The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 29, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York

Br. Robert James Magliula

The Apostles Saint Peter and Saint Paul, June 29, 2025

• Ezekiel 34:11-16
• 2 Timothy 4:1-8
• John 21:15-19

Today is the commemoration of the martyrdom of Saints Peter and Paul. They both died in Rome during the persecution under Nero in 64 A.D. According to tradition, Paul was granted the right of a Roman citizen to be beheaded by a sword, but Peter suffered crucifixion, with head downward.  

These two are an unlikely duo. Their paths and opinions more than once divided the Church. In the early days of birthing the Christian community, nobody really knew what to do next. Various things had been set in motion in a rather haphazard way. Mark had not yet written his book. Communities were springing up, and as with all communities, the first resentments and disagreements were surfacing. Danger also begins to appear with the persecution of the new Christian movement, especially from a brilliant lawyer from Tarsus with religious and political clout. The rumor surfaces that this Saul the enemy has changed sides and his name to Paul. He appears in Jerusalem asking to meet with Peter and James, the brother of Jesus. Luke in Acts tells us the local community didn’t believe that he was now a disciple. The second century writer, Onesiphoros, describes Paul as unimpressive. “A man rather small in size, bald-headed, bow legged, with meeting eyebrows, and a large, hooked nose.” Appearances aside, he was a brilliant scholar, sophisticated, politically astute, at home in any society, with the full advantages of full Roman citizenship.  

Peter, unlike Paul, at this stage of his life knew little or nothing about the vast reaches of the Empire. He had no idea what it was like to live in the immense melting-pot of religions and lifestyles. Yet the instinctive conservatism of Peter met the far-seeing vision and boundless energy of Paul to propel the Gospel from one end of the Empire to the other. Immensely different and possessing very different visions of the future they battled their way to what today’s collect calls “a unity in the Spirit.” 

That first encounter in Jerusalem and the relationship between Peter and Paul fascinates us because of their differing gifts, personalities, and roles that provide a pattern of contrasts that were to be important in the formation of the future Church. One of the things they held in common was the difficulty of their ministry. I don’t mean the darkness of their times, their struggles, or the persecution, but the greater difficulty of competing lights. This is what Paul tried to convey to Timothy in our Epistle and Jesus to Peter in today’s Gospel.  

For the youthful Timothy, animated by the zeal of a new convert, ministry and mission were still relatively uncomplicated. It would be some time before he would see, like Paul, that the most demanding discipleship is not a battle with darkness. The far greater threat to the Gospel, and to our faith, is not evil cloaked in darkness, but evil decked in light. Paul’s ministry was conducted in a world of dazzling brilliance. The Roman Empire was at its apex; the religions of Athens and Rome, Israel and Egypt had been around long enough to build firm foundations and impressive cults. Learning was alive, world trade and communication brought people into vibrant contact. Set against the powerful forces of empire, commerce, and culture, Christianity was insignificant. How could a gospel of self-denial and service to others survive in a world of creature comforts and power and not be eclipsed by this competition? This is no less true for us today. 

In part that seems to be Jesus’ message to Peter as well. This is Peter who fled from Jerusalem only weeks earlier from the horror of Jesus’ execution. In this exchange Jesus rescues Peter from his shame for his denial and weakness and makes the past irrelevant. The fact that Peter now knows what it is to come apart makes him a more compassionate leader. He realizes that above all else the Kingdom which Jesus preached was about people: caring for them, building them up, healing them, loving them. That would be Peter’s great gift in the years ahead. This conversation takes place after they have satisfied their appetites with breakfast. Might Jesus be reminding Peter and us that ministry is always more difficult when we are satisfied and can be charmed out of our convictions? 

Life is never quite as simple as we’d like, but it is possible to say that Peter’s gift was of the heart while Paul’s was of the mind. The readings for this feast do not so much emphasize the greatness of these two as their humanity and vulnerability. In the Epistle we catch a glimpse of Paul who is old and tired, worn out by the impossible pace and demands he had set for himself: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race. I have kept the faith.” He may be tired and old, but the self-confidence is still there, and humility was never his strong point. The voice we hear to Timothy is that of the teacher, thinker, the formulator of the faith. 

