Bittersweet Farm

There is a graceful scene painted toward the end of John’s Gospel I love to contemplate. Peter has repeatedly and publicly denied Jesus. Peter had trouble with the idea that Jesus would have to suffer. Resisting the idea earned had him a rebuke at Caesarea Philippi. He just couldn’t get his mind around the idea of a suffering Messiah. He seemed to recoil even more at the idea of his own suffering. To avoid it, he repeatedly denied Jesus—eventually strengthening his denial with an oath, warming his hands by a fire of coals with the enemies of Jesus. The memory of that denial was a bitter memory for Peter. He knew he had disqualified himself as a follower of Jesus. He had resigned himself to his denial and returned to his fishing. He retreated in failure—shameful, public failure. When he thought of it he wept bitterly. Then he watched Jesus suffer and die from a safe distance at the edge of the crowd that dark day at Golgotha. Days passed. Peter went back to what he knew…fishing on the great harp-shaped lake in Galilee.

Then Jesus appeared as a figure walking along the shore early one morning—asking the universal fishing question; a variation on the, “…are they biting…” question. When Peter recognized Jesus he plunged into the water and swam to shore—about the length of a football field.

In a touching scene Jesus draws him back to the place where they had last parted—a fire of coals. The last fire had been a fire of denial with the enemies of Jesus. This fire was a fire of fellowship. Jesus had prepared a breakfast of broiled fish for Peter. Peter had denied him three times. Jesus gently elicited three affirmations of love from him to re-set their fellowship. He than let Peter know that he would still be an under-shepherd—he would still tend the flock and feed the sheep…. Oh, and there was one more thing… he would still suffer. He would even die.

His fellowship restored Peter would follow Jesus again and he would follow Him through faithful suffering. According to church tradition he was forced to watch his wife die by crucifixion. They say as she died she called out to him to encourage him to suffer faithfully. He felt unworthy to die like he saw Jesus die so he asked to be crucified up-side-down. Before he was crucified he left the church with a rich epistle on the subject of faithful suffering.

I love to think of the Jesus who prepared breakfast for Peter. I can smell the fragrance of the fire and the broiled fish. I can hear the sputter of the flames, the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore, and the gulls calling overhead. I can see the soft color of the sun rising over the Golan hills into the world across the shimmering lake. I can imagine the gentle searching eyes of Jesus looking into Peter’s soul.

I try to tell him I love Him over breakfast every morning—this Galilean who restores broken failures—this God of the second-chance.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
March 11, 2013

We are deep into February as I write and slogging our way through the gray slush of late winter. Is anyone else out there wresting winter-weariness now?

I know I celebrated the first snowfall. I pined for cozy evenings with the family by the fireside. I was thinking warm winter thoughts of soups and breads and the scent of burning wood on the cold winter air—but all that was before Christmas. I’m so over that now. Now I’m longing for long evenings out on the porch sipping lemonade. I’m longing to listen to crickets on warm spring nights. I’m looking forward to taking Hazard on long walks along the Lower Huron. I can tell by looking at him that he is struggling with cabin-fever and tired of fetching the little plastic toys we throw into the other room. We both need some air in our lungs… warm, spring air. We long for the smell of the earth and the touch of fragrant spring breeze in our hair.

Lois and I took in a nice movie the other night. The story was set in a warm and beautiful place where spring comes early and summer lingers long. When the movie ended I went for the car. A cold wind was blowing across the lot. I turned up my collar against the cold and ran to the car. I drove around the parking lot until some warmth was coming from under the dash. I picked up Lois and we drove home. All I could think about was getting home to our warm little house and getting a good night’s rest between soft flannel sheets.

We pulled off the Interstate onto a country road and drove along quietly for while. Lois broke the silence; “I love to see the moonlight on the snow like that. It’s so pretty.”

I hadn’t seen the moon and I didn’t really want the snow.

“Look how bright it is,” She said. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is,” I mumbled and felt a pang of guilt that I had not noticed it first. That night all I could feel was the cold, gray ugliness of winter in my bones. Lois noticed the moonlight on the snow. I did a little research and discovered there is a name for the February moon. They call it the Snow Moon.

The Apostle Paul wrote this in his letter to the Philippians: Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy–meditate on these things. (Philippians 4:8)

I don’t know what the weather was like in Philippi, but the tendency to slog through life without looking up must transcend time and culture. You don’t have to look hard to find ugly things in the world. They are everywhere. Paul had the right idea. Don’t let the ugliness overwhelm you, but cultivate an eye for things that are good and noble and pure and right and true and virtuous and beautiful, like the moonlight on the snow and someone to notice it with you.

Ken Pierpont
Granville Cottage
Riverview, Michigan
March 4, 2013