "Judaism" to "Christianity" would probably have been rejected by the Apostle himself, and is at the least historically anachronistic. There simply were not separate and distinct religions of Judaism and Christianity at the time of Paul's encounter with the resurrected Jesus.
How then should we characterize this story? Answering that question presents a solid argument in favor of using the lectionary's optional extended reading through verse 20. The opening verses only serve to set the stage. Even Jesus instructs Saul at the moment of their encounter that the point of it all will only be revealed once he has made his way to Damascus (v. 6). What we find in the later verses is a rather unconventional call narrative. It is unusual in that the traditional formal elements of these types of stories are associated with Ananias (see especially v. 10). He is called by God to go and pray for Saul's healing (v. 12). Yet the reason given to Ananias by God is because God had "chosen [Saul] to bring my name before Gentiles" (v. 15). That the story ultimately serves as Saul's call narrative is underscored by the twofold repetition of the story as reported by Paul in the narrative of Acts (22:4-16; 26:9-18).
If not a genuine conversion account, Saul's call does nevertheless incorporate the element of repentance that is sometimes an element in the call of Israel's prophets (most notably in Isaiah 6:5-8). Here the need for repentance is presented by Jesus' question to Saul, "Why do you persecute me?" (v. 4). That Saul indeed repents of resisting Jesus and accepts at least a beginning sense of his call is clear from the report that "he began to proclaim Jesus in the synagogues" (v. 20). In Acts, Saul's awareness of his specific call "to bring my name before Gentiles" is only gradually revealed over the course of his actual ministry (cf. 13:44-49).
Although there are significant differences between the reports of this encounter within Acts and Paul himself possibly refers to the experience only in the most oblique of references about the resurrected Jesus having appeared to him "as to one untimely born" (1 Corinthians 15:8), both Acts and Paul's own letters agree that it was the very foundation of his call to be a minister of the gospel. Whether construed as a call to be a "prophet and teacher" (so Acts 13:1) or an apostle (so 1 Corinthians 15:8-10), to encounter the resurrected Christ is to be called to service in the furtherance of God's reign.
Revelation 5:11-14
To properly understand the impact of the two brief songs of worship in this short passage requires that one begin by looking at its broader context. Beginning at 4:1, John the Seer reports a vision of the heavenly throne room. The particular concern in the divine court is over who is worthy to open a scroll that will not only reveal the course of God's ultimate triumph in the world, but in so doing actually begin the process that will bring it to fruition. That is why John weeps "because no one was found worthy to open the scroll" (5:4). The issue is not simply satisfying some morbid curiosity about the future, but actually bringing about God's just rule.
Hope is restored, however, when one of the elders tells John that "the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David" will be able break the seals and open the scroll. These images clearly echo the messianic expectation of many that God would send forth a political leader who would destroy the enemies of God's people and restore the longed for golden age of David. But when John actually looks to see this figure, he is confronted not with a mighty Lion but with "a Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered" (5:6).
The oxymoronic language of a standing, slaughtered Lamb provides a vivid symbol of Christ as both crucified and raised. This vision shatters not only expectations about the future but also perceptions about the present. With regard to the future, the Lamb is a reminder that God does not ultimately triumph by destroying those who do evil but by suffering the consequences of their evil in order to redeem them. It is imperative that theological insight set forth at the very outset of John's book continually temper the visions of judgment that follow once the seals begin to be broken in chapter 6. This Lamb may act in some very "lionhearted" ways (particularly in 19:11-21), but it is always pointedly as a Lamb rather than as a Lion that he is worthy of worship and dominion. Indeed the only time in Revelation that Christ is referred to as a lion is in 5:7.
With regard to perceptions about the present, the fact that it is Christ as both crucified and raised (both already accomplished in the past) who brings about God's triumph means that the process is already underway. Despite what may be all the seeming contrary evidence as viewed from an earthly perspective, those who look upon Christ from a heavenly perspective can see that God has already acted to redeem the world. Moreover, it is precisely because of the death and resurrection, and not some future triumph, that the Lamb is "worthy ... to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might" (5:12). The "one seated on the throne" and "the Lamb" have already triumphed; all that remains is for the process to fully unfold. That is why there is such joyous singing by the "myriads and myriads" around the heavenly throne, and not because of the judgment about to be meted out on evil per se. If every creature in the cosmos could see this truth -- even those "on the earth" -- then they too would join in the worship of God (5:13).
