Restoration of the Ultimate “Type-A”

In this Extraordinary Jubilee Year of Mercy, here’s a reminder that Jesus loves to give us a pass.

Peter had no idea what he would do or say when he reached the shore. As soon as he realized it was Jesus, he had thrown off his shirt and jumped out of the boat. Once again, he acted without thinking.

Peter had been despondent since Jesus was executed. Not even Jesus’ resurrection – a dead man came back to life! – had lifted his debilitating depression. In some ways, it made it worse.

A statue of St. Peter holding the keys to heaven
stands in front of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican.

It was Peter, the leader of the apostles, who had most grievously wounded Jesus by his denials. Peter denied more than his rabbi, he now realized. He denied the God of the Universe, the intimate friend who trusted him with the gates of heaven. This brash, proud, powerful Type A personality was traumatized by a guilt and humiliation even deeper than Judas felt. If this was the 21^st century, Peter might be diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression and put on meds.

As he slogged toward the beach, he saw Jesus tending a charcoal fire – much like the fire Peter used to warm himself on that long, cold, terrible night. The night he denied his friend. Three times. Just as Jesus predicted. Only a few hours earlier, Peter had insisted he would never deny Jesus; his love was so much greater than the other apostles, he boasted. But when it really counted, Peter was nothing more than a blustering, foolish coward.

He’d been lost in a fog ever since, looking for an escape, first hiding in Jerusalem, then stumbling back home to Galilee. The others followed him, partly because they didn’t want to leave Peter alone – especially after what Judas did to himself – and partly because they, too, were lost.

Peter sought refuge in his fishing boat, but could not
escape his own sense of guilt.

Several hours before, looking at yet another sleepless night, Peter sought escape in the familiar – his boat. Deep down, Peter knew he couldn’t escape what he was really running from – himself. Neither could he escape from the others. When he mumbled that he was going fishing, they stole worried glances at each other. Sure, they said, we’ll go, too. They didn’t want to leave him alone on the water. 

They ignored the net. Fishermen not fishing, just drifting – literally and figuratively. At daybreak, a stranger on shore saw their net empty and suggested, almost mockingly, to drop it on the other side of the boat. We’ll show him, they thought belligerently, grouchy and in no mood for abuse, especially from a stranger. But when the net filled to overflowing, they knew the figure was no stranger. The man chuckling at them from the shore was Jesus. Typical, they thought, Jesus tweaking their noses just like he used to.

Breakfast was awkward. How could it be otherwise? The cook was their dead friend come back to life – he was God, really God, for God’s sake! Peter was mostly silent, jumping to get the fish for the fire but otherwise laying low. The mood was set by the elephant in the room – or, more appropriately, the whale on shore – Peter’s denials. Finally, Jesus put Peter out of his misery. 

“Simon, son of John,” Jesus said. “Do you love me more than these?”

Peter was stung. Jesus used his fisherman’s name. He had been demoted back to Simon, no longer first among equals. And the others were listening intently. Saying “yes” would be a slap in the face to them. 

But there was a something else. Jesus had used the term agape for the word “love.” Agape love is the deepest love, a devotion that implies a decision to love, a commitment. Once a braggart, now broken, Peter loved Jesus deeply, but he was not about to risk overstating anything. He couldn’t say “yes,” but he couldn’t say “no,” either. His answer was a “yes, but.”

“Yes Lord,” Peter replied, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus recognized the “but.” So did the others. Instead of saying agape, Peter used the term phileo for love – a deep love from the heart, but not a commitment. Better to say less, Peter thought, not wanting to repeat previous mistakes.

Statue of St. Peter by Pierre-Etienne Monnot in
the Basilica of St. John Lateran, the cathedral
church of Rome.

“Simon, son of John,” Jesus repeated. “Do you love (agape) me more than these?”

This surprised Peter. Why did he ask again? Is he that disappointed with “phileo?” Unsure, Peter repeated his answer.

“Yes Lord,” Peter replied, “you know that I love (phileo) you.”

Peter didn’t know how else to answer. As Thomas Aquinas put it, “(Peter) is saying in effect: I do love you; at least I think I do. But you know all things, and perhaps you know of something else that will happen.”

Jesus, of course, did know something else and, as Peter professed, Jesus also knew how much Peter loved him. Jesus also knew how guilt was crushing Peter. He wanted to give Peter the opportunity to say “yes” without the “but.”

“Simon, son of John,” Jesus said for a third time. “Do you love (phileo) me more than these?”

Peter was hurt and confused. Why did he ask me yet again? Peter thought. Why ask phileo this time? What does he want? I don’t know what else to say!

“Yes Lord,” Peter replied urgently, “you know that I love (phileo) you.”

Peter’s voice was almost pleading, as if to admit, “Phileo is the best I can do right now.”  

Jesus smiled at him. And then Peter understood. He got it. All of it. Jesus had just allowed him to erase his three denials with three professions of love. By humbling himself, he made things right with the other apostles. And, by switching to phileo, Peter was able to answer with an unqualified “yes.” It was Jesus’ way of saying, “I love you. I accept you as you are.”

Peter was Jesus’ closest friend. Nothing could disappoint Jesus more, hurt him more, than Peter abandoning him during those last, horrible hours of his life. But Peter was deeply sorry. Jesus not only forgave him but entrusted him with his Church, giving him the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.

If Jesus could forgive Peter and accept him unconditionally, flaws and all, he can forgive us and accept us, too. We don’t even have to jump out of a boat. We just have to ask.