Through Jesus’ transformative love, Peter became the rock on which the Church was built.  Today’s reflection shows us that Christ wants to raise us out of our fears and doubts, too, so that we can see and share the light of the Good News.

May 4, 2025: Third Sunday of Easter, Year C
Acts 5:27–32, 40–41
Psalm 30:2, 4–6, 11–13
Revelation 5:11–14
John 21:1–19

A Saving Hand Reaches Out

A reflection by Richard Young

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There is no Hell

And there is no reason to tell people

that they are going to Hell.

Because they are in Hell.

They are already there.

You gotta take them out of the Hell they’re already in.

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Those are the words of Pastor Paul in the play called The Christians, by Lucas Hnath. They are the climax of a long sermon in which he relates a dramatic revelation he says he received from God. The congregation is shocked. To many of them, their pastor had become a heretic. They needed to cling to their afterlife mythology, to a god of punishment and reward, who condemns sinners to Hell and raises the righteous to Heaven. Pastor Paul was instantly in serious trouble. He begins to realize that he is “already in” Hell as his people–including his associate pastor–turn against him, pitching numerous Bible verses to prove their position.

How can there be no Hell, the pastor’s people could have added, when the Apostles’ Creed clearly declares, “He descended into Hell”? Our traditional afterlife mythology says that on the day after Good Friday, Jesus went to Hell to break it open, to rescue those who had gone there and release them from their imprisonment. Several versions of an ancient icon depict this. They show Jesus literally at the gates of Hell, reaching down to Adam and Eve to grab them and pull them up out of their misery, with many other Old Testament characters waiting in line to be rescued.

Myth is not meant to be literalized; its function is to point us to a reality greater than itself. Myth exists to move the heart to ponder mystery. There is a symbolic sense in which we are saved, in which the Risen One, the Christ of Faith, reaches down to us in the Hell we are “already in” and raises us up. Simon Peter is a case in point; there was clearly a Hell from which he needed to be rescued.

Peter is mentioned in our first reading and is Jesus’ principal co-star in today’s gospel. Whenever you see lists of the apostles, he is always named first. He was the “lead” apostle, the main guy, and the one, the story says, who was called the “rock” on which the church was to be built–a play on words, since the name Peter means “rock.”  

Peter is depicted in the gospels as somewhat of a buffoon. He is hardly a solid foundation, hardly a rock on which a church could be built. He has moments of brilliance, but he does not have his act together, and it makes one wonder why Jesus would designate him as some kind of leader. Peter is said to have missed the point of Jesus’ teachings on occasion. There is, for instance, the story in which Jesus reveals that he is to go to Jerusalem to face his death. Peter says “God forbid!” And Jesus tells him, “Get behind me, Satan!” He might have pledged his undying loyalty to Jesus, but when the going got tough, he got going in the other direction, even denying that he knew Jesus on the day of the crucifixion.

A particular passage about Peter is brought to mind as we ponder the Hell he was “already in.” It’s the one in Matthew 14, in which Peter gets out of his boat and starts to walk on the water toward Jesus, who was himself standing on the surface of the water. Peter was frightened by the wind, and he began to sink. (That’s what rocks do!) He cried out to Christ to save him, and Jesus immediately took his hand, saying, “O man of little faith, why did you doubt?” The sea was a kind of Hell to fishermen of the ancient world, a darkly mysterious place, thought to be infested with demons of all kinds. When Peter was sinking, it was as though he was being sucked into Hell. Jesus pulls him out.

But the Hell that Peter was “already in” is that he was in over his head–full of doubt and not up to the challenge of being the faithful rock that the other disciples needed. Add to this the intense grief he carried with him back to Galilee following Christ’s crucifixion. Grief, as we all know, is a Hell all by itself, a psychological place infested with its own horrible demons. All of that may just have been too much for Peter, and perhaps he was just in survival mode, going through the motions of his profession, trying to keep busy lest the grief overwhelm him and he succumb to despair. I suspect he was inclined to give up on trying to be anybody’s rock.