Martyrdom is less about how we die and more about how and for whom we live. The Christian faith calls us to a life of endurance and perseverance. The lives and deaths of Peter and Paul offer us examples and guidance for our lives today in a world not unlike that of their own day, that desperately needs witnesses to the love of God. Though Peter and Paul disagreed about the Christian mission their common commitment to Christ and the proclamation of the Gospel proved stronger than their differences. The icon for this feast portrays them embracing each other, offering us a much needed image and example of unity in diversity in our polarized world.  

Paul‘s words for us today are timeless: “I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus who is to judge the living and the dead…:  preach the word, be urgent in season and out of season, convince, rebuke, and exhort, be unfailing in patience and in teaching.”  He continues describing not only his day, but ours, where we see the Gospel domesticated and accommodated to support peoples own agenda.  “For the time is coming”, he says, “when people will not endure sound teaching but having itching ears, they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own likings and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander into myths.” He reminds us that we must be willing to examine our own lives and choices and not allow ourselves to become so self-confident that we believe that we are incapable of having itching ears as well. He concludes: “As for you, always be steady, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.  For I am already on the point of being sacrificed; the time of my departure has come… Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that Day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing.” 

So let us give thanks today for these two ancestors in the faith, whose work, writings, and witness give us insight and strength for our work and witness.  But perhaps, most of all, for showing us our capacity as human beings to change, to grow and to work together to build God’s Kingdom. +Amen.

The Feast of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Apostles - June 29, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Francis Daniel Beckham, OHC

The Feast of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, Apostles, June 29, 2023

Ezekiel 34:11-16

2 Timothy 4:1-8

John 21:15-19

 

Click here for an audio of the sermon

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you, O God, my stronghold and my comforter. Amen.

What does it mean to love? To be loved? What does it feel like? How do we behave towards the ones we love? And what do we do to take care of them? Naturally, our answers will depend on exactly whom we love, what kind of love we’re feeling toward them – romantic, friendship, familial – as well as our own needs, past experiences, expectations, and circumstances.

When we’re teenagers or young adults, for instance, experiencing the reciprocated affections of a crush for the first time, we’re likely to feel infatuation and excitement, accompanied by a grand delusion of devotion: “This is the one!” we tell ourselves. “This is the real thing! If we were ever to break up (which we definitely won’t) I’d never find anyone else to love ever again!” We aren’t usually disingenuous our first time out the gate; it’s just all new and wonderful to us, and we haven’t yet got the benefit of experience to help us have a slightly more measured perspective on the matter.

Love hits much differently when, later down the road, a first-time parent holds their newborn in their arms and realizes what absolute, unshakable, unconditional love and devotion really feels like. Or when, in our middle or later years we suddenly realize just how long a spouse, partner, sibling, cousin, or friend has stuck by us – someone with whom we’ve shared countless formative experiences including both the highs and lows of life, resulting in deep, abiding friendship.

When we’re blessed with a soulmate who just ‘gets’ us, we discover a different way of feeling love for someone – a way marked by sincere gratitude for having a person in our life who makes us feel seen, heard, understood, and appreciated for who we are, warts and all. We’re much more careful to guard and nurture these kinds of relationships because of how much they genuinely mean to us. And the older we get, the more we learn to treasure them.

In reflecting on our Gospel reading, I was struck at the tenderness of the conversation between Jesus and Peter, and just how deep a friendship it reveals. I found myself returning again and again to Jesus’ opening question to Peter: “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” It’s a remarkable thing to ask someone. “Do you love me? And do you love me more than anyone else does?” For many of us, I think this would be a terrifying question to ask or be asked. What if we don’t receive – or can’t give – the hoped-for answer?