John 21:1-19
Yes, Peter was always reaching for the grand gesture to express his love for Jesus. But whether it was Jesus' corrections in Gethsemane or at that final Passover observance, or whether it was his eventual slipping beneath the waves of Galilee or the gentle rebuke of God's voice from heaven on Mount Tabor (if rebuke in such form can ever be considered "gentle" no matter the specific terms of its expression) -- at every turn Simon Peter's grand gestures of love seemed to fall flat. Is it any wonder then that he became so defensive when the resurrected Jesus asked him over breakfast along the lakeshore, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" And not just once; three separate times Jesus asked him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Some have suggested that these three questions were a way of allowing Peter to undo the three times he had denied Jesus in the final hours before his crucifixion. But Peter, at least, didn't seem to understand it that way. The gospel lesson tells us, "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.' " And as in each of the first two rounds of questioning, Jesus responded simply, "Feed my sheep."
Now, the fact of the matter is that there is a good bit more variation in wording in the Greek version of this exchange than in its usual English translations. The first two times Jesus poses the question he uses a different verb meaning "to love" (agapan) than Peter uses in his response that he does "love" (philein) Jesus. Finally, the third time Jesus asked the question, he used the same word that Peter had used all along. Perhaps, commentators have long suggested, Jesus and Peter are really talking about different kinds of love. The word that Jesus originally used typically referred in New Testament Greek to the highest, moral kind of love possible -- the unconditional and totally self-giving love that God has for each of us. Peter responded with a word usually used to describe the fraternal love between members of a family, or between the closest of friends or colleagues. Maybe Jesus was asking for a higher kind of love than Peter thought he could give? Maybe Jesus' grace is demonstrated in that final question by his choosing to accept that fraternal love that describes the limit of what Peter believes himself capable?
Maybe, but I have my doubts. First, although there is a difference in nuance and connotation between these different verbs in Greek generally, the Gospel of John tends to use them somewhat interchangeably. Perhaps more importantly, we have seen that Peter was not one to be timid about making the grand gesture of his love. No, I think the variation in wording is simply the evangelist's way to avoid monotony in the repetition. The key point to this exchange, I believe, lies in Jesus' responses to Peter's answers rather than in the verb choices. Follow again the exchange: Jesus asked, "Peter, do you love me more than these?" (that is, "these" other disciples gathered around them). Peter confidently asserts, "Yes, Lord; you know I do!" "Then," Jesus said, "feed my lambs." A second time Jesus asked and Peter answered, then Jesus responded, "Tend my sheep." The third time Jesus asked, and Peter, hurt and frustrated, said, "Lord, you know everything; how can you question my love for you?" And Jesus once again responded, "Feed my sheep." By his threefold admonition to be with and care for those dearest to him, Jesus was telling Peter and us that the truest expressions and proofs of love are not the grand gestures but the constant, abiding, loving presence with those we love.
Application
On a weekend several years ago when my children were quite young, I spent a large number of hours on a project in our backyard. From sunup to 10 p.m. on a Saturday and from the time I got home in the afternoon until sundown and later on Monday and Tuesday I worked to build a play structure with slide, rings, rope ladder, monkey bars, climbing rope, and baby swing as a joint birthday present for my then toddler-aged daughter and grade-school-aged son. My next door neighbor stopped over a couple of times to observe my progress, and commented at its completion that should I ever leave the pastorate he was confident I could find work as a carpenter. I told him that there are things I would do for love of my children that I wouldn't do for any amount of money.
But throughout those hours of work, my wife would bring my daughter out to the backyard. She would tell me, "Larissa misses her daddy." Larissa kept going over to the backdoor, or looking out the bay window in the kitchen, not trying to gauge the progress of her swing set but to figure out what was keeping Daddy from playing with her. And I thought, "How stereotypically American male is this? I'm out here working hard to build the big thing for my daughter's happiness, and what she really wants is for Daddy to come in and play blocks, or even just lie there on the floor, close by, as she goes about her own play." I wanted to demonstrate my love by the grand gesture; she just wanted to be with the Daddy she loves.
