Loaded Questions

I am not a fan of loaded questions.  More specifically, I am not a fan of being on the receiving end of loaded questions; I know for a fact that I am incredibly guilty of asking loaded questions of my children, but that doesn’t make me a fan of them.  I don’t like loaded questions because the one who asks the question already knows the answer: “Where did the last bagel go?” The child looks at the floor, pokes at it with her toe and says, “Umm, I ate it.”  I know you ate it because you have cream cheese all around your mouth and little bits of chocolate from the chocolate chips in the bagel.  “So why did you ask me?”  Because you needed to know that I knew so that you could apologize for eating the last bagel. I really don’t like loaded questions.

So this week I’ve been pondering the loaded question that Jesus asks.  I had written a completely different sermon on how the Church, like Peter, so easily defaults to life as usual after the resurrection.  But this passage isn’t about Peter; this passage isn’t about the Church; this passage isn’t about our comfort zones or our love of the familiar.  This passage is about Jesus and his loaded question: “Do you love me?”

Jesus is waiting on the shore for the disciples.  After he gave them a miraculous catch of fish after a fruitless night of labor, he’s standing on the shore with breakfast, and a loaded question: “Do you love me?”

I may be wrong, but I don’t get the impression that Jesus took Peter aside to ask this question.  I don’t think he asked it in front of the others because he wanted to shame Peter;  I think he asked it in front of the other disciples, because he wanted them to think about that question too.  They all left, they all jumped on the bandwagon of the familiar, they all need to dig deep and answer this question: “Do you love me?”

It’s a choice that we all get to make; much like Morpheus offers Neo the red pill or the blue pill, Jesus asks us a question that carries similar consequences: keep on living life as we know it, or go into the resurrection rabbit hole and never look back.

But Jesus asks not because he already knows the answer, but because he wants us know what lies behind his asking of the question.

Do you love me?  Do you love me more than these?  Do you love me more than your boats, more than your nets, more than your 153 fish, more than your friends?  Peter, do you love me?  The choice is yours but you need to know something; the truth of the matter is I am crazy about you.

That’s what makes Jesus’ question a loaded question.  “Do you love me? Because I am crazy about you!”

One of my favorite authors and pastors died on Friday. I cannot begin to say how great of an influence he had on me.  I have read very few words that were as permeated with grace as the writings of Brennan Manning.  The man was radically in love with Christ. He had a saying, “Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. This is the true self. Every other identity is illusion.” 

This is why we need to know what lies behind the question that Jesus asks.  He wants to know if we love him because he is deeply, deeply in love with us.  Like John Cusack’s character in Say Anything, Jesus is standing at the end of our driveways with a radio over his head, blaring Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes, all because of his love for us.  And he asks us, “Do you love me?” Because I am crazy about you.

And here’s the thing I hope somebody out there understands.  Peter didn’t understand the Romans Road to Salvation; he didn’t get any particular theory of atonement; he didn’t understand the mystery of the resurrection…all Peter knew was Jesus.  And Jesus was standing there looking Peter in the eyes asking this question: Do you love me? 

And I guess that’s where we fit in, too.  We don’t have to “get it” to get Jesus or to receive his grace.  We don’t have to have complete knowledge or fullness of faith—all we need to do is trust that we are loved by him; more deeply than we could possibly imagine, we are loved by Jesus and he desires nothing more than for us to love him back.