Yet Jesus asks Peter this question two more times. He asks Peter if he loves him not because he needs to know, or because he doubts the sincerity of his answer – Jesus knows Peter better than anyone, and he’s fully aware that Peter loves him. Rather, Jesus asks because Peter needs to be assured of his love for Jesus. After all, in John’s Gospel, it’s only been a little while since Peter let his friend down in a pretty big way – and at a very crucial moment – by denying that he even knew Jesus, his friend. And he didn’t deny Jesus only once, but three times in a single night. This was not a friend-of-the-year moment, and we know how badly Peter feels about his behavior. In Matthew’s account of the Passion, we learn that, following his third denial, “[Peter] went out and began to weep bitterly.”

But Jesus isn’t trying to rub salt in the wound. Quite the opposite: he’s letting Peter know that their friendship is still intact, that the two of them are still okay. Jesus accepts that in any relationship there are bound to be moments of selfishness and hurt feelings. Knowing Peter as well as he does, he even tried telling him this was going to happen. “I know how you are, Peter,” we can hear Jesus saying, “and when the pressure’s on later, you’re going to panic and say something hurtful, even though I know you aren’t really going to mean it.”

In this intensely intimate moment between friends, where Jesus and Peter finally have an opportunity to talk alone for the first time since Maundy Thursday, the wounds of the past begin to be healed. In contrast to the three denials, Jesus gives Peter the chance to state his love for him three times, even though Peter, true to form, initially fails to recognize this as an act of healing and is, instead, quite hurt. This is, for me, the most difficult part of the passage. It’s the part that reminds me that being loved hurts as much as it heals – and that being loved can be one of the most difficult things in the world, especially when I feel it coming from someone I don’t believe I deserve to receive it from.

During my lectio with this passage, I imagined Jesus staring directly into Peter’s eyes, questioning him in a steady, but gentle, voice, almost as if saying, “Peter, I know you love me. Please forgive yourself and move past this with me by taking care of those entrusted to me by the One Who Sent Me. I need you to do this now, and I know you will do it well, because you know what it’s like to feel. Follow me.”

In this moment Jesus extends to Peter the surest sign of love there is: Mercy. It’s the same loving mercy Jesus wills for each of us, whether we’re always able to believe it or not. There’s never an “I told you so” or “How could you have done what you did” or “You’re going to have to prove you’re sorry before I’ll ever be able to trust you again.” No, only mercy. Jesus says to Peter and to each of us, “I know you’re not perfect, and I love you every bit as much as I always have. Every. Single. One. Of. You.”

And so, after cooking a meal for Peter and the others (another sure sign of love almost any of us can relate to) and sharing a heart-to-heart with him, Jesus entrusts the well-being of the nascent Church to Peter with a clear example of just how he expects him – and us – to go about “tending his sheep.” Love them, nurture them, forgive them, and be merciful.

Jesus, being the true friend he was to Peter, did not mince words about how difficult this was going to be, or about the fate he would eventually meet. The same would prove to be true for Paul, who himself would later be called by Jesus and accepted by the apostles through a particularly extraordinary show of mercy, and who would then join Peter in feeding and tending the flock, even at the eventual cost of his own life.

Both apostles were invited – as all of us are – to give up control of their own lives and destinies out of love for Christ and those beloved of Christ – that is, everyone. This was no summer fling; this was the deepest, truest kind of love the likes of which we can only catch glimpses of this side of Paradise, but which nevertheless stirs each of our hearts to care for others – those we know, and those we don’t – preparing and sharing a meal where there is hunger, extending mercy where there is shame and despair, and welcoming all we encounter along the path of following in the Way.

I pray that each of us, following in the example of Peter and Paul, will embrace Jesus’ invitation to love, and feel ourselves loved by, God, forgiving ourselves and one another, feeding and tending this big, wounded, wonderful flock – and always with gentleness and mercy.

May peace and all that is good be with each of us and those we love today and always. Amen.

