I’m pleased to announce that we have a guest preacher today, one with considerable understanding of the events in today’s Epistle and Gospel readings — because he was there. My friends, allow me to introduce Simon Bar-Jona of Capernaum, Galilee.

Thank you, Father Bob. I’m not sure why you wanted me to speak. I’m not very good at it. And I can’t read this stuff. Never did go to school, you know. Somebody once asked me what seminary I was from. Can you believe that? I may be old, but I’m not dead. ... Seminary, indeed!

Anyway, my name is Rocky. Well, it’s really Simon, but I like to use the name the Lord gave me. He said, "You are ‘Rocky,’ and on this rock I will build my church." Can you imagine him calling me a rock? The only time I resembled a rock is when I sank like one trying to walk on water. Although, you know I was actually doing it for a couple of steps, then I started thinking (that was always my first mistake), and I thought, "What in blazes do I think I’m doing?" ... and down I went. But he reached out and saved me. He always saved me.

But that’s another story, and that’s not why I’m here. Anyway, just call me Rocky ... or Peter. That’s the anglicized version of my name in Greek. Either one’s OK. Or you can call me the "Big Fisherman." That’s what I am. And you can see I’m big. Just don’t get fancy with me. A few weeks ago, the head of another congregation introduced me as "the former Holy Father." I hit him in the mouth. I always did have a temper. Guess you heard about that time is Gethsemene when I cut off a guy’s ear. Well, he had it coming. Some nerve, arresting Jesus. All he’d ever done was help people and feed people and heal people. ... I loved him, you know.

And that reminds me of why Father Bob asked me to speak. He wants me to tell you about the time Jesus asked me three times if I loved him.

It was a week or so after they killed him. I just can’t believe they did that to him. And it wasn’t just the Romans. Our own people were crying out for him to be crucified. Our own people! I didn’t see it, you know. I was too scared. John, poor innocent teenage John, was the only one with enough manhood to stand right there at the foot of that cross and be with him. And the women, of course, but they don’t count, do they? I abandoned him. As many times as he stood by me,when he needed me the most I ran away and hid. I was so ashamed.

Anyway, on the morning of the third day, the women came running, saying he had risen from the dead. I didn’t believe them. I mean, who would? After all, they were women. Still, he had told us this was going to happen. Why we couldn’t understand what he was saying, I don’t know. But we didn’t believe until he came to us and we actually saw him. That changed everything. But even then, we went back to Galilee and went on with our lives, almost like nothing had happened.

But again, I’ve gotten off the subject. Some days later, we were fishing at the lake, as usual. James and John were there, of course, and so were Thomas and Nathaniel ... a couple more I think. I got the bright idea to head out into the lake to get some fish. The rest followed. Well, let me tell you, that was the worst night of fishing we ever had! We stayed out there all night, and nothing! Not a single fish.

About dawn, we were about to give up, when this man on the shore calls out to us and tells us to drop our nets on the other side of the boat. Why we listened to him, I don’t have any idea. I mean, the other side of the boat, as if that was going to make a difference. Give me a break! But we did it.

Suddenly, fish were everywhere. The nets were so full, we couldn’t get them into the boat. Then John called out to me from the other boat, "It’s the Lord." I was so excited, I threw some clothes on, jumped into the water, and headed for shore.

To make a long story short (although I guess it’s too late for that), we had a big breakfast of bread and fish on the shore of the lake. After we had finished eating, John and the others were doing something — taking care of the boats and nets, I think, and Jesus and I were alone by the fire.

Out of the blue, Jesus turns to me and (in all seriousness) says, "Rocky, do you love me?" Needless to say, I was embarrassed. I’m a fisherman, for God’s sake. I don’t even tell my wife I love her. Nevertheless, I answered, "Yes, Lord. You know I love you." Then I realized John was standing there, taking it all in. Jesus says to me, "Herd my lambs." ... What? That’s not the way John remembers it? Well, what did Jesus say? "Feed my lambs!" Yeah, I guess there is a difference, isn’t there?

A second time, Jesus asks me, "Simon, Son of John, do you love me?" Now I’m starting to squirm. For some reason, I hate it when he calls me that. I figured I was in deep trouble for him to be so formal, but I answer again, "Yes, Lord. You know that I love you!"

And Jesus said, "Drive my sheep." ... What? He didn’t say that either? Well, it was a long time ago, and I told you I can’t read. Oh, that’s right. He said, "Look after my sheep. Tend my sheep."

Well, I started to get up, thinking that was the end of it, when Jesus asks me yet a third time if I love him. By this time I was getting really miffed. He wasn’t putting the others through this third degree. Why was he picking on me? I was feeling like a harrassed husband, and I felt like saying, "Look, I told you already. What do ya want, flowers?" But just as my famous temper was about to get the better of me, I remembered that on the night before he died, I had denied him three times. I guess he had every right to demand that I undo that denial, and do it three times. So I counted to ten, took a deep breath, and said, "Lord, you know everything. You know I love you."

I admit that there was a bit of pleading in my voice, as much as to say, "Please, Lord, don’t make me do this again!"

And then, Jesus said to me, "Rocky, keep my sheep in line, and for goodness sake, make sure none of them have any fun!" Why are you smiling? Are you telling me he didn’t say that either? Alright, you’ve got the book. What did he say?

"Feed my sheep." That’s it? "Feed my sheep"? You’re sure there’s nothing in there about keeping them in line?

Oh, now I remember. That part was invented by some of my successors. Yes, now it’s coming back to me. He clearly said, "Feed my sheep." I remember, because I remember thinking, "That sounds like the job of a ... of a ... of a servant! Is that what you want me to be, Jesus, a servant?" And, of course, that’s exactly what he wanted me to be. Then I understood why he had washed our feet at the Passover meal the night before he died. You know, I didn’t want him to do it. I argued with him. It seems like I was always arguing with him. You’d think once in a while I’d get it through my thick Galilean skull that he knew what he was doing? But no, not me. I had to do everything the hard way.

Anyway, that meal by the shore of Lake Genesareth and those words of Jesus helped me to understand that he wanted me — and all of us — to be servants to each other, and to others as well. He had often talked about his being the "Good Shepherd." And now I was beginning to understand what he meant. And more important, I was beginning to understand that he wants us all to be good shepherds, and to carry on his work among the people. He wants us to seek out the lost sheep and bring them to him. He wants us to do it by caring for them, feeding them, loving them, just as he had always done. He wants us to carry on the work that got him killed, crucified no less. And many of us too. I got mine upside down.

I understand it’s no longer illegal to be a Christian. If that were to change, if being a Christian again became a crime punishable by death, would there be enough evidence to convict you? There was for me, thank God. After Pentecost, I finally had the backbone to overcome my fear and cowardice. I realized that I had denied Jesus more than three times. Every time his sheep needed feeding and I did nothing, I was denying him again. After Pentecost, I was not going to let that happen again. Nothing the Sanhedrin or the Romans or anyone else could do to me was going to make me deny him again.

Well, I have taken enough of your time. Let me just leave you with this: Do you love Jesus? Feed his lambs. Do you love Jesus? Tend his sheep. Do you really love him? Do you? Then you must feed his sheep. Thank you.