Ecclesiasticus I: Introducing Eastern Orthodoxy
Ecclesiasticus II: Orthodox Icons, Saints, Feasts and Prayer
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Delivered to the
Eleventh Biennial Clergy Symposium
Antiochian Village, July 17th - 21st, 2000
Exhortation
to the Clergy of the Antiochian Archdiocese
Ligonier, Pennsylvania
July 18, 2000
Beloved
Brothers and Fellow Servants in the Lord, Christ is in our midst!
I
greet you in the love and joy of our Lord Jesus Christ, our Great High
Priest. I am very pleased to be with you today, to share with you some
thoughts on our mutual love and the bond that so closely links us together
— the Priesthood.
Indeed, we stand at the threshold of the third Christian millennium,
in a world that is changing more rapidly and maybe even more radically,
than it ever has in history. Times, customs, ethics, values, symbols —
all of the things that we have taken for granted seem to be acquiring
new and often unintended significance. The needs of the people of God,
the people that we spiritually serve and who meet our physical needs,
have acquired the same complexity as the surrounding society. We cannot
tell whether society is shaping us or we are shaping society, but the
reality is that the world is changing and along with it — our parishioners.
How are we to meet their needs in this twenty-first century? What
message of hope and security can we bring them in the age of near-universal
anxiety? What message of sacrifice and abstinence can we bring them in
this age of plenty and self-indulgence? What message of a miraculous
faith can we bring them in this age of technological wonders?
How we answer these questions may well determine — not the success
— but the effectiveness of our ministries. I think we all know that you
can look successful without being effective. It is the age-old difference
between quality and quantity. As the Proverb says: “Better a tasty
morsel in peace than a house full of sumptuous goods, unrighteous offerings
and strife” (17:1, LXX).
So often, we become too comfortable in our parishes, exchanging
the vitality of the Gospel for the lifestyle of the Parish. But appearances
can be very deceiving — especially to ourselves. What passes for leadership
is only cheerleading. What passes for pastoral attention is self-aggrandizement.
What passes for love is a condescending pat on the back. The deeper emotions
of mercy, compassion, humility and patience never seem to surface in our
work.
Perhaps this is because we have grown cold in our love for the
Priesthood.., or at least lukewarm. The tongue of fire that was lit during
our seminary days and following our ordination — the excitement of our
first assignment — the miracle of our direct experience of mediating the
love and mercy of God, especially through the Divine Liturgy — all of
these and more — they seem to change, to become dull and distant memories
and finally settle into routine.
Now, I make these observations not to condemn anyone in particular,
nor would I lump every priest together with such a sweeping generalization.
I say these things because I believe that every priest, from time to time,
struggles with the worldly aspects of his vocation. And in an increasingly
complex and entangling world, we need moments, such as this one, to step
back from the daily routine of our lives and catch a glimpse of the reality
of how and why we are living every day.
Even after a pinnacle of personal faith experience, we can become
let down, deflated, depressed, exhausted, and even despairing. I think
of the Apostle Peter after the Resurrection. After everything he had been
through — the highs, the lows:
The miraculous draught of fishes at his calling,
The confession of faith, that Jesus is the Christ,
the Son of the Living God,
The witness of the Lord’s power of Resurrection at the raising
of the daughter of Jairus,
The extraordinary vision on Mount Tabor., where he became — as
he later writes, an eyewitness of the majesty of God (cf. II Peter 1:16),
All these remarkable and life-changing events — not to mention
the three years spent sharing the daily life of our Lord.
And what happens to the one who was indignant of any indignity
to the Lord, who refused at first to let Him wash his feet? What happens
to Peter at the most critical moment of his discipleship, on the night
the Lord is betrayed, the same night that Peter received the First Communion
at the Mystical Supper? What happens as the Lord sweats drops of His precious
blood in His agonizing prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane?
He falls asleep. Peter... falls asleep.
I think that sometimes, because the story is so familiar, that
we gloss over this incredible — nearly unthinkable — lapse of the Prince
of Apostles. As our Lord Jesus Christ is preparing His very soul, His
humanity, to fall asleep in the flesh on the bed of nails that awaits
Him on Golgotha, Peter sleeps for the sake of his flesh, for his own refreshment.
You see... he was tired. His eyelids, as the Scriptures say, were heavy.
The contrast between the Master sweating blood and the servant dozing
off is almost too much to comprehend. And yet, there it is, staring us
in the face of our humanity, like a mirror for us in which to consider
our Priesthood.
