Remembering Christmas at the Cove in Wartime
A Message Delivered to Chaplains at The Cove
I’ll never forget it.
There was a new moon over the “Land of the Sky” in Western North Carolina on Thursday, December 17, 2009. As the waxing crescent emerged on Friday night, some might have seen it as a hopeful sign amidst fresh reports of another bombing in Baghdad. The rising toll of dead and wounded from Islamist suicide attacks was testing American resolve. But there was no question of dedication for those who served in American—and British and Commonwealth—uniforms. Their concern was not for themselves but for their families. In response, Franklin Graham extended an invitation to the Department of Defense, offering Chaplains and their spouses a chance to relax, reflect, and renew at The Cove. He invited a Presbyterian minister, seminary professor, and an Army Chaplain (US Army and Army Reserve), to deliver Bible messages during this spiritual retreat in Asheville, North Carolina. He might have done much better in getting a more notable and distinguished figure, but I couldn’t have been more honored and humbled to accept.
It was Christmastime, and the chill of the season wrapped itself around the Blue Ridge Mountains as if nature herself were pausing to reflect on the year’s end. Meanwhile, the arriving Army officers and their spouses gathered for the weekend retreat—a time of quiet leisure by day and deep personal reflection by night, with Bible messages from one of their own. The night was clear and cold, the air hovering around freezing as couples, suitcases, and travel bags were loaded into cabs and vans at Asheville Regional Airport, nine miles south of downtown. Fresh snowflakes, delicate and fleeting, were reported to be drifting through the wintry mountain air. And so, the military families began their journey from the airport to The Cove.
The Global War on Terrorism, still centered in Iraq, was far from abating; in fact, it was gathering momentum once more. The constant stream of 24-hour news and the look of concern in the eyes of blue star families made the distant fighting feel immediate and real, even in this serene corner of North Carolina. Chaplains and their wives had come to The Cove seeking a respite before the storm—a brief sanctuary before they would be scattered across the globe, carrying the weight of war-torn souls on their shoulders.
During the day, they wandered through the vibrant streets of Asheville, where the clamor of life continued unabated, a stark contrast to the quiet anticipation they carried within. They walked the tranquil paths winding through the retreat grounds, where the only sound was the whisper of leaves underfoot and the occasional bird calling from the trees, a fleeting reminder of peace. Yet, as evening fell and the last light of day surrendered to night, the couples gathered in the theater, drawn not just by the warmth of the fire or the promise of fellowship but by the words they would hear—words meant to strengthen their marriages, renew their callings, and gird them for the inevitable deployments ahead.
Some of these men and women were only days away from being flung back into the heart of conflict, and for a few, the hours were already ticking down. The messages they received here were not just sermons but lifelines—anchors in the swelling tide of uncertainty that awaited them.
And so, as they settled into their seats, the hum of anticipation softened into a reverent silence, the evening’s first words falling like kindling onto expectant hearts, ready to be ignited by the truth that would follow. I began with a mellow acoustic guitar and a solo ballad, “He’s in Control.” Then, without further comment, I assumed my other role—as preacher. The evening continued as I announced, “Dear friends, give attention. For this is the inerrant and infallible Word of the living God.”
John 21:1-22 (ESV)
After this Jesus revealed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias, and he revealed himself in this way. Simon Peter, Thomas (called the Twin), Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples were together. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.
Just as day was breaking, Jesus stood on the shore; yet the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, do you have any fish?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in, because of the quantity of fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved therefore said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his outer garment, for he was stripped for work, and threw himself into the sea. The other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, but about a hundred yards off.
When they got out on land, they saw a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, 153 of them. And although there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and so with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus was revealed to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Feed my lambs.” He said to him a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” (This he said to show by what kind of death he was to glorify God.) And after saying this he said to him, “Follow me.”
Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them, the one who also had leaned back against him during the supper and had said, “Lord, who is it that is going to betray you?” When Peter saw him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?” Jesus said to him, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!”
Peter’s Problem and Ours
We all love to beat up on Peter. He is unbridled, braggadocios, embarrassingly bold, and at times violent. However, he is also a man whom God extensively used to preach at Pentecost, to lead the Church in Jerusalem, to minister to the Church in Rome, and to minister to suffering saints in Asia Minor. In other words, he is like us. Simon Peter leaned on himself to minister and then had to turn again, or even be turned by Paul, to rely on grace. He is just a preacher.
