Sermon

St. Philip's Episcopal Church, Durham, NC

4/16/06 - Easter Sunday

The Reverend Scott A. Benhase

Audio of this sermon is available.  To download, click here

Occasionally a few words can speak volumes.
At times just a few words can tell an entire narrative.
Sometimes two words can sum up the human story.
And we have those two words today on this Easter Sunday and those words are: "and Peter."

When Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome went to anoint the dead body of Jesus that Easter morning, they found that the very large stone that had blocked the entrance to the tomb had already been rolled back. So they entered the tomb and saw a young man, dressed in a white robe. He said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee."

"And Peter?" Why would he single out Peter? Why wouldn't he just say: "go tell his disciples that he is going ahead of you to Galilee?" Why does Peter get special mention? To answer that, we must go back a few days to early Friday morning at sunrise. Peter had followed them as closely as he dared. He was afraid. After all, soldiers had just taken Jesus away to the high priest. Peter came to the high priest's courtyard where the guards and servants of the high priest were gathered around a small fire. He was cold, chilled to the bone, in fact. He needed to get warm. So, he inched his way up to the fire. One of the servants there said she had seen him some place before. Yes, she said, she had seen him with Jesus. Peter objected to her accusation, she must be mistaken he said. But she insisted that she'd seen him with Jesus. Peter replied strongly that she was wrong about him. But she couldn't leave him alone and said that she was certain because he spoke just like Galilean. Fear welled up inside of Peter and he screamed: "I don't know the man!" And the cock crowed a second time. Peter remembered what Jesus had said so he ran out of the courtyard and, when he was out of sight, he fell to the ground and wept.  

Remember how the night before Peter had sworn on a stack of Bibles that he'd never desert Jesus or deny him? No matter what, he said, he wouldn't leave him or deny he ever knew him. He'd sooner die himself than deny Jesus. All the others, they might deny him, but not Peter, not the rock on whom Jesus would build his Church. He'd been through too much with Jesus to deny him now. No, he was in this to the end; come what may, cost what it will. But Peter was wrong. Before the cock crowed twice, in fact, did deny his Lord.

And just weeks before Jesus asked his disciples what people were saying about him. Some disciples said that the buzz was that he was a prophet. Others were saying that he was John the Baptist or Elijah come back to life. But then Jesus pointedly asked his disciples: "that's all well and good, but who do you say that I am?" After some awkward silence, Peter stood up in front of the others and boldly proclaimed that Jesus was the Christ, the Messiah.  But then Jesus added that because he was the Christ, he would have to die on the cross.  Now, that was unacceptable to Peter so he rebuked Jesus. He and the other disciples had not come this far to have Jesus die like that. Peter's life was on a trajectory that was hurtling toward Easter. He had rebuked, denied, and deserted Jesus. Peter swore he would never do any of those things. But he did.

Many of us can resonate with Peter's story. I know I can. There have been times in my life when I have rebuked, denied, and deserted Jesus, sometimes all in the same breath. And there have been times when I've done similar things to those I love the most.  As many of you know, I grew up in Portsmouth, a steel town on the Ohio River.  My father was the local high school football coach and in Ohio, football competes with God for people's devotion. In the fall of 1969, my father, for the first time since he began coaching there, played more black players than white players. He always started the players who had earned their position. It just that year a majority happened to be black. With the perspective of time, no one should be surprised by what came next. Our house was covered with graffiti. Rocks were thrown through our windows. In all hours of the night, we awoke to people yelling obscenities at my father from passing cars. A rally was held in the parking lot outside the football stadium. During the rally, a likeness of my father was strung up on a rope and burned in effigy. My father and I were leaving the stadium as the rally was heating up and I'll never forget looking into his eyes and seeing fear for the first time.

Soon, my friends avoided me. The walk home from school was a challenge to see if I could get home each night without a fight. One cold fall night after wrestling practice was over I started home just as it was getting dark. Some teenagers I didn't know were gathered by the school doors a little ways away from me. I heard one of them say: "that's him!" And he called out to me: "hey, you're the son of that nigger lover, aren't you?" I stared back at the group. I was tired and cold, my hair was still wet from the shower. To my utter shame, I replied: "No, I'm not. You got the wrong guy. I don't know who you're talking about." I turned and walked away as fast as I could.

Now, I can offer you excuses for why I did what I did. I can pass it off as the moral weakness of an immature teenager. I'm sure if I asked, you'd offer me quick, certain absolution. That may be true, but the truth is on that night in the fall of 1969 I denied that I even knew my father let alone that I was his son. My father was fired that year and never coached again. He was labeled a trouble-maker, so no one would hire him. He would've gone on to a coaching career at the college level. He willingly gave up his coaching future because he was unwilling to compromise his moral code. And I couldn't even admit that I was his son.

It took me years before I could come to grips with my denial of my father. But to this day, I've never been able to tell my father what I did. I've confessed it to a priest and I've received God's absolution. Until now, no one but my confessor has heard this story. I share it now publicly for the first time. My experience of denial has made Peter's experience in the Passion story all the more powerful for me. I feel like I know some of what Peter was feeling, experiencing on that cold Good Friday morning.

Entire communities can experience this as well. The pain and anguish that has rocked Durham over the last month tells us that our human frailty can be exposed quickly, especially in this age of instant media. Issues of race, power, privilege, and violence can bring out the worst in all of us. Of course, we don't know the whole story yet and we probably will never know the whole truth of what happened. But this we know, we human beings, even when we swagger and bluster, are all frail creatures with feet of clay. 

Peter was still swaggering and blustering at the last supper. The Gospel tells us that while they were gathered together, Jesus "took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, 'Take, eat; this is my body.' Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, 'This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for all." Peter took the bread from Jesus that night and then went out ten hours later and denied he ever knew Jesus and then deserted him, leaving him to die on the cross. We, too, have received the Body of Christ at the altar of this church and then we have left this altar and have behaved just as Peter. You know I have and I know you have as well. Alexander Solzhenitsyn wrote: "The line between good and evil runs through each human heart."

And yet, on that Easter morning, when the women enter the tomb, they find God's messenger there. He tells them: "You seek Jesus who was crucified; he's not here. Go tell his disciples and Peter that he's going on before you to Galilee." That's what the Easter message tells us, "and Peter." The Resurrection of Jesus tells Peter that his denial and desertion of Jesus can now only be understood properly in light of Easter. "And Peter!" The love of God is that powerful and the grace of God is that amazing. If Peter is included in that powerful love and amazing grace, then you and I are as well.

So, that resurrection light shines on you and me as well. "Go tell his disciples and Scott that he's going on before you to Galilee." Jesus is risen and God has said to us in his resurrection that we are forgiven and are now new creations.

Like Peter, we're a redeemed people, knowing our sin and confessing it and at the same time celebrating the truth that God has not only forgiven our sins, but promised us new life in the name of his son.  Like Peter, we're a redeemed people, seeking to follow and obey our Lord, not through our own human frailty, but through God's redeeming love for us.

We read of Peter's redemption in today's lesson from Acts. Peter, the one who had denied his Lord out of fear for his own life, the one who had deserted him at his crucifixion, this Peter, who was as human as any of us, is now publicly and fearlessly proclaiming the Good News of Jesus Christ.

Occasionally a few words can speak volumes.
At times just a few words can tell an entire narrative.
Sometimes two words can sum up the human story.
And we have those two words today on this Easter Sunday and those words are: "and Peter."

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