For, we are certainly not any better than Peter. We cannot claim
to have had the experience, intimacy or knowledge of the Lord that he
had. So how is it that we imagine ourselves as attentive to the Lord
before the Holy Altar? Are we really present before Him? Are our minds
pure and clean from every earthly care and every worldly thought? Do
we say the words of the Liturgy with our hearts, or merely read them with
our lips. Or yet worse, as I know we are all tempted from time to time,
to read with the eye alone!
My
brothers! Are we asleep at the Altar? Spiritually asleep? The Altar
is also a Garden of Gethsemane, for the Precious Blood of the Lord is
there. He is with us in prayer, in supplication. He ministers to us as
we come before Him with our most honest prayers, just as He was honest
in His humanity about facing death. He even sends us His Angels to strengthen
us, as the Angel appeared also to Him. But where in the Garden are we?
You know that it says in the Scripture that the distance between
the Lord and His disciples in that Garden was no more than a stone’s throw.
And yet... how far apart they were.
How far apart are we from the Lord when we come before Him at the
Altar? Or are we sleepwalking through the processions, displaying by rote
that which has been buried beneath layers of pride, greed, selfishness,
and even hurt, disappointment and personal loss. Or worse, have we taken
our ministry for granted for so long, that we have become lazy? Have our
spiritual eyelids grown heavy?
The actual Garden of Gethsemane was a place of activity, of production.
In fact, the word “Gethsemane” means “Oil Press.” It was here, at the
base of the Mount of Olives, that the oil was extracted from the olive
groves that densely packed the mountain. What is pressed out of us as
we stand before the Altar? We know what the Lord gave... His own Blood.
But His grace, the grace of the Priesthood that has been poured on us,
is given that through our ministry the grace of the Spirit may (BE)
extracted for others, to refresh and anoint their lives. Every Mystery
of the Church, every Sacrament, is a testimony to this fact.
Surely, we do not believe that our Sacraments are efficacious only
because we have been legally and canonically ordained! We are not priests
of the Old Law, but of the New! Whether we feel it or not, realize it,
comprehend it, understand it or have any sense of His operation, the Holy
Spirit uses us as vessels, pressing out the grace and power of God through
us. Through the Sacraments, the grace and energy of God pour forth, pressed,
as it were, out of the insufficiency of our ministry, for the salvation
and sanctification of the faithful. Thankfully, the grace of God is always
sufficient, as the Apostle Paul heard from the Lord Who said (II Cor.
12:9): “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is perfected
by weakness.” Whose weakness? Not His, but our voluntary, confessing,
self-emptying weakness that strives, “not by power nor by mighty
strength, but by My Spirit” as the Lord said through the Prophet
Zechariah (4:6)! More of such power in a moment...
The question remains: which example do we follow from the actual
events in Gethsemane? Do we sleep through our ministry, or join the Lord
through inner vigilance, attention, and prayer? He invites us as He invited
Peter, John and James (Matt 26:38): “Abide with Me, stay with Me
here and watch with Me.” With Me! What an honor! What a privilege!
This is the glory of the Priesthood! Before the Holy Altar, we abide with
Christ, and if we are living in the truth of our Priesthood, we are vigilant
— not for Him (He Who created the many-eyed Cherubim does not need our
vigilance), but with Him! This is no onerous, miserable
duty, but joy, light and life! If we are miserable, or tired, or sleepy,
or burdened in our Priesthood, before Him at His Holy Altar, it is not
His burden. It is ours alone. His yoke is easy and His burden is light!
(cf. Matt. 11:30)
This should have been the low point for Peter, but as we all know,
Gethsemane was only the springboard for a headlong dive. By the next morning,
he would hit rock-bottom. But perhaps his three-fold denial of the Lord
was prefigured by his violence during those last moments in Gethsemane,
during the arrest of the Lord.
You remember how he drew his sword and severed the ear of Malchos,
the slave of the High Priest. As the events of the salvation of the world
were unfolding before his very eyes, he sought only control, only power,
only means that he could imagine. In the presence of the Peace that passes
understanding, he chose violence. By choosing human terms of power, trying
to force the occasion, he wrought only pain and suffering.