St. Peter and St. Paul - June 29, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Fr. Matthew Wright

Saint Peter and Saint Paul - June 29, 2022

Ezekiel 34:11-16

2 Timothy 4:1-8

John 21:15-19

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

From the Gospel of Luke: “…they seized [Jesus] and led him away, bringing him into the high priest’s house. But Peter was following at a distance. When they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat among them. Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, ‘This man also was with him.’ But he denied it, saying, ‘Woman, I do not know him.’” And then after another denial, and while still in the midst of a third, we’re told, “At that moment, while he was still speaking, the cock crowed. The Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered… how he had said to him, ‘Before the cock crows today, you will deny me three times.’ And he went out and wept bitterly.” (Luke 22:54-62)

And from the Acts of the Apostles: “[The people] became enraged and ground their teeth at Stephen… and with a loud shout all rushed together against him. Then they dragged him out of the city and began to stone him; and the witnesses laid their coats at the feet of a young man named Saul. […] And Saul approved of their killing him.” (Acts 7:54-8:1)

These are, of course, accounts of Peter’s denial of Christ and of Paul’s participation in the violent persecution of the early Jesus movement. Peter and Paul, whom we celebrate today, were not always Saints Peter and Paul. One was a very poor example of discipleship, and the other was opposed to that discipleship entirely. This gives me hope, because together, these two men, who were once enemies, with the help of the Holy Spirit birthed one of the most radically inclusive spiritual visions our world has ever seen.

If I asked you, “Why are you here this morning?” there would be lots of ways we could each answer that question. “Because, as a child, a seed of faith was planted in my heart by my grandmother.” Or, “Because once, when I hit rock bottom, I was desperate and I wondered into a church.” We would all have different answers, and more than one answer, to that question. But one answer that is true for everyone here is, “We are here, all of us, because of Sts. Peter and Paul”—and not because it’s their feast day, but because of their work for the Gospel, and particularly because of the way each of them broke open, and were broken open by, the Gospel.

Peter and Paul, both of them Jewish followers of Jesus, a Jewish rabbi—both of these men had their hearts broken open to a universal vision—a Gospel that transcended race, ethnicity, and even religious boundaries, welcoming Gentiles (and therefore most or maybe all of us in this room) into the fold. It was Paul who wrote, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Gal. 3:28).

These are words that cut right to the heart of the three primary categories that human beings use to divide ourselves—race, class, and gender or sexuality. Human beings are always forming hierarchies along these lines—Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female; race, class, and sex. And Paul saw in all this—although not at first, only after he was shattered by Christ—the way the world assigns value based on either/or, us and them, in and out. We define our worth over and against someone else’s. “If they have worth equal to mine, if God loves them as much as God loves me, then my worth is diminished.”

These categories of division, separation, and hierarchy were deeply ingrained in the world that Peter and Paul moved in (and they are deeply ingrained in our world still today). The Greek philosopher Thales, who lived in the third century before Jesus, is remembered as thanking the gods for three things: “First, that I was born a human being and not one of the brutes [which was a way of referring to slaves]; next, that I was born a man and not a woman; thirdly, a Greek and not a barbarian.”

From the same time period, we also have a record of the following Jewish prayer, attributed to Rabbi Judah: “There are three blessings one must pray daily: Blessed art thou, who did not make me a Gentile; Blessed art thou, who did not make me a woman; Blessed art thou who did not make me uneducated.” Race, gender, class.

These divisions were so taken for granted that it’s astounding that the early Jesus movement said No; in Christ these hierarchies are abolished. In the kingdom of God, we are all of equal rank and value. The community we form in the way of Jesus will not play by these rules. Jesus has shattered all of that. It’s difficult for us to get our minds around just how radical this was. These words weren’t written during the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 60s; they weren’t written during the women’s liberation movement of the 1970s; they weren’t written during the fight for LGBTQ equality in the 90s or now. They were written as our Christian charter 2,000 years ago—and we’re still trying to catch up with them.

Paul didn’t come by this vision easily. He underwent a sudden, blinding encounter with the Light of Christ that broke open his heart and rearranged his mind. And Peter, who walked with Jesus in his earthly life and ministry, struggled initially with this inclusive vision. We see Jesus, throughout the Gospels, working to break his disciples out of dualistic, “us vs. them” thinking. He uses outsiders like Samaritans and Romans—that is, heretics and pagans—as models of faith. He tells the story of the Good Samaritan—a Samaritan, who fell outside of Jewish orthodoxy—and says of a pagan Roman, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith” (Luke 7:9)—that is, “not even in my own religious tradition.” And neither story ends with either the Samaritan or the Roman converting to orthodox Judaism! And still Jesus points to them, telling us to look for the holy outside of boxes and boundaries.

