Do You Know Him?

(“Immediately a rooster crowed a second time. Then Peter remembered what Jesus had said to him: ‘Before a rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.’ And he broke down and wept.” Mark 14:72)

It is far too easy to read of Peter’s three denials of even knowing Jesus and assume we would not be so easily swayed. After all, haven’t we already faced the scowl of fellow workers when we do not follow their excesses out of reverence for Christ? Haven’t we felt our tongue grow thick when asked about our faith, and though we stumble through our answer, we would take no thought of actually saying, “Jesus? Never heard of him!”

I actually appreciate Peter’s courage. I have begun to see his actions that evening in a new way. He, and perhaps John, were the only disciples who even followed Jesus to His trial. Peter, so determined to follow Him to the end, brusquely committed himself to dying for Jesus’ sake if necessary. Peter is not like those who make half-hearted commitments to follow, then barely do that much.

No, Peter is not a hypocrite. He made a rash promise, thought far too much of himself, but he felt the death-sting run through his heart the moment he heard that rooster crow. “Peter,” Jesus had told him, “I’m sorry, it saddens me to no end. But you will find yourself weaker than you ever imagined. Tonight, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.”

Peter had strongly mounted a defense. “No Jesus, though all falter, I’m with you all the way! I have your back, you know that, don’t you? I saw Your glory on the mountain with Moses and Elijah. How could I ever stumble after such a high experience of Your majesty? No, I plan to follow you even to the death if I have to!”

Peter’s bravado stayed with him even as Jesus prayed in the garden. It is too bad he slept instead of praying, the way Jesus had asked. Perhaps he would have learned that sticking with Jesus takes more help from heaven than we can imagine. He was as deceived as we are when we think following Jesus is all about garnering as much resolve as we can and marching on through.

Peter’s boasts probably still echoed in his mind as the soliders and preists came to arrest Jesus. Led by Judas, the traitor sealed the deed with a kiss, and the crowd moved in to arrest Him. Somewhere in the middle of a confusing moment as soldiers, darkness, disciples and Jesus became an inky mixture of humanity, demons and the divine, Peter swung his sword. Probably going for the head, he missed, and cut off the ear of the High Priest’s servant.

In what must have seemed slow motion Jesus speaks, “Put it down, Peter! If you want to live by violence, that is how you will die!” And he healed the servant’s severed ear! About to suffer excruciating torture and death, Jesus pauses for one moment of compassion and healing.

I think Peter’s courage goes limp the moment Jesus is escorted from the garden. It’s happened to you, I know it has. It has happened to me. I’ve imagined the way God will work a situation out. It’s not even for my selfish interests. It’s not as if I expect God to give me a Mercedes and instead I have to drive a used VW. No, the moments that deflate my courage are when God is supposed to win, and he doesn’t.

I don’t even mean when spiritual leaders fail, or when they act like what they (and we) are; mere humans. No, it is the times when evil is obviously going to triumph and God seems to have lost interest in it all. The most difficult are the times might be when I have a passion for helping the needy, and find no one with a like mind. Or, as I am now, battling a debilitating disease, you find yourself unable to be much use for good at all.

Peter came to the court that night and was powerless. His little league attempt at swinging a sword was his last-ditch effort at courage. Now all that is left are three whimpers, “I don’t know Him. Didn’t you hear me the first time? I don’t know the man!”

The rooster crows, Peter remember, and he weeps. He doesn’t sniffle, He doesn’t pick up potterly close by and throw it against a wall. He wails at his failure. Jesus needed him so badly, and it was such a small thing he could have offered. He could have simply acknowledged he was Jesus’ friend. But he didn’t. Wielding a sword an hour earlier, he is down for the count at a young girl’s question, “Do you know Him?”

I don’t want to boast and then fail. But I don’t want to half-heartedly call myself a believer and simply muddle on. Perhaps there is a place that lets us see our weakness before we fail. We are less likely to boast or want to lead the pack up some mountain of faith. But, knowing our weakness up front, perhaps we also are able to rely more readily on Jesus’ supply.

I think Peter cried more than once. Though I am certain he was assured of Jesus’ love and forgiveness, I can’t help but think that on some nights alone the tears overtook him again. Perhaps he also heard, as he wept, “Peter, do you love me?” And, as he may have repeated throughout his life, “Yes, Lord, you know all things. You know I do.” “Then, my friend, keep feeding my sheep.” And Peter knew that, although he denied knowing Jesus; Jesus never denied know him.