It seems that most people think of Peter as a man of physical power
and prowess. He was, in fact, a fisherman and earned his living with his
hands. He also was a natural leader, seeking to take matters into his
own hands. These two traits, admirable at first glance, combined in him
to blind him from the purposes of God. His self-reliance became a block
to his understanding of the will of God. For us who serve the Orthodox
Christian Faithful of this country, it is often our leadership abilities,
our strengths, our competencies that frustrate the work of God. In a word,
we think we know better than God does. We look at the state of the Church
through lenses of our own making. To feed our egos, we focus on our strengths
and ignore those of our brothers. We create, or we enter into conflicts
that we cannot possible win, because we are stubborn-headed and hard-hearted.
Having failed to be vigilant in the Garden when he is with alone
with the Lord and the community of faith, Peter succumbs to what is basically
and fundamentally worst in humanity. Just as the first crime was a fratricide,
so now, Peter rejects the brotherhood of man that Christ offers and strikes
out in panic, in anger, in fear, in rage... in the whole complex of emotions
that tear the world apart every day. Only at the rebuke of the Lord, Who
reminds Peter of the eternal purposes of God, does the sword return to
its scabbard. “Put your sword back in its sheath,” He says, “The
Cup that the Father has given to Me, am I never to drink It?” (John
18:11)
At this point, without an inner vigilant eye, and having given
in to the baser side of human nature, Peter is ready to sink. He does
not call to mind how he once walked upon the water, at least as long as
his eyes were on the Lord. You remember his little faith:
Peter called out to Jesus and said: “Lord, if it is
You, command me to come to You over the waves.” Jesus said: “Come!” And
Peter lowered himself out of the boat and walked over the waves, making
his way to Jesus. However, when Peter saw how strong the wind was, he
became afraid and he began to sink Then he cried out: “Lord, save me!”
Jesus instantly reached out His hand and took hold of him, saying to him
“Such little trust! Why were you in doubt?” (Matt
14:28-31)
Oligopistos! The one with little faith. Only a mustard seed’s
worth could move a mountain and hurl it into the sea, but now, there is
not even that little morsel of faith. And Peter is ready to sink in a
more fearful abyss than any storm that could rage upon the sea. He is
ready to sink into the darkest corners of fear and self-obsession, where
only the prophetic word of the Lord can save him, the Lord Who said: “Before
the cock crows twice, you shall deny me thrice!” (Mark 14:30)
Perhaps some of you thought that this was the “low” I was speaking
of at first, and you were a little surprised by how much time I have spent
speaking of the events in Gethsemane. But the events in the Garden reveal
that which is to come. For the failure of Peter is a failure unto salvation.
The same is true more times than not for us in our ministry.
We fail like Peter, not because we are not
perfect, but because we are human! The very faults that
we make us what we are... do you not think that God has already accounted
for them in our ministry. Is He not a providential and all-knowing God?
Then how could He not make provision for our weaknesses. The problem
is that we do not make provision for our weaknesses. If we did, then we
would be humble. The fact is that it is our arrogance that gets us in
trouble in the first place. It is our self-reliance, our trust in our
own understanding that brings us to despair. We forget the Proverb (3:5)
that says: “Rely upon God and trust Him with all your heart, and
do not exalt your own wisdom.”
But even in the midst of his sliding away, Peter shows
the spark of his ultimate and true intentions, for after the arrest in
the Garden it says (John 18:15):
“Now Peter and the Other Disciple, the Evangelist and Theologian
John, were following Jesus.” Following Jesus! This had been the
call from the beginning, the day Peter loaned the Lord his boat so He
could preach to the crowds. You remember this encounter, not their first,
but one of their most memorable.
When Jesus broke off His address, He said to Simon Peter:
“Launch out into the deep and cast out your nets for a catch!”
Peter responded by saying to Him: “Rabbi, we worked all night long and
caught not one thing! But, at Your word.. I’ll throw out the net!” And
as they were doing just that they netted a huge school of fish, so many
that their net began to tear apart. Peter even called out to his partners
who were in the other boat to come and help them. They came, but even
using both boats for the catch, they were sinking. When he saw all this,
Simon Peter fell on his knees before Jesus and said: “Lord, You best depart
from me! I am a sinful man!” (Do you see his deep-seated emotions,
the pure humanity of his heart?) But Jesus said to him: “Don’t be
afraid. From now on, you’ll be catching people, reeling them in to life!”
And when they had brought the boats to the shore, they left everything
behind and followed Him. (Luke5:4-8, 10,11)
Peter did not know how to follow Christ, but he did
know to follow Him! And so, he followed Him that night,
one last time on the way to the Cross, though he did not yet know it.
