SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

So when they had dined, Jesus saith to Simon Peter, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him, Feed my lambs. He saith to him the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? He saith unto Him, Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him, Feed my sheep. He saith unto him the third time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because He said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto Him, Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.—John 21, 15-17.

It was on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. The first pale shafts of the rising sun were shooting across the eastern sky, revealing seven fishermen out upon the water in a little boat. All night they had been toiling, rowing and letting down their nets, but nothing had they caught. Disheartened by their fruitless toil, they were just about to give up further attempt when a once familiar form is seen standing upon the beach, and they hear a voice telling them to cast the net on the right side of the ship. They heed the direction, and the success which follows—a draught of one hundred and fifty-three fishes—confirms them in their belief that it was their risen Master who had given the command. Thereupon they drag the boats to shore, and find a fire of coals, and fish laid thereon and bread, whilst He whom all know to be the Lord, but whom none from holy awe dares ask, "Who art Thou?" bids them, "Come and eat."

It is here that our text sets in—one of the most pathetic incidents in sacred story. To understand it properly, we go back in spirit to that scene in the high priest's palace when Peter, the bold and courageous, whose impulsiveness had caused him to promise great things, had shamefully and cowardly denied his Master in the hour of distress. Thrice had he averred that he knew not the man of whom they spoke, and aggravated his offense by denunciations and an oath. It was a grievous, a most terrible fall for the apostle, one that virtually excluded him from the circle of his fellow-disciples and from his holy office; and whilst it is true that he had wept in sorrowing repentance when the eye of his Master had met his insignificant look, yet the occurrence was such as to demand a personal heart-to-heart interview and setting aright. This interview took place on theshores of the Sea of Galilee, after the miraculous draught of fish. Everything tended to prepare the apostle for the holy scene. It was just three years before, at the same sea, after a similar miracle, that the Lord had established him in his ministerial office. The early hour reminded him of the morning watch, that fire of coals answered to that fire of coals in the palace of Caiaphas,—all of this must have touched Peter's heart to the quick, made him exquisitively sensitive to the scene that followed. The particulars of that scene we shall now ponder, regarding,I. The examination,II. the charge.

When they had finished their meal, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" Each designation is touchingly significant. "Simon, son of Jonas." Why not "Peter," the name He had Himself once bestowed? Because he had proved himself anything but a Peter, a rock man. It was not as Peter, as a rock, but as Simon, son of flesh and blood, that he had acted in denying his Lord. "Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thoume?" Remembering what had occurred, how divine, how unspeakably tender a word! "Lovest thoume?" even Him whom thou didst say and confirm with an oath, "I know not the man," and more than these, as thou didst boastfully claim: "Although all should be offended because of Thee, yet will I never be offended." Truly, a rigid examination if accompanied by the same look that once brought tears to his eyes, calculated to cut down deep into his innermost soul. Moreover, the Lord repeats the inquiry three times, evidently as a reminder of the thrice shameful denial.

And what does the disciple reply? Sad almost unto death, he would prefer to turn aside and give vent to his feelings in silent tears. But the Lord has put a question to him, and speak he must, and so he responds with great tact and deep emotion, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee." And the last time, with additional force, "Lord, Thou knowest all things; Thou knowest that I love Thee," as though he said: "Others may misjudge me, these brethren and apostles, those servants in the high priest's palace, but Thou, Lord, the Omniscient, knowest that I love Thee." And we may believe that it was so. On the day of Pentecost, when boldly confessing his Master in the face of thousands, until the day when, pinned to the cross in Rome, he at last made good his promise, "Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee,"—in all this we have the evidenceof that love thrice avowed. And has that original scene on the shore of the Sea of Galilee and that question no concern and no application whatever for us? No superfluous or unprofitable inquiry, my dear hearers.

If the Lord were to appear personally in our midst this morning, look straight into your eyes, and, addressing you by your name, say, as He did to Simon, son of Jonas: "Lovest thou me?" could you answer as promptly, as heartily as the Apostle did, "Yea, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? Or are there no tests by which to find out? It was written by a pious man, but it is poor, unchristian theology:

'Tis a point I long to know,Oft it causes anxious thought,Do I love the Lord or no?Am I His, or am I not?

We need only settle down to a faithful and impartial scrutiny with ourselves to find out, "Lovest thou me more than these?" What "these"?

Love, according to its object, has been variously classified. There is social affection, or love of friends. In spite of much that has been said about the fickleness of friends and friendships, there is no darker lot and no gloomier epitaph could be inscribed upon the monument of any man than that: "He lived and died without a friend." History gives us many noble testimonies of its strength and beauty. We think of the Bible account of David and Jonathan. Again, more beautiful and binding is the affection which subsists in the family circle. The bond that ties together husband and wife, that unites together brothers and sisters, brought up around the same domestic hearths, sharing in common joys and sorrows, how strong and enduring it ought to be, and especially that which exists between parents and the child. The recollection of a noble parent, of a devoted mother, time nor place nor change can ever uproot the affection from the heart. But, asks the voice of our text: "Lovest thou me more than these?"

There is One toward whom we sustain a still nearer and holier relation, One whose care surpasses that of an earthly parent, and whose love is more deep and sublime and unfailing than a mother's, even He who has created you, redeemed you, and who crowns not only your life, but your whole eternity with His goodness. It matters not what, and hence you may embracein that riches, honor, property, possessions, fame and name, or even self,—there is One who requires that all these should be held in subordination to a still higher, all-sustaining affection. "Lovest thou me"—is the question, "more than these," and where is the evidence?

