Healing St. Peter: The Ultimate "Type-A"

Peter had no idea what he would do or say when he reached the shore. When he realized it was Jesus, he jumped out of the boat and started swimming. 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.

It was Peter, the leader of the apostles, who had most grievously wounded Jesus. Peter denied more than his friend, he denied the God of the Universe. 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, 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 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 and partly because they, too, were lost.

Several hours earlier, looking at yet another sleepless night, Peter sought escape in his boat. Deep down, Peter knew he couldn’t escape what he was really running from – himself. He couldn’t escape from the others, either. 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.

They ignored the net. Fishermen not fishing, just drifting – literally and figuratively. At daybreak, a stranger on shore saw their empty net and suggested, almost mockingly, to drop it on the other side. 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.

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?”

That stung Peter. 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 “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.

“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 wrote, “(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. He knew how much Peter loved him, and he knew how guilt was crushing Peter. He wanted Peter to be able 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.”

And then Jesus smiled at him. That’s when Peter got it. All of it. Jesus had just allowed him to erase his three denials with three professions of love. And by humbling himself, he made things right with the other apostles. Finally, by switching to phileo, Peter could answer with an unqualified “yes.” It was Jesus’ way of saying, “I love you. I accept you just 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; he entrusted him with 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.