But the full implications of this still had to be worked out in the early Jesus movement, and when Paul pushed to draw the circle wider to welcome in Gentiles who had not already converted to Judaism, Peter resisted such a wildly inclusive approach. Peter and Paul disagreed with each other vehemently, and Paul even writes in his Letter to the Galatians that “I opposed Peter to his face” (2:11)! But Scripture tells us that, in a trance, Peter received a vision telling him to go against his own religious training and eat with “unclean” Gentiles. He would later report to his companions, “The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us” (see Acts 11:1-18). In Christ, there can be no “them and us.”

Peter and Paul came to support each other in this new vision of radical inclusion, reconciling their hearts and visions, and in the Second Letter of Peter we find Paul referred to as “our beloved brother.” The fact that they are celebrated with a combined feast day is especially poignant. They show us that even enemies, even the most polarized people, with a little help from the Holy Spirit, can become the dearest of friends. We need that witness at this deeply polarized moment in our country and our world. Peter and Paul show us that one who persecuted a movement, and another who opposed inclusion in the same movement, can together become apostles of a love that transcends fear and boundaries.

Across the United States and the Episcopal Church we have been celebrating LGBTQ Pride month, and as many of you may know, it was fifty-three years ago yesterday, July 28 th , very early in the morning in Greenwich Village, that an uprising began. In the midst of a violent police raid on the gay community, a black trans woman, Marsha P. Johnson, resisted. The relationship between violence and movements of liberation is complicated, and I don’t want to go there now, but let’s just say that Marsha P. Johnson said, “No. You will not define my value and dignity over and against your own. I belong, we belong.” Others joined her in that resistance, and the modern movement for LGBTQ rights was born.

That current of justice and inclusion is not separate from Gospel vision that broke open Peter and Paul’s hearts. And Marsha P. Johnson’s reality as a queer person of color, as a trans woman, reminds us that our liberation, that the Gospel itself, is always intersectional—we are all bound up together. Women’s rights are not separate from the rights of people of color are not separate from the rights of LGBTQ lives are not separate from the rights of indigenous communities.

As Dr. King reminds us, summing up the essence of this dimension of the Gospel, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly.” Or in the words of St. Paul, “all of you are one in Christ Jesus,” and in the words of St. Peter, “The Spirit told me… not to make a distinction between them and us.”

How do we continue to translate this movement of Gospel inclusion into our own time? How do we continue drawing the circle wider, softening our divided and polarized hearts? We might begin by meditating on the icon of Peter and Paul you saw as you entered the church—two enemies, now embracing and kissing as brothers and friends. How did they achieve this? Well, for one thing, they listened to each other. Each was willing to say, “I was wrong,” and to have their hearts opened to new insight and understanding. And each was willing to die for the vision of Gospel inclusion they grew together, and each of them did. In these divided times, St. Peter and St. Paul, pray for us. Help us to carry the Gospel vision of justice, inclusion, and love further in our world, and ever more fully and deeply in our hearts. Amen.

Feast of Saints Peter and Paul - June 29, 2021

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

Feast of Saints Peter and Paul - Tuesday, June 29, 2021

Ezekiel 34:11-16

2 Timothy 4:1-8

John 21:15-19

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

The mystery of human life is the inescapable “both/and-ness” of our nature. It is expressed in various ways.  Saint Paul, in Romans 7, laments that he cannot do what he wants and does what he does not want.  The Rule of Saint Benedict inspires and motivates the monk toward the heights of moral goodness and maturity in humility while at the same time much of the text is about what to do when the inevitable faults and conflicts occur.  Luther says we are simultaneously justified and sinners.  One of my favorite sayings, attributed to Saint John of the Cross, is “God has so ordained things that we grow in grace only through the frail instrumentality of one another.”  Therapists and spiritual directors may use language of consciousness and the unconscious to remind us that we do not know everything about ourselves and we often react out of fear to old patterns and wounds. 