The point is not, however, that there is no time when we should show, "How do I love thee?" by the grand gesture. Even in his exchange with Peter, Jesus foretold a time when Peter would be called upon to demonstrate his love by the grand gesture. "But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." Just in case that reference to impending martyrdom was too subtle, the evangelist added parenthetically, "Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God." But not even the agony of a martyr's death would write the end to Peter's love for Jesus, for surely he was among the "numbered myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands" who gathered around the heavenly throne and sang: "Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!" Or to return to the closing words of Browning's sonnet, God has indeed chosen that each of us "shall but love thee better after death."
There are indeed many more ways we love and demonstrate our love than we can count, from the grand to the most simple. What we must not lose sight of in our desire to prove that love for our family, friends, and even God, is that all these ways are important, and sometimes we show that love most when we may think we are doing the least. We show the depth of our love for God by caring for the Divine's beloved "sheep," nurturing them physically and spiritually. We show our love for our spouses when we simply take time to be with them, or to be with the children born of that love. Like life, sometimes the biggest part of love isn't the grand gesture, but "just showing up."
An Alternative Application
Acts 9:1-6 (7-20); Revelation 5:11-14. Eastertide is the time of the church year when we are most consistently reminded that the church already lives in fellowship with its risen Lord. In a spiritual sense we all bear witness to the truth, "Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!" The question is: How will we respond to our own personal encounters with the resurrected Christ? Sure, they are not as vivid as the encounters described in Acts or Revelation, but they are no less real and so should have no less impact on our lives. These scripture lessons suggest two responses that are appropriate: to worship the Lord we have encountered, and to respond to his call to spread the Good News of the gospel so that others may encounter him as well.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 30
The main theme of this psalm is captured profoundly in the movement within a single verse: "Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with morning" (v. 5). Casting life experiences between light and dark is not unique or novel, of course, but the poet's treatment of these themes offers some fertile ground for reflection.
The psalmist gets right to his awareness of the perils of "the night." He calls them "foes" -- the darkness of conflict and violence. Then there's the "pit," the dark place of the dead, Sheol. The psalmist may be referring to a close encounter with death either from the hands of a foe or maybe an illness. Either way, he has seen the face of death and it is a face made of shadows.
But the psalmist does not leave us alone in the dark. There is light in the morning that comes in the form of joy. In the morning we are "lifted up" (v. 1). In the bright light of a new day we can see God's face. In the light of a new morning our grief gives way to dancing and we are "clothed with joy" (v. 10).
All of this may give the impression of an emotional roller coaster. We are pitched back and forth, up and down, alternately steeped in despair or happiness. Obviously there are times when life is just like that.
But the psalmist may just as well be giving expression to something more recurring, more regular. There is a rhythm to life that is not so much the violent rocking of a roller coaster as it is the gentle ebb and flow of a tide.
Over the course of a lifetime we are likely to spend a considerable amount of time "in the shadows." Facing the loss of loved ones, dealing with dramatic changes brought on by aging in ourselves or those we may provide care for, loss of jobs, accidents, natural catastrophes -- all of these and more are portals to what the psalmist describes as "the pit."
But over that same span of time, there will be many bright and shining mornings. There will be births and graduations, weddings and anniversaries, birthdays and homecomings. There will promotions and retirements, mortgages paid off and diseases cured.
These are the normal events of life that all of us experience to one degree or another. Sometimes they come like roller coasters, dramatic ups and downs, but not always. Sometimes the shadow and sunlight meander along together in the course of a life. We move from one to the other gradually, over time, with one occasionally giving way to the other.
If this is what the psalmist has in mind, then the message of the psalm could not be more important. This recurring pattern, this rhythmic moving from shadow to morning, leaves no room for us to become stuck in despair. As we find ourselves in the shadows, we must know and believe that the morning's light will not be far behind.
The psalmist offers a practical and helpful pattern of behavior as we move from shadow to light. In the shadows as we face the threat of "the pit," we give voice to our pain. "To you, O Lord, I cried, and to the Lord I made supplication." As we face the shadow times of our existence, we discipline ourselves to seek the Lord's help, and wait for that help to come.
When it does come, we remember to give thanks. "O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever."
