“…And he said to him, ‘Lord, you know the whole story, just as you know my love for you'” (John 21.17b).
Stand there as he did for a moment: morning coming and you’re beaten. The rest of them are still working, still trying, but you’ve given up. You wish you could leap into the sea and swim away from all of it, find some small island where you could take your useless self. It’s pretty obvious, you’re no good to anyone. You can’t even fish anymore.
You dive into the water to swim not out beyond the horizon but toward the beach, toward the one you failed. You have no use to him, but you need to hear him say it, say you aren’t the person he thought you were.
With breakfast nothing but bones, he looks at you, those eyes impossible to read, and asks if you love him. Of course I do, you say. It’s true. You do. But the words taste false. You can hear his follow-up before he asks, Then why did you abandon me? You open your mouth to explain.
Then take care of them, he says, his hand gesturing to the seven who are sitting there in silence.
Before you can say anything, he asks the same question. Again, you say yes. And you want to say, I’m sorry. You want to say, I’m not who I thought I was. I’m not who you thought I was.
But before you can say a word, he tells you the same thing: take care of them.
And, then, he asks a third time. You open your mouth to say, again, you know I do, but the words catch in your throat where they burn and your vision clouds with the tears that have been just beneath the surface since that Thursday. The deep, dark sadness that has clouded every day wraps itself tight around your heart. And all you can manage to say is, I do. But you know. You know what I am. You know it doesn’t matter. You know that I’m a failure, that I’m useless, that you never should have wasted time on me. I’m not the person you thought I could be.
I’ll go so you can find someone who really loves you.
Come on, Jesus responds, there are people that need you.
Or maybe that’s just my interpretation, filtered through my own thoughts of all the times I’ve shown who I really am. All those times the magic trick, the illusion I try and maintain—that I’m competent and capable—falls apart, and everyone else sees what I know: that I’m a fraud, a fake, and that, in the critical moment, I will fail. All the times I think Jesus will finally wish me luck and find someone else to participate in the work of redeeming this world.
But that isn’t what happens. Despite every reason I can think of why I’m the absolutely wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jesus says the same thing.
Come on, there are people that need you.
Jesus, my friend, most days I’m not who I wish I was. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve got everyone fooled, but I can’t fool you. You know the person behind the veil. So, it amazes me that you continue to reach out for me, call me, and hear me. I don’t know, most days, which one of us is the foolish one, but I know I wish I was the person you appear to see. Help me believe I am the person you think I am.