YOUTH RESTORED
Author: Fr. Michael Byron
May 05, 2019
Yesterday at
the retreat at which our young people were preparing for 1st Eucharist I invited them to figure out how old I am, by telling them how many
years it’s been since I received that sacrament for the first time too. It didn’t take them long to get it exactly
right. And then a few minutes later one
young man said to me before the large group, “I’ll bet you wish you could be
our age again.” It was a disarming
statement. It could only have been made
by a soul that is filled with hope and optimism. It made me happy to hear it, and I didn’t
quite know how to respond to it, because I’m not sure whether I’d wish for that
or not.
I replied
that with age comes a lot of freedom and opportunity that 2nd graders don’t yet have, and that’s a wonderful thing to look forward to. The future is wide open. But as every older person here also knows,
that’s not all that age brings. It
brings experience and lessons learned—often the hard way. It brings lots of memories, some of which are
precious and treasured; others of which are bittersweet. It brings regret as well as gratitude,
farewells along with new friendships. And with every passing year it brings a certain narrowing of
possibilities for what can happen next, because every decision for “yes”
requires, at the same time, a certain “no” to other opportunities.
It is wonderful today that as these young people come
to the Eucharist for the first time they will be able to have Jesus with them
alongside whatever unfolds in their years to come. I think I might wish to be 7 or 8 years old
again—but only if I could stay there.
I’m thinking about all this in the light of today’s
Easter gospel of John. It’s the last
chapter (21), after the resurrection. It’s the story of a bunch of disciples who don’t seem to know what to do
next…disciples who have been chastened by their time with Jesus, and who if
able to turn back the hands of time probably would have done a few things
differently. They have learned and seen
many things alongside the master, but not without regret. So they go back to where they began, fishing
in Galilee before Jesus ever found them.
And for no one would that have been more intensely
felt than for Peter. It was all the way
back in chapter 1 of this gospel, when the call and experience was new and the
enthusiasm was high and the future was unknown, that Jesus said to Simon, “From
now on your name will be Cephas, which is translated Peter, which means “The
Rock.” His destiny was to be the anchor
of faith and support and witness for everyone else. He must have been thrilled at the
possibilities of it all. By the end of
the story, however, that must have seemed like a very long time ago. Did you notice by what name the risen Jesus
addressed this man on the seashore in the gospel we just heard? Three times he said it, “Simon, son of John,
do you love me?” There is no reference
to any Cephas, no Peter, no rock. Just
“Simon,” who seems to have forfeited his claim to honor because of the three
denials that he so famously issued on the night of Jesus’ betrayal. No wonder he was distressed to have to hear
it; to face it, and acknowledge his failure.
But that wasn’t the end of the story. Jesus was giving Simon Peter, in effect, a
do-over, a chance to return to that time of his first call to his youth, when
everything was still possible for him, before his terrible mistakes had seemed
to doom him.
At the very end to the exchange, now reconciled, Jesus
extended the very same invitation that he had at the very beginning. He said, “Follow me.” And now, made wise and stronger because of
his experience, Peter said yes—this time even until death. To say “I love you” is the first part. Then comes the responsibility: “Feed my
sheep.”
To all of you who are celebrating 1st Eucharist today, I want you to know that we are so happy for you and for your
families. We welcome you to be with the
rest of us at the table of Jesus, who makes anything possible and forgives
every mistake. We are made new. You are our hope for the future, and you make
us happy just by your being here. You
are surrounded by love here. And even
though I can’t quite decide whether I want to be your age again, I am a little
jealous of all the good things that lie before you in this life—and eventually
forever in heaven.
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