Later, this pair of Disciples, Peter and John, would travel again
together, this time to another Garden, to the Sepulcher in the Garden,
to see what had so shocked the women disciples of the Lord. But for the
moment, let us listen to John’s narration of what happened that fateful
night:
This particular disciple (John himself) was
acquainted with the High Priest (this was Annas. The father-in-law
of Caiaphas) and entered the courtyard of the High Priest at the
same time Jesus did. But Peter had been standing outside by the door.
So, the Other Disciple (the one acquainted with the High Priest) went
out, spoke to the gatekeeper and brought Peter inside. (John 18:15,16)
What was Peter thinking outside that door? What was he expecting?
He obviously wanted to go in, but his own intentions were clouded, much
like the way we serve the Lord. We are anxious, eager to follow Him,
but to what end? What is our purpose? What is our mission?
Peter was called to be an Apostle. As priests, we are called to
be the successors of the Apostles.
But an apostle, at its most rudimentary meaning, is One Who is
Sent! Sent by another! Our Lord Himself said it explicitly: “I did
not come of Myself but He — the Father — sent Me.” (John 8:42)
If our Lord was sent, and submitted Himself to be sent, how much
more should we submit ourselves? The slave is not greater than the Master.
But who is our master? If we believe that the Priesthood — so mercifully
and graciously granted to us — is our private domain, and not the dominion
of our Heavenly Father, then whose mission will we be fulfilling?
From whom do we receive our orders, our commands, our commandments?
Who is our general?
Who leads us into battle? Who has given us the weapons of the
faith, the whole armor of God, the invincible trophy of the Precious and
Life-giving Cross? And when we are wounded in the fight, who restores
us by transfusing us with His own Precious Blood? In the battle, my
brothers, it is not words that count, but deeds!
Our Priesthood is our apostleship, our commission from God Himself
to be His servants and to perform and accomplish His will. Just as the
Lord prayed in His perfect High Priestly Prayer:
“Just as You sent Me, Father, into the world, even so I have
sent them into the world. And for their sakes I sanctify Myself that they
also might be sanctified by Truth. But I am not asking only for these.
Indeed, I am asking for those who believe in Me because of them, that
they may be one, even as You, Father, are in Me and I am in You, that
they may also be one in Us, that the world might believe that You sent
Me.” (John 17:18-21)
On that most holy night in which He gave Himself up for the life
of the world, our Lord asked not only for His Disciples, He asked for
you and for me. He prayed for those who would continue the work of “being
sent” — the work of Apostleship, the work that He had commenced Himself
by being made flesh and dwelling among us.
And He prayed for our unity in Him. He asked God the Father to
keep us in oneness with each other, so that our witness to Him might be
authentic for the world to believe. Here then, is the test of our ministry.
And this is no excuse for either ecumenical insincerity or jurisdictional
wrangling. Our unity is founded and guaranteed in Him! We can neither
undo it nor create it! All we can do is witness to it. He did not say
that the world would believe, therefore making unity an
end in itself (as it seems to have become today). He said, that they might
believe, that there might be the possibility of belief through the witness
of a unity built on love, love, and more love. There are no substitutes,
no formulas, no dialogues, no administrative models that can substitute
for love.
But let us not leave Peter outside the door to the courtyard of
Annas. Let us return to his thoughts, his purpose; if there was one at
all, except that nearly instinctual attraction that Peter had for Christ,
the same attraction that had led him to say some years before, “Lord,
to whom shall we go back? You have the sayings of life eternal! Moreover,
we believe and we know that You are the Christ, the Son of the Living
God!” (John 6:69,70)
Peter’s instincts, if you will, were right on. His confession
was true, his theology correct — Orthodox! His spirit was indeed willing,
but his flesh...?
The evangelist continues:
Then the gatekeeper (a young serving girl) said to Peter: “Aren’t
you also one of This Man’s disciples?” Peter replied: “I am not!” (John
18:17)
Really, when you think about it, it happens too quickly. It speeds
by in the narrative without so much as a glance from the Evangelist. In
a moment — but not the twinkling of an eye, rather the blinking that comes
from weakness and fear — Peter scuttles three years of his apostleship.
He now hurls headlong into the sea of doubt, fear, and failure. He denies
the Lord.
He confessed Him as God, but denies Him before man. He rebuked
Him as Man (cf. Matt.16:22), and deserts Him as God. He who given the
keys of the Kingdom is locked — imprisoned by fear— at the sound of the
gatekeeper’s voice.