All these voices are saying the same thing which is that we are thrust into dealing with the discrepancy between who we want to be or think ourselves to be, and who we actually are.  The tension between our justification and our sin, our vow and our imperfection, is unbearable to our egos. This is why we are so prone to repressing or projecting those rejected qualities within us we do not want to acknowledge.  To just ignore our imperfection or blame someone else brings some relief, if only for a while.  This splitting is tempting but goes against the deeper desire for union and wholeness.  Even within our resistance to the truth, we long to be able to accept God’s acceptance of us and to know in every part of our being the healing mercy of Christ.  

The witness and example of saints like the Apostles Peter and Paul is valuable in that we can watch this reality lived out.  Peter and Paul, both complex, passionate, and driven men are presented to us (and in Paul’s case, his own self-description) in all their technicolor imperfection and their giftedness.  The purpose of including Peter’s impulsive reactivity and then his denial of Jesus on the night of Maundy Thursday and Paul’s history of having arrested and persecuted Christians before the road to Damascus vision, is to heighten the power of God within and through these frail instruments. Peter’s call to follow Jesus does not immune him from his own fear, but takes him further into it.  Paul’s Christian-hunting does not disqualify him from being an apostle, but prepares him to identify with the least and lost. These lowest points in their lives, when they know in graphic and undeniable ways their capacity to cause harm and do evil, become the entry points into lives lived in embodied witness to the reality of forgiveness.  

In their respective crises, they came to the end of themselves – the end of their understanding of how the world worked, what was true, where to find purpose and meaning, how to use power – and discovered in that vulnerable place where going back is impossible and moving forward is unimaginable, the tenderness of Christ who not only was present and forgiving, but desired to send these very humbled men out into the world to proclaim the good news. We are witnesses to and participants in the kingdom of God turning the world upside down in the change of heart in both of these saints: they are delivered out of the world of strength as force and violence into the kingdom where true strength is love, power is humility.  In their greatest suffering, the confrontation with their own rebellion against the love of Christ, when they may have thought of themselves as God-forsaken, rejected, abandoned, they actually meet the Christ who is patiently waiting to heal them.  They could have opened to that healing before their crises. But for the stubborn and willful among us, sometimes we have to hit the weeping and blindness before we get the message.

The Lord is doing something like this when he and Peter meet on the beach after the resurrection.  In four words, “Do you love me?”, Jesus acknowledges the pain and failure of his denial, offers healing, and points the way toward the rest of Peter’s life and death.  In this question he is bringing Peter into the present, into the power of his choice, and into personal, intimate relationship with Jesus.

Peter and Paul shed light on the nature of our vocation to be frail instruments who are never beyond the potential to fail and continually invited to place ourselves in God’s hands.  The monastic call is a call to witness with our whole lives, with all that we think and say and do, to the glory of Christ present and moving, even groaning, within us.  Peter and Paul are faithful and holy martyrs in lives lived in receptivity to God’s compassion, even in death, because they knew that compassion in the humiliation and vulnerability of their sin.  

As much joy and contentment as we discover in this life, each of us has had moments or periods of crisis when we wondered whether we could say “yes” to what was being asked of us by God and the community, whether this was really God’s call or what we desired.  These crises are a natural part of the unmasking and offering of our false self.  Within the regular routine, when it is easy for the process of conversion to idle, a crisis rattles us out of complacency and reorients us toward what is true and real in a way nothing else can.  I know for me and perhaps for some of you, it was within the times of being broken open, of being stripped of our defenses and strategies for avoiding that a more authentic self has emerged.  Life in God will lead us to the end of ourselves, the place we least want to go, but the place we must face if our self-gift is to be total.  Our pain is not the absence of God, but the invitation into martyrdom, a life of witness to God’s beauty and glory in our own stories. 

Amen.