A few years ago someone gave my wife a potted primula. It adorned a window cill for a while, then I planted it in the garden behind our house, hoping it might survive.
That winter, much to our surprise it suddenly burst into flower right through a deep layer of snow. It continued to flower for a whole year and through another cold winter. The flowers disappeared late last year but as soon as the garden was covered with several inches of snow this winter, up it came in all its glory again. Up it comes before the crocuses and other Spring plants. Its vibrant life is totally unexpected, but gives great joy.
A deep gloom had settled on the eleven surviving men. Their leader had been a victim of an extremely painful form of capital punishment. Not that he had done anything wrong. They were trumped up charges and it was a mockery of a trial. Added to that one of their number had hanged himself. They had mixed feelings about that. After all he was the one who had betrayed the Master. But now the adventure was over.
Among them, Peter seemed to be the most depressed as he sat with his head in his hands. It had started out so well for him. Sure, he had often put his foot in his mouth, and his impetuosity had got him into difficulties. But he had sworn undying faithfulness, only to throw away three years by three times denying that he even knew the Master. And he could not free himself from that memory of the look Jesus had given him as he emerged from the High Priest’s house. What was it? Disappointment? No, it was something else: understanding? However you describe it, that look was enough to reduce a grown man to floods of bitter tears. He was a failure.
Only John made himself busy taking care of their Master’s bereaved mother, comforting her as best he could. The rest sat in huddled silence, overwhelmed by the sudden dreadfulness that marked the end of their mission.
Suddenly the door burst open as some of the women came in shouting excitedly about a stone rolled away and an empty tomb, and talk of angels. Their words broke through the pained silence like a sword. Peter leapt to his feet and rushed to the door. He had to see this for himself. How could things have gone from bad to worse. He hurried as fast as could towards the place where the man who had changed his life had been hurriedly buried in a borrowed tomb. His friend had abandoned Mary, and now ran past Peter, reaching the tomb first. Sure enough, the great stone was rolled to one side and he could see the body had gone. He fell to the ground in grief.
But Peter needed more and went inside. For a few moments he stood alone in that empty space until he was joined by John. What was really strange was that the strips of cloth that had wrapped his body and that which had been wrapped around his head were still lying separately there. Peter had no idea what to make of it. Everything was so confusing.
But the confusion evaporated that evening. Peter and John had joined the others in the guest chamber of the house. They had carefully locked the door. It would not surprise them if the religious leaders and soldiers came to arrest them. And that was when it happened! Quite how they would never be able to explain, but he was there. Right there, in the room despite the locked door. It was really him, standing there and speaking words of peace, and showing them the wounds in his hands and his side. It was really him! Totally unexpected! What was more, apparently the mission was to go on.
Something like that was hard to get your head around. Peter had seen something like it three times before. There was that time in the house of Jairus when Jesus had brought his daughter back to life. Before then, he had stopped a funeral procession outside Nain, grabbing hold of the bier and commanding the young man to get up. What a shock that was to the crowd as he sat up and started talking. Then the most amazing time was at Bethany where his friend Lazarus had died four days before, and he came out of the tomb still wrapped in burial cloth when Jesus called him. But who walks out of his own tomb?
Maybe it was all too confusing. Maybe it was his own uncertainty about his relationship to the man he had so vehemently denied. He was like a broken chair that no one would ever comfortably trust again. Whatever the cause, Peter seemed to think that the answer was to go back to fishing. So it was that he and some of the others spent a fruitless night on the lake. As the skies were just beginning to lighten they saw a man on the shore who called out to them and offered some advice. As day breaks, fish that had been near the surface, swim deeper making catching them harder. But Peter had once before taken advice and had caught so many fish on that occasion that the boat nearly sank. This time, again the advice was good and the nets were full. It was totally unexpected.
They had not recognised him at first, but John declared, “It is the Lord”. As they neared the shore, Peter, impetuous as ever, jumped overboard and led the way up the beach. They ate their breakfast in an awkward silence. Then Peter and Jesus had walked together along the shore. It was not an easy conversation. Twice Jesus asked Peter if he really did deeply love him. Peter could only respond expressing a lesser kind of love. The third time the question came, Jesus used the same expression Peter had been using. It had been bad enough to have sat round that fire, so similar to the one he had sat around that night he had denied the one he had professed to love to death. Now it seemed that even the lesser expression of love Peter claimed he had, was being questioned.
That he deserved, but what he did not expect or deserve were the words Jesus also spoke recommissioning Peter. If Peter’s faith had been found wanting, it seemed that Jesus still had faith in him. That was totally unexpected.
As someone who has tried to follow Jesus, and who has let the Lord down on occasions, I take comfort in reading of their relationship. The love of Jesus for me was expressed on Calvary. His patience with me is experienced day after day. He is the great constant in a changing world and an inadequate discipleship.
On Easter Sunday 55 years ago I declared my faith in Jesus Christ before a packed church and stepped into the baptismal pool. A burst pipe in the road nearby a few days before had resulted in a thin layer of clay on the tiled floor, and I skidded into the waiting arms of the man who had tricked me into giving a talk at a youth group in which I confessed openly for the first time that Jesus Christ was my Saviour.
24 hours before that Easter Sunday Baptismal Service I had discovered that Jesus had endured the cross because he loved me, and there was no other good enough to pay the price of sin.
I went under the water for a brief moment, and rose to a new future. It was not what I had planned. That had been yielded up on Hastings Pier the day before. This was to be the future God had planned. It has sometimes been difficult, sometimes even painful, but I would not swap it for anything, for there is nothing better. It has been a fantastic 55 years and totally unexpected! What is even more wonderful is that one day I will see Jesus face to face. Whatever awaits me after this earthly life is over is certainly beyond anything I could ever expect.
© Barry Osborne 2018
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