All the high-sounding words, all his training in the presence of
the Lord, all the miracles he witnessed, they cannot free Him from the
prison he has willfully entered. He trusted the flesh, his own perceptions
about God, the world and himself. And when the moment came, he failed.
What is worse, as if to show the coldness of his heart at that
moment, we are left with this description:
Now some of the slaves and attendants who had been standing around
had built a fire because it was cold, and they were warming themselves.
And Peter stood right along side of them, warming himself. (John 18:18)
While our Lord was being beaten, slapped, cursed, spit upon, humiliated...
Peter warms himself by the fire. He spared himself no comfort at the
precise moment the Lord of Heaven and earth spared Himself no pain!
My brothers in Christ, this should be a most disturbing image for
us to consider. How often have we stood by, warming ourselves in the comforts
of our ministries, while the Lord languishes in the prisons of men’s hearts,
scoffed, discarded, pummeled and struck without pity? Like every other
person, we are attracted to comfort like moths to the flame, like Peter
to that fire so many centuries ago. Our own denial may not be so verbal,
so articulate, but is it any less real? And even when given a second chance
and even a third chance, sin and its evil offspring, guilt, have a way
of producing even worse results. Listen to the Evangelist:
Then, another woman looked at Peter and shouted out to everyone:
“This man was also there, with Jesus of Nazareth!” And again he denied
it swearing that: “I do not know the Man!” After a little while, some
of the people milling about came up to him and said: “You are definitely
one of them, for even your accent betrays you!” Then he exploded in a
fit of cursing and swearing: “I do not know the Man!” And at that very
instant, the cock crowed. (Matt.
26:71-74)
From denial, to swearing oaths, to cursing. All to deny that he
ever knew the Lord Who had rescued his body and soul from the waves of
the sea and the turmoil of the world. It truly is a shocking moment in
the Gospel, in all four Gospels. Perhaps it appears in all four as a solemn
warning, especially for us who are priests. It is a reminder of how far
we can come... and then how far we can fall.
Thankfully, although Peter may have primed himself for this fall
in the Garden of Gethsemane, unlike Judas, he did not betray Him. And
unlike Judas who, the Scripture says, did not repent but rather changed
his mind about what he had done, Peter,
... remembered what Jesus had said to him: “Before the cockcrow,
you shall deny Me three times!” And he went out and wept bitterly. (Matt.
26:75)
He went out and wept bitterly, wept for his sins, wept for his
failure, wept for his denial. Judas hung himself... Peter wept. Judas
took his own life... Peter rediscovered his through repentance. And because
of his genuine repentance, our Lord restored him, readying him once again
for ministry.
If you read the accounts of Resurrection, Peter always seems to
be present, but not particularly in touch with what is going on. He runs
to the tomb with John, but goes home afterwards in a state of bewilderment
(cf. Luke 24:12). He is present in the Upper Room both times when Christ
appears. The Disciples who met the Risen Lord on the road to Emmaus return
to Jerusalem to hear that the Lord has appeared to Peter, Risen from the
dead (cf. Luke 24:34). But after all this, what does Peter do?
He goes back to fishing.
It is really a remarkable turn of events. He returned to what he
thought he knew. He tried his hand at basics again. I truly believe that
there is something admirable in this, because our own ministries very
often need to return to the pastoral basics. We become enamored of programs,
and speakers, and studies and techniques. We forget about the fact that
our faithful, even in this new digital world, still need the basics of
the faith. And they need the basics of good pastoral care. Peter did not
yet know how to be a great shepherd, but he knew where his beginnings
were. He knew where the Lord had called him. He knew his vocation, a
fisherman — destined to be a fisher of men. So, he returned
to the sea and to his nets, as we chant in one of the Matins.
They went off and set sail in the boat, but during that night,
for all their efforts, they did not catch a thing. It was already morning
as Jesus stood on the shore, yet the disciples did not realize that it
was Jesus. Then Jesus called out to them: “Little children, have you
anything to eat?” They answered back: “No.” Then He said to them: “Cast
the net out over the right side of the boat and you’ll find some!” So,
they cast it out, but then they could no longer draw the net up because
of the size of the catch. Then that disciple, the one whom Jesus dearly
loved, said to Peter: “It’s the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard “It is the
Lord:” he tied his robe around his waist (he was to that moment bare-chested)
and threw himself headlong into the sea. (John 21:3-7)
What a difference repentance makes. What wisdom comes from love!
