Easter: The Rapid Unscheduled Disassembly (R.U.D.) Edition - John 21:1-19

I heard a fantastic euphemism this week, and I plan to use it regularly. You might want to use it, too. I was listening to Marketplace on KUAR while cooking dinner, which is my routine. And out of the blue, the host, Kai Ryssdal, used a phrase that was just what I needed for this sermon. The phrase is “rapid unscheduled disassembly,” or R.U.D. for short. It’s a term for when things like rockets and guns explode in an unplanned way. Rapid unscheduled disassembly describes explosions in a perfectly understated way. And you can use it about so much more than literal explosions. Folks on Marketplace were using R.U.D. to talk about perceptions of the current economy. It’s a great way to describe all sort of things that fall apart.

I sat down to write this sermon on Friday morning, and thought, R.U.D. is a perfect description for what happened to Simon Peter the night Jesus was arrested. More on that in a minute. Because just as I was googling R.U.D. for research purposes, a lightning strike hit the tree in our front yard, our own R.U.D. I think this is clear evidence that God has a sense of humor, or at least appreciates irony. Thankfully, no one was hurt, including the HVAC technician who was working outside by the tree when the strike occurred. After a small gas leak, a water line break, and the loss of a few electronics, everything calmed down. The insurance adjustor hemmed and hawed about which acts of God are covered in our policy. But overall the experience was kind of amazing, as lots of people surrounded us to help, from neighbors to Summit Utilities, an electrician and a plumber. They brought us back to a sense of safety and gratitude. What a day that was.

This story was just too perfect not to use in today’s sermon. Because the force of that lightning strike, a rapid unscheduled disassembly, brings us awfully close to what Peter’s experience of failing Jesus must have been like.

Today we hear about the resurrected Jesus on a beach, cooking fish over a charcoal fire. Scholars think this scene in John’s Gospel was added later. If so, I think it was added because of an unfinished storyline. If the gospel had ended with the risen Lord talking to Mary Magdalene in the garden, or with the disciples in the locked room, it would have had a tidy and joyful ending. But in its tidiness and joy, perhaps it wouldn’t be the easiest story for us to relate to or to step into and find meaning for ourselves. I wonder if that’s why someone decided it was necessary to add something more about Peter.

We are surely meant to notice the charcoal fire with the fish. Peter’s colossal failure happened earlier in the story over a charcoal fire, the night he denied knowing Jesus three times before the cock crowed. That betrayal must have felt like a personal R.U.D., leaving him reeling with shame and guilt of the worst kind. Fast forward after Easter and we find him fishing. The Jesus days are over, the mission seems like a failed one, and Peter has gone back to the only work he knew before. And did you notice the strange detail about Peter being naked? When the disciples on the boat realize that it’s Jesus on the shore, Peter quickly covers himself. Not unlike when Adam and Eve cover themselves in shame after their betrayal in the garden. The very sight of Jesus would remind Peter of his betrayal all over again. Easter may have brought resurrection and the miracle of forgiveness for Peter just like everyone else, but you don’t shake that kind of shame, that kind of failure, quickly.

Over that new charcoal fire of Easter, Jesus sets about restoring Peter, piecing him back together after his disassembly. It takes time. Three times to be exact, in the telling of the story. Jesus asks if Peter loves him. Each time, the question grows in intensity. And each time when Peter says yes, Jesus tells him to carry on the ministry. Peter has been forgiven for his betrayal and must learn not only to accept that grace, but to bestow it on others. That kind of healing and restoration takes time. But Jesus is patient, willing to repeat the question that will restore Peter until it sinks in. No matter how spectacular our explosions and failures, God is patient. That is an essential Easter truth for us to hear.

By all accounts, the first Easter was glorious. For Peter, it was followed by the hard work of accepting Jesus’ forgiveness and living into it. We, too, have some post-Easter work to do. If you happen to have a failure story, then you know what Peter was up against. One disastrously wrong word or action, one deep hurt of someone we love or even a stranger, can send us into an R.U.D. The gospel tells us that it’s in our very failures that Christ comes to us to put us back together. Jesus asks us, do you love me? And if we manage to squeak out a yes, he offers us his ministry. Even with our rapid unplanned disassemblies, we can carry on his saving work of forgiveness, reconciliation, healing, and love.

So maybe we can use the failures, the R.U.D.’s in our lives, to know that the Easter message is for us. It’s not just an abstract idea or distant historical event. Someone figured out early on that we needed one more story told around the charcoal fire for the gospel to really sink in. Shame may be as quick and devastating as a lightning strike, but calm after the storm comes to us through grace. We all need to hear about Peter’s restoration to know that, ultimately, the power of shame in our lives is no match for God’s love. In a post-Easter world, R.U.D.’s are not the end of the story.