My friend, a chaplain deployed twice in three years, a husband, father, and godly man, never fails to listen to the soldier who drops in to talk about a family matter, a job matter, or chat about a ball game. He is the kind of chaplain who sees ministry just beneath the surface of the old master sergeant who wants to talk about the Monday night football game or to laugh with the first lieutenant as he recounts his nervousness on his first Thanksgiving with his fiancé’s family. He is a good chaplain. But he is wondering about God’s call on his life. “What is God doing in my life, in my ministry? I don’t know.” These questions swirled around in his thoughts.
If we admit it, we can identify at some level with my friend. At one time or another, we all have a Gethsemane moment when the pressures and realities of the ministry to which we are called collide with the people we know ourselves to be. Sometimes it happens when friends are killed, and we are not. Sometimes it happens when we do our best and get bad OERs (Officer Evaluation Reports). Sometimes it is when we are at our best and get a bad MRI. “What is God doing in my life, in my ministry?” And we tell my friend, “I just don’t know.”
I would say that “poor in spirit” is not a bad place to be but a good place to be. It is a place where God can use us even more. But there are things, Gospel things, sacred-encounter things, that must happen to hear God’s answer to our dark-night-of-the-soul plea for understanding. And where do we turn? I want us to look at the account of Peter’s renewal and re-commissioning by Jesus found in John 21:1-22.
John is a Gospel storyteller. We always point to him when witnessing someone who needs the Lord. “Just read a little bit of John every night before bed.” We know that God’s Word doesn’t return void. And we know that John will consistently deliver. John’s purpose statement in his Gospel is clear: “But these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His name” (John 20:31).
But John ends His Gospel with a story of resolution: The resolution of the call of Peter. And it is here where all ministers of Christ, military chaplains or parish pastors, vicars in country churches, senior pastors of mega-churches, and presidents of seminaries must fall into the arms of Jesus again. In John 21, the Lord provides a haven for pastors to lay down their stoles and listen to the quiet, sweet voice of Jesus guiding us to renew our commitment to our call from Him.
I almost called this sermon “Renewing Your Passion for Your Ministry.” But then the Lord showed me in this passage that this is not really about our passion. It is about His passion (to speak anthropomorphically about God's revealed will and nature) for His ministry through us. Specifically, Simon Peter’s problem and ours is about misplaced passion—when our zeal for our ministry overshadows our love for Jesus and lost sheep. When zeal is disconnected from the person of the Lord Jesus, ministry soon becomes transactional. So I see in John 21:1-21 how God meets us at the point of our need as ministers to renew our commitment to His call on our lives.
I want to use four words to describe the sacred movements in this passage that bring about that renewal of calling.
Reflection
We all know this passage. Peter has blasphemed the Savior, denied Him, and run away from Him. Therefore, we find Peter here telling Thomas, Nathanael, John, and another disciple, “I am going fishing” (verse 3). I have sometimes said, “Now, this man who was so foolishly bold at one time has given up and is just going back to what he knew before. He is giving up on the ministry.” I have been in ministry long enough to know this is not the best way to handle defeat. To hear this man saying, “I am going fishing,” is to listen to the echo of his words in my own heart when a session meeting has gone wrong, or my latest, most fantastic ministry program went sour, or I have ministered so much in my own strength instead of Christ’s strength that I am just depleted. “I am going gardening.” “I am going hunting.” Sometimes, I have mumbled, “I just want to get away.” Have you? Maybe not. But hang around the disciples long enough, and you will undoubtedly make some mistakes.
Remember that this Peter who had denied Jesus, after bragging that the rest of the disciples might do that but he never would, is the same Peter who ran with John to see the empty tomb. He saw the face cloth that had been on Jesus’ head. He saw the winding sheets all “folded up in a place by itself” (20:7). Peter must have been with the disciples when the resurrected Christ came through locked doors on that first day of the week when He said, “Peace be with you” (20:19). Peter must have heard Jesus say, “As the Father has sent Me, even so, I am sending you” (20:21). And those words must have burned into the core of Peter’s soul like a white-hot cinder, for Peter had failed. Ministry was confusing. He had done his all, and his all was not enough.
