Sermon - June 29, 2008 - Saints Peter and Paul, Apostles

Pastor Heisley

“Do you love me?” That’s a question that can get us into lots of trouble. When we ask it we show our insecurity. We show that the other person isn’t really acting like she loves us. We show that we’re vulnerable and scared and weak. “Do you love me?” Not a good question for people to ask each other. 

I guess it’s especially hard for men to say that they love somebody. Swallow the words, swallow the emotion and keep going. It’ll be OK. Of course my children know I love them. I give them food and a bed and education. Of course my partner knows I love him. I’m still here, right? “Do you love me?” 

We think that actions will say it all, that we don’t need to be out front about what’s going on in our lives. “Do you love me?” Then why don’t you show it? Do something about it? That’s the other side of all of this. If you loved me, really loved me, you’d be there for me, in sickness and in health. Whether I’m rich or whether I’m poor. If you really loved me you’d do something about it. So it seems like we can’t simply say, “I love you,” and have it mean anything. We need to show it. And we can’t simply go about our lives side by side with our beloved with out saying it from time to time. “I love you.” 

“’Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” … ‘Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’ … “Feed my lambs.’” Do you love me? Don’t ask that. Please, don’t ask that. We get to the point of not wanting to have to confront the needs of the other, of Jesus, of his lambs. Don’t ask me if I love you. But there is the question again: “’Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.’” … “’Tend my sheep.’” OK. I got the message. And one more hurtful time: “’Do you love me?’” 

What is Jesus trying to do, trying to say? Why is he being so annoying? “’Feed my sheep.’” Oh. Oh. Maybe it’s not about loving just him. Maybe it’s about loving everyone that he loves. Maybe it’s about living like others matter. Maybe it’s about doing what I say and saying what I do. “‘You will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.’” It’s about ministry empowered: 

Peter, set free from prison so that he might be a witness to the power of Jesus the Risen One. Peter, led by an angel, taught to speak, learned in love. But ultimately, it’s about the cross. Peter, stretched on a cross, strapped there, taken to his death. Like the Lord himself. Do you love me? 

There was no love lost between St. Peter and St. Paul. They came to discipleship and they came to be apostles very differently. They came from different backgrounds and went on different missions, and there was no love wasted between them. Icons of Peter and Paul often show them holding a small building between them. It is the church that unites them. And there is also an icon tradition that has their faces cheek to cheek, almost, but not quite kissing. 

It’s not about whether or not they liked each other. It’s that they loved each other. It’s that they shared their missions to the world and formed the church of their Lord, and ours, Jesus Christ. “Do you love ME?” Jesus asks them. And us. It’s hard to like everyone. Maybe even impossible. 

I hear your stories all the time. Stories criticizing someone else in this community. Stories that remind me of what a great saint in my first parish used to say when someone acted out, when someone in the congregation really disgusted her: “Oh, well, if it weren’t for the Church, there’d be no one to love that guy.” Do you love me? 

We don’t have to like each other. But we are led by Jesus to love each other unconditionally. Through sickness and health. Rich and poor. There are certain times when it’s more difficult than others to love the other person. 

This week a group of gay and lesbian people and their families and their congregational community were blocked from praying together in a South Minneapolis church. It made me ache. Do you love me? No, said the church. No, not really. Well, with a few conditions. Here’s the list. But do you love me? Feed my sheep. 

I wanted to write a letter to the editor saying, “Come to Mount Olive. You’ll be welcomed here with open arms.” I didn’t. It’d probably be seen as sheep stealing rather than sheep feeding. I guess it’s just the way that we are asked to bear the cross right now. Some of us are to work for the reformation of the church, for the reshaping of lives so that they can be lived wholly in love and peace, for the right to pick up the cross of loving others. Sacrifice. Sacrificing our pain and our energies so that the joy of Jesus’ love might be known in our work. 

St. Paul was tired and old and just about finished. “’I am already being poured out as a libation, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have longed for his appearing.’” 

Do you love me? I have fought the good fight. Yes, Lord, I love you. 

“Do you renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God?” Yes, Lord, I renounce them. I love you. 

“Do you renounce the powers of this world that rebel against God? Yes, Lord, I renounce them. I love you. 

“Do you renounce the ways of sin that draw you from God? Yes, Lord, I renounce them. I love you. 

Every time we reaffirm our baptismal promises with these words we are called to renewal of discipleship, to follow Jesus by carrying his cross. And every time we reaffirm our baptismal promises with these or similar words we sign up to be apostles, people who are sent to carry the cross of Jesus, the cross of liberation and freedom, the cross of pain and joy, the cross of death that brings life into the world. 

Going before Jesus. Walking confidently, bringing the nurturing Word of Life, Jesus himself to our families and friends and coworkers. Bearing the cross like Peter and Paul did. 

And answering with our breath and with every act of grace we perform: Do you love me? Yes, Lord. You know I do. Amen.

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