If you love a person, you will delight in the fellowship and company of that person. Love finds its greatest happiness in the presence of the beloved. The thought of a long absence is painful, or hopeless separation, intolerable. It is so with Him who asks "Lovest thou me?" Every opportunity of communion with Him the believer values as a privilege. The Word in which He speaks to him, the place in which He meets with him, the table which He spreads for him, these are his greatest delight, his favorite and fondest resort.

Again, if you love some one, you will constantly aim to please that person. You will be considerate of his feelings, you will refrain from any conduct that might be displeasing, and strive in every possible way to be of service and help to his interests. It is none else with Christ. Consideration for Him and obedience to Him, and that as a pleasure and privilege, is a criterion of our love to Him; and this alone you will find where there is true attachment. The maiden that loves will think nothing of leaving a pleasant home to cast her lot with the man of her devotion. The mother will spend herself, unselfishly sacrifice her comfort, strength, and even life itself, for the objects of her affection, and this rule applies to the Christian sphere.—No man ever possessed true love for Christ who was not willing to lay down in sacrifice what he cherished highly. Here, then, are a few criterions, and now, with all sincerity, repeat the question once more, "Lovest thou me?" Lovest thou my Word, my house, my sacraments? Is my service thy delight? What sacrifice art thou bringing? Shall the Savior say unto thee as Delilah said unto Samson: "How canst thou say, I love thee, when thy heart is not with me?" Or are you able to say with the Apostle, "Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee"? May we all be brought to love and adore, with our whole, undivided heart, Him who loved us and gave Himself for us, and who is the Model and Source of all pure and ennobling lives.

But there is yet another consideration for us to weigh in the text. Peter, making threefold confession of His attachment, is three times, after each answer, commanded, "Feed my lambs,""Feed my sheep." A desperate cause, in this passage as in a few others, wants to find a proof of Peter's supremacy. There is a certain pontiff who wears a triple crown—the tiara—upon his head, styles himself Peter's successor, and seals his briefs and documents with the "Fisherman's Ring," and he affects to rule all Christendom in virtue of the right conferred on that Apostle by Christ. But in vain do we seek the scripture for any such reference, and surely no such sense is implied here. That scene on the shores of the Sea of Galilee can by no means be interpreted to mean that Peter was being exalted above his fellow-apostles. Neither could we regard it as a reproof and abasement. None other had so sorrowfully forfeited his charge as Peter had, and it was not necessary to reinstate them. Where, then, is the exaltation? Nor is there any such a sense implied in the words themselves. "Feed my lambs," is Christ's direction. Romanism, you will observe, exalts the ruling; you can see that in such words as pope, cardinal, primate, bishop, prelate, diocesan, throne, and so forth. Protestantism emphasizes the "feeding." Protestantism makes much of preaching, Rome but little. Rome exalts the clergy, Protestantism gives prominence to the congregation.

It is easy enough to decree and lord it over, it is not so easy to feed. And food is what a flock explicitly needs. It can live without edicts, it cannot live without food. Observe, also, the pronoun "my" sheep. The flock was not Peter's, it was the flock of Peter's Lord. The flock does not belong to the under-shepherd; it belongs to the chief shepherd. And did not Peter himself—and that is one reason why his letters are never read in the Romish Church—very strongly denounce the very things which it is asserted that Christ had invested him with: lordship over the Church, a separate hierarchical priesthood, and refuse such honors as are freely given to his successor? As Luther has well said: "Popery never drew its doctrine from the Bible, but uses it as a means to thrust upon the world an audacious system which has its origin somewhere else."

Nor can we leave entirely unnoticed the difference the Lord makes between His people,—"Feed my lambs," and again, "Feed my sheep." Some of Christ's flock are lambs, lambs in years. Perhaps there are more lambs than sheep, more true members of Christ in the nursery and in the Sunday-school and in the Christian day-school than in the assembly of the adults,and these we are to feed, and it becomes those who are invested with the sacred office, and those who are supporting the sacred office, to dispense to them wholesome and health-sustaining spiritual food. Our responsibilities in this respect are great, and all the greater because the more secular knowledge would crowd out religious, the many things that are now regarded needful, and set aside "the one thing needful." "Feed my lambs," and, "Feed my sheep," says the Chief Shepherd. See that they get the proper food and get it in proper proportion.

And "My sheep;" we are not always to remain lambs. Christian life is a growth. First the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. First babes, and then we need milk; afterwards adults, and then we need meat. Alas! that, like the writer of the letter to the Hebrews, we are sometimes constrained to complain "that many of you who ought by this time be teachers, are yet needing again that one teach them the first rudiments of the oracles of God, having become such as have need of milk and not of solid food."

This was a crisis in Peter's life. Hitherto he had been tended as a sheep, henceforth he was to tend as a shepherd. Having been converted, that is to say, having been turned again to his Master, he is henceforth to strengthen his brethren. What hinders us from doing likewise, pastors and teachers, educating, tending, and feeding the flock of God? This is the privilege of the laity, not less than of the ministry. When the laity really do their work, they, too, are really a ministry, true shepherds. But let us evermore keep in mind—which was the first part of our sermon—that the essential qualification, the principle of such service, as it is the only thing that will render your work delightful and carry you through all difficulties, is love to Christ, "Lovest thou me more than these?—Feed my sheep." Amen.

Back to Index Next