A prominent minister in a mega-church once said, “As I look back at my ministry, I realize that most of it has been conducted in the flesh.” Peter must have felt like that. So, I don’t beat up on Peter anymore when he says, “I am going fishing.”
Peter needed time to reflect and to put all of the pieces together. He was asking the question my friend was asking, perhaps. We have a resurrected Savior, and He is calling us to go out and minister. I thought I was doing that. Now, I see myself for what I am. I am not sure anymore.
Reflection, as we know, is the beginning of renewal. We all need times of rest and renewal. But maybe you need more. Perhaps you are asking, “Lord, what are You doing in my life and ministry? Am I still called? Was I ever called?”
To inquire of God is to draw near to God. Spurgeon spoke of the “howling Psalms:” those Psalms that begin, “How long?”
· “My soul also is greatly troubled. But you, O LORD— how long” (Psalm 6:3)?
· “How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will You hide Your face from me?”
· “How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me” (Psalms 13:1, 2)?
· How long, O LORD? Will You hide Yourself forever? How long will Your wrath burn like fire” (Psalms 89:46)?
“How long?” is the cry of the heart of the minister of Christ who has seen the promises of the Lord meet the pain of living. It is the cry of the soul of the chaplain who authentically brings his burdens to the Lord when all of the ministry tricks he has learned from evangelical magazines and best-seller books fall beneath the unforgiving reality of life. And so you cry, “How long?” And you go fishing.
“How long?” is the cry of the heart of the minister of Christ who has seen the promises of the Lord meet the pain of living.—Mike Milton
Nevertheless, to read on in the text is to be encouraged that fishing can lead to a catch like never before. Reflection on where you have been and where you are going as a minister of the Gospel can also be the starting point for a new catch—a new commitment to the calling you heard so long ago.
In this case, I would ask, “Are you just pressing on to the next assignment? Or would you dare join Peter, admit that ministry is more than you can handle alone, and get in the boat and reflect?”
So, “reflection” is the genesis for renewing our commitment to our calling. The second word follows when we are in the boat of reflection.
Recognition
The scene is extraordinary. Whether you find Peter to be introspective and reflective, given all that he has seen and knows himself to be, or you see him as a washed-up preacher, sort of like a crooked televangelist in the floating cell of his own making. (I cannot see this in Peter unless I see it in my own life.) The thing that happens next is nothing short of spectacular.
Jesus said to them, “Children, do you have any fish?” They answered Him, “No” (21:5).
This scene says it all. No ministry. No fish. No power. No passion. There were no conversions and no satisfaction coming out of time in the boat. He was fishing. But there were no fish.
He said to them, “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some” (21:6).
So, they followed the instruction of the bold stranger on the shore. And they cast their nets like they had done so often before. And there was a catch that they couldn’t haul in. I once had a 25-pound catfish on a trotline in South Louisiana. I know how it is! I had to hammer that thing in the head to kill him to get him in the boat!
However, they could not get the fish in the boat. And here is the thing: the sea, the boat, the fishing, the lack of fish, the voice, the command, the result. Wait. They had experienced this all before. It is in Luke 5:1-11:
On one occasion, while the crowd was pressing in on Him to hear the word of God, He was standing by the lake of Gennesaret, Luke 5:1. He saw two boats by the lake, but the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. 2 Getting into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, He asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the people from the boat. 3 And when He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” 4 And Simon answered, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at Your word I will let down the nets.” 5 And when they had done this, they enclosed a large number of fish, and their nets were breaking. 6 They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats so that they began to sink.
John recognized it. Then Peter. And Peter dove in. He paused to put on his outer garment. There are many interpretations of this, but all I know is that we do strange things when we come into contact with the One we have been dreaming of and thinking of—when the guilt or confusion or loss of understanding in sacred reflection is met with the voice of Jesus. You grab your stole again. You grab your old torn pastoral robe. You dress up a bit. You are about to meet Jesus. “Grab a towel, Petrous. You are about to meet the Master—again.” Therefore, Peter swims for it.