Peter doesn’t think about the water; neither fear nor pride. He hurls
himself in because he cannot wait to see his Lord, to worship his Master,
to embrace his God! Would that every priest who toils both day and night
to fill the nets of the Church would leap and jump so at every chance
to be with the Lord in the Divine Liturgy. For that is the very meal
that awaited them with Jesus on the shore.
Now when they set foot on land they saw a bed of hot embers carefully
arranged, and a fish set over the coals, and some bread. Jesus said to
them: “Bring some of the fish that you have caught just now.” Simon Peter
went back and hauled the net up on dry land; it was bulging full of huge
fishes — one hundred and fifty and three! And even though there were so
many, yet the net did not tear. Jesus said to them: “Come, eat some breakfast”
(John 21:9-12)
This time, the net does not tear, not like the first encounter
on the Sea of Galilee. That is because Christ wants everyone in the Church.
As Orthodox, we may be exclusive in our Faith, but never exclusionary.
Maintaining the purity of the Apostolic Faith is a great privilege and
weighty responsibility, not an excuse for either arrogance or prejudice.
If we are faithful, the means that we construct to edify the faith — our
boats if you will — may not be adequate to contain the results. That is
okay. But the Lord has made provision that we will be able to bring everybody
safely to shore. The nets shall not tear!
When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter: “Simon,
son of Jonas, do you Love Me more than these?” Peter said to Him: “Yes,
Lord, You know we are friends.” Jesus said to him: “Nourish My little
lambs.” Then He said to him again a second time: “Simon, son of Jonas,
do you love Me?” Peter said to Him: “Yes, Lord, You know we are friends”
Jesus said to him: “Shepherd My sheep.” Jesus spoke to him a third time:
“Simon, son of Jonas do You like Me?” Peter looked downcast because He
said to him for a third time, ‘Do you love Me?’ and replied to Him: “Lord,
You know everything! You know that I have love for You!” Jesus said to
him: “Pasture My sheep. Amen, Amen I say unto you; when you were a young
man, you used to gird yourself up and walk about wherever you pleased.
But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else
will gird you, and force you on where you desire not.” (Now He said this
signifying by what death Peter would glorify God.) And after He pronounced
this He said to him: “Follow Me!” (John
21:15-19)
Here, in this wonderful passage, we come to pearl of great price,
the treasure buried in the field. Peter seems utterly unaware of what
the Lord is doing. Peter is being bathed with forgiveness and acceptance,
prepared for the ministry that awaits him.
I have chosen to quote the passage reflecting the differing Greek
words used for love, “philia” and “agapi.” I believe there is a great
lesson for all of us to be learned from their careful and deliberate use.
The Lord questions Peter in a three-fold manner, to reverse the
three-fold denial. He asks for Peter’s love, his perfect sacrificial
love — agapi — but Peter cannot respond in kind. Not that he doesn’t
think that he is. Peter does not yet see the difference.
The Lord follows each question with a command; they all say the
same thing a different way:
“Nourish My little lambs,” “Shepherd My sheep,” “Pasture
My sheep.” Each command is replete with imagery of feeding, nurturing,
nourishing, guarding, protecting, guiding, leading, shepherding.
After the first command, the Lord asks him again, ‘Do you love
Me,’ and Peter once again answers with less than he is asked. The Lord
desires our love, but we more times than not offer Him much less. The
second commandment ensues.
However, in the third question, the question that cancels out the
three-fold denial, the Lord does not use the word “agapi.” He uses Peter’s
expression. It is as if even in this most sacred and holy exchange, an
exchange that brings about restoration and healing, the Lord condescends
to our ability, our capacity, our level of love. He asks us to be perfect,
but he accepts us and uses us with all our imperfections!
What a miracle of sacrifice, even after the glory of the Resurrection!
Such a miracle, my brothers, is the essence of the Priesthood.
Without such a miracle, we could never be pleasing to God. But He accepts
us as we are, just as He accepted Peter as he was. All He asks in return
— and not only asks, He commands — is that we feed His flock. It may not
be in the way that we want, anticipate or have planned. Peter learned
he would be bound by another and taken in a way he would not have chosen.
But we did not choose Him. He chose us. The call is the same for us as
it was for Peter so long ago: “Follow Me.”
May each of us find the strength, the courage, the faith and the
love to follow Him, no matter what the cost. May the Holy Prince of the
Apostles Peter be are guide and example, leading us always back to Christ
and to His mercy. And may we all find the joy and fulfillment of our Priesthood
- His Priesthood — in following after Him.
Amen.
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