All that is the context for today’s gospel passage, which was not part of the original Gospel of John. It was tacked on to the end sometime later by another writer, and thank God it was! It’s an extremely valuable tale historically, because nearly all Scripture scholars agree that it is the earliest account we have of an appearance by Jesus after his death. Think about that! It pre-dates the Mary Magdalene story, the “doubting Thomas” story, the Emmaus story… all of them. Today’s gospel is the first piece of writing that describes what it was like to encounter the Risen One. Now, John’s gospel already had a nice, clean ending at the end of chapter twenty, but I suspect that this mystery writer wanted to give some kind of account of how Peter got pulled out of the Hell he was “already in,” describing how he became the bold and courageous leader that Luke mentions in today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, who was “full of joy” to have been “judged worthy of ill-treatment for the sake of the Name.” In other words, he joyfully endured the horrendous persecution dished out to Jesus’ followers. How did he go from being the cowardly buffoon of the gospels to this proud and confident leader? Only a powerful and life-changing mystical experience could account for that transformation. It happened, the reading tells us, through two parts: first the Eucharist, then love and commissioning.  

Part one: the Eucharist. The story takes place at the Sea of Tiberius, in the region where the feeding of the multitudes took place: a bread-breaking extravaganza like no other, a love fest, the Woodstock of the first century. It was such an important event to the first believers that it is recorded in all four gospels–a total of six versions (two each in Mark and Matthew). Peter had gone to the place with the most dramatic Eucharistic memories of Jesus’ earthly ministry. The place was ripe for another Holy Communion–a holy one-ness, a holy connection with the Divine. This time, the Crucified One shows up on the shore at dawn not to feed a huge crowd, but to share an intimate breakfast with just Peter and the other fishermen. The story says, “None of the disciples dared to ask, ‘Who are you?’ – They knew it was the Savior.” That sounds so much like the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who recognized the Risen One in the breaking of the bread. The Eucharist, when it truly is celebrated in honor and respect, can be amazingly eye-opening. It reveals Christ. It enables an inner vision that prepares the heart to be pulled out of Hell. Peter, the grieving one, the one who felt so unsure of himself, the one who bore the guilt of his three-time denial before the crucifixion, could now take the blessed bread, see his beloved Jesus, encounter divine love, and know that Jesus lives in the very heart of God. That’s what the Eucharist did for him. It made resurrection real for him, and he would never be the same again!  

But… there’s part two: love and commissioning. Although Peter had seen the glory of the resurrection in Jesus, he was still not ready to be the rock. He had not yet been completely pulled out of his Hell. He must first be reminded of the mystery of love. “Do you love me?” the Risen Christ asks three times! If you do, that love will empower you. You will then feed my sheep. You will love them as I have loved you. To love them is to love me. Whatever you do for the least of them you do for me. That’s what it means to be the rock. If you can commit to that, then take my hand, and I will pull you up, raise you out of your fears and doubts and into a whole new consciousness.

Peter went from coward to pastor. If the mystery author of this gospel passage wanted to make Peter’s mystical transformation believable, he certainly did so for me. Feed them. Love them. Commission them to do the same for others. It is a pastoral care formula that, to this day, continues to pull God’s people out of the Hell they’re already in. Picture an old lady in the hospital, days away from her death. I hear her confession. I give her the anointing of the sick. She receives Christ in the Eucharist and is reminded that she is loved more than she could possibly imagine. I offer a prayer that her last days be filled with the peace of Christ and that her faith will be an inspiration to others so that they also will know that peace. It’s what you do: feed them, love them, commission them. She takes the “commission” message of that prayer seriously, and her visitors and the hospital staff are deeply moved by her kindness and joy. The Risen One could clearly be seen in her. She was, it seemed, looking forward to her resurrection. She let go of her failures and regrets. She accepted her humanity, her limitations, her mistakes, her fears. There was no more Hell to be pulled out of.

Rev. Richard P. Young is a retired Catholic priest and mental health counselor. He chairs the Liturgy Committee of Dignity/Dayton’s Living Beatitudes Community and has worked with several Dignity Chapters since the late 70s. He once served for a term on the national board of DignityUSA and has attended all the national conventions/conferences since 1981. He is married to former DignityUSA national secretary, Bob Butts. Richard was honored with a President’s Award at the 2022 Dignity National Conference in San Diego.  

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