I am here to say, “Listen as you reflect.” The one fishing for answers with the Lord will finally hear His voice. You may listen to it in this message. Or, you may hear it alone with your wife and children on a beautiful mountainous pathway. Or, you may hear the voice of your Beloved amidst the ordered chaos of an aircraft carrier or in the cave of Kandahar. But when you hear, you recognize Him. You remember His voice. Maybe you listened to the voice of Jesus that called you as a young boy, like Douglas Kelly, one of our most astute theologians, who testifies that he heard the voice of Jesus deep in his soul as a five-year-old boy, calling him to give his life to Him as a preacher. Maybe you listened to the voice of Jesus when you sat on your grandmother’s lap, and she read a Bible story from one of those little books you see in the dentist’s office. You heard His voice from His Word calling you to turn to Him. Or maybe you listened to that voice, as I did, as I came in contact with His grace as a young man and knew that all other pursuits, all other ambitions were as nothing before the ambition to preach the unsearchable riches of His grace that I had once run from.
But you recognize the voice. Reflecting creates a posture to recognize. Christian meditation cultivates a soul to receive. But that leads to a third sacred movement in this renewal of your commitment to the call on your life:
Reflecting creates a posture to recognize. Christian meditation cultivates a soul to receive.—Mike Milton
Reassessment
All of the military are used to “After Action Reports.” And this is one big AAR for Peter. The resurrected Christ waits for the right time. After breakfast on the shore, Jesus spoke to Peter. I imagine that Peter knew this was coming. Jesus knew it had to come.
Simon, son of John, do you love Me more than these? (21:15).
He did not call him Peter. He called him by his given name, Simon. He had to get back to the beginning. He had to strip away everything. And Jesus dealt with Peter’s love of Him. But when Jesus adds “more than these,” He strikes at the heart of Peter’s problem. Peter’s love was always in competition with others. His relationship with Jesus was, as displayed in the New Testament, a matter of performance. It was all about what Peter could do for Jesus. And it was always in the context of “Others will deny You, but I will never.”
This place of pain where best intentions, made in the flesh, met with worst consequences played out in time, had to be addressed. Three times, Jesus asks Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love Me?” Peter’s love was confirmed. But Peter knew now that his love was a love that responded to the initiation of the love of Jesus. We serve Christ because He loves us. He chose Abraham. He chose Peter. He chooses us. And this is not because of our prowess in the pulpit, our gifts, or even our willingness to follow Him. He chooses us out of His love. And our love for Him must be the starting point for our ministry. Peter needed to know that. I do, too.
Three times, Jesus told him to feed or tend His sheep. Peter was called. That was settled. But the assessment was that the sheep belonged to Jesus, not Peter. And the ministry was Jesus’, not Peter’s. In fact, Peter’s very life and ministry were one. He was to feed the sheep of Jesus out of the overflow of love He knew from Christ. In the end, his life and ministry were in the hands of others.
But here is the reassessment for all of us:
We must minister from our personal experience of His love, not our strength. Or we could say, in ministry, “Love Alone is Credible.” This was the Roman Catholic theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar’s apologetic (Ignatius Press, 2004). And with exceptions taken as a Presbyterian minister with other significant parts of von Balthasar’s theology, I cannot help but say “Amen” to this part (what I know of God is small compared to giants like von Balthasar). Peter had to learn that Christian ministry begins with an experience of mind and heart in love with Jesus, with a sacred encounter with this most beautiful, loving, forgiving, resurrected Savior, and so do I. Of course, this means that the same goes for you. No one can “pump you up” in ministry. What a fool I would be to think that is why I was invited here. Firstly, I would be encouraged by you! Secondly, none of us is capable of infusing supernatural energy into ministry. Vocational renewal is a profoundly personal event between you and the risen Christ. Vocational renewal is best found in your vocational genesis. “Remember when . . .?” leads to “Come, now . . .”
When you know that love again in your life, you have renewed a commitment to ministry in which His passion flows through you. You say like Paul:
I thank Him who has given me strength, Christ Jesus our Lord, because He judged me faithful, appointing me to His service, 1 Timothy 1:12 though formerly I was a blasphemer, persecutor, and insolent opponent. But I received mercy because I had acted ignorantly in unbelief, 13 and the grace of our Lord overflowed for me with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. 14 The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. 15 But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display His perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in Him for eternal life.
And like Paul, your life, overflowing with His love, breaks out into spontaneous doxology:
To the King of ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.
