Last weekend at our Northeastern Ohio Synod Assembly, our Bishop, The Rev. Dr. Laura Barbins was re-elected to the leadership position working with the 130-some of us ELCA congregations around this corner of the state. But the moment also brought me back to six years earlier, when she was first lifted up by all the voting representatives of us Lutheran churches in the area, and the entire process transpired over Zoom because, well six years ago, the world was in the midst of…a rather interesting pandemic time.
Nevertheless, for the few who could physically gather together to lead the assembly proceedings, a worship was still carried out as well. I still remember then-Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton (a former Bishop or our Northeastern Ohio Synod before becoming the Presiding Bishop of the ELCA) preaching, focusing on the Gospel text for the day, John 21:4-17 (if you aren’t up for reading it, it is Jesus’ third post-Resurrection appearance to the disciples; the disciples go from catching zero fish to 153 of them with the Risen Lord’s help, before Jesus asking Peter to feed/tend/feed his sheep following “Do you love me?” X 3).
Bishop Eaton pointed out something in the sermon I never realized before (I’m sure most people in the digital room knew besides me, but minor detail): there is that reference to a “charcoal fire” in vs. 9:
When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, ‘Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.’ So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred and fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. (21:9-11 NRSV)
The only other time “charcoal fire” appears in Scripture? Just a few chapters earlier.
The woman said to Peter, ‘You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?’ He said, ‘I am not.’ Now the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing round it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself. (18:17-18).
I knew about the whole parallel of Peter being asked by Jesus three times in some form of “Do you love me?” to connect with Peter’s three-time denial of the soon-to-be crucified Lord, but the charcoal fire adds another vivid layer to it. It’s as if all Peter’s senses can be brought back to the heart-breaking scene from before. And yet, around this new flame of hope and mercy and love, the Risen Lord insists on grace for the denier, because he isn’t a “denier” in Jesus’ eyes: Peter is still(!) a child of God. Not even that, but the Christ still believes in Peter so much that he is called to help care for the flock that will continue following the Messiah.
This is the time of year when more and more groups will gather around a fire in the backyard, or seemingly out in the middle of nowhere, or wherever else (where it’s actually safe to do so, hopefully). Such fires have a way of calming people down, creating a sense of comfort and peace to just stare in the flames and listen to the insistent crackling. Soon enough, conversations may ensue that may not happen otherwise. Some people become just the right amount of comfortable to talk about memories past or current difficulties or hopes and dreams. Bonds amongst family and friends grow, vulnerabilities are shared, as a reminder that they are not expected to take on any aspect of life alone.
I wonder if the church is called to create more such “charcoal fire” moments; not the wider church or a bishop alone, but all of us as part of the body of Christ. That isn’t to say we all better get proficient on setting up campfires (although that can be helpful in certain instances, for sure), but we can work on helping others not feel judged, or that they must do “this and that” to gain access into our inner campfire (or not) circle, or that if they do other “this and that’s” around a charcoal fire to embarrass “our” Lord or us (!, God forbid!), then, they will most certainly be kicked out to never see any flame of hope and mercy and love.
Many congregations have a flame meant to eternally flicker at the front of their sanctuary. Perhaps, it’s not simply to serve as a reminder of Christ’s eternal presence with us (not just in the church building, either, of course), but to serve as a Gospel parallel to Peter’s charcoal fire grace-reacclimation moment. That no matter what happens, you’re never going to be kicked away from this campfire holy moment with your Risen Lord, who will insist on sitting beside you as you stare into the flame wondering if you’re worth the cross and the empty tomb. Christ will listen to all the questions and doubts and fears and worries and struggles, and even if you cannot as boldly say like Peter, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you,” Jesus will still insist on loving you. The Holy Spirit will insist on flickering within you, as if the Gospel was meant for you, too. Thanks be to God, indeed!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad
Image: from Outdoorsy.com