When your vocation becomes doxology, your renewal is complete. But I have one final word to describe what I see in this text describe the process of renewing your commitment to Christ’s calling on your life, and it is this:
Re-entry
For immediately after this ethereal experience, this hopeful renewal and restoration of Simon to the Gospel ministry, after reflection and recognition and reassessment, we see glimpses of Peter, the old Peter, once again:
Peter turned and saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following them, the one who had been reclining at table close to Him and had said, “Lord, who is it that is going to betray You?” John 21:20 When Peter saw Him, he said to Jesus, “Lord, what about this man?”
Peter had been told that ministry would lead him to death. I don’t know about you, but I might have said the same thing, “What about him?” In Bonhoeffer’s The Cost of Discipleship, his assessment of the call to follow Jesus is always true:
When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die. It may be a death like that of the first disciples who had to leave home and work to follow Him, or it may be a death like Luther’s, who had to leave the monastery and go out into the world. But it is the same death every time—death in Jesus Christ, the old man’s death at his call.[1]
And Peter was renewed, but his renewal brought him on a growth pathway in that renewal. There would be lapses into the old ways and face-to-face admonitions by Paul. There would be revelations about the Gospel and the Gentiles. But in the end, there would be the man of God, the fatherly pastor, writing to the “elect exiles” these words from his letter from “a Birmingham prison:” This is the true grace of God. Stand firm in it (1 Peter 5:12).
Conclusion
What is at stake? Your family. Your ministry. Your sanctification. Your example to your children and the children of God who look to us. But the reflection of our calling, recognition of His voice, reassessment of our love, and re-entry into the ups and downs of His calling on our life always leads to His passion being dispersed to others. He could have done it through angels. He could have done it through a single cosmic fiat that brought about a new heaven and earth.
But when He ascended on high…He gave gifts to men (Ephesians 4:8). He gave some to be pastors and teachers to equip the saints for ministry work (Ephesians 4:11b-12a).
One of those pastors, a giant man of 6’8”, the Episcopal rector of Trinity Church, Philadelphia, was never married except to his calling. Some of his people remember that he kept toys in his study to connect with the children of his church, the only children he claimed as his own. But ministry can be draining. As a single man with a large parish, with the mundane burdens of Sunday after Sunday bearing down on his large frame and more giant heart, this man must have said, “I am going fishing.” And he went to Bethlehem. And in 1865, as he worshipped on Christmas Eve at the site where Jesus was born, he heard a voice on the shore, if not in the crib. It was a voice that led to a hymn we sing each Christmas, which all of you have sung. And the final stanza of Bishop Phillip Brooks’ carol has special meaning when thinking of our callings before Christ:
O Holy Child of Bethlehem, Descend to us, we pray. Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels, The great glad tidings tell. Oh, come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel!
May we, too, hear that call now in our hearts. The simple call that Jesus gave to Peter in this passage, the beautiful call that you heard so long ago, the call that He still gives to all who will dive in and swim to Him this day:
“You follow Me.”
Please pray with me:
Oh, Christ Jesus, who called Peter and reawakened him to see that our ministries must flow from receiving Your love, and loving others out of that love, descend to us, we pray. And renew our commitment to Your call. Reshape us so that Your passion for Your ministry of redemption of men and women and boys and girls of the nations of the earth will flow through us. We pray this for Your glory and for our families, churches, troops, nation, generation, and eternal good. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
References
New Reformation Study Bible: English Standard Version. 1st ed. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Pub., 2005.
Balthasar, Hans Urs von. Love Alone Is Credible. San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2004.
Boice, James Montgomery. John. 5 vols. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker Books, 1999.
Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. The Cost of Discipleship. London: SCM, 1959.
Clowney, Edmund P. The Message of 1 Peter: The Way of the Cross. 2nd ed, with a study guide. ed. The Bible Speaks Today. Leicester: Inter-Varsity, 1994.
Grant, Michael. Saint Peter. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1994.
Morris, Leon. The Gospel According to John. Rev. ed. New International Commentary on the New Testament. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W.B. Eerdmans Pub. Co., 1995.
[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, The Cost of Discipleship (London: SCM, 1959).
"Renewing Your Commitment to Christ's Call" is a valuable resource that reminds pastors of the significance of their role and provides them with practical guidance for personal and vocational renewal. It serves as a source of encouragement and support for those who have dedicated their lives to shepherding Jesus' flock, helping them find renewed purpose and joy in their ministry.— Review, ThriftBooks.com.