God, I praise You. Do not be silent. Wicked people and liars have spoken against me. They have told lies about me. They have said hateful things about me and attack me for no reason. They attacked me even though I loved them and prayed for them. I was good to them, but they repay me with evil. I loved them, but they hate me in return. (Verses 1-5)
Peter. Jesus named him that. Because he was a rock. Solid. Just the kind of man Jesus knew would obstinately follow Him anywhere. "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!" Peter had proclaimed it. Verbalized it before the rest even had the depth of understanding to grasp exactly Who this Man they followed really was. "Flesh and blood didn't reveal this to you, Peter. My Father showed you this. You are a rock. And on this rock, I'll build my church."
I'm a rock! Jesus named me Rock. Cool. And so Peter tried to fulfill the name. Walking on water. Trying on the moniker. "Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to test all of you as a farmer sifts wheat. I have prayed that you will not lose your faith! Help your brothers be stronger when you come back to Me."
Come back to Him? What? "I'm ready to go to prison or even die with You!" Come back to Him. I'm not going anywhere!
"Three times, Peter, you are going to deny you even know me before sunup tomorrow."
To prove he wasn't lying, Peter drew his sword in the Garden of Gethsemane. Judas was there, kissing Jesus. The kiss of death, confusing and swift. Jesus was surrounded by armed men ready to take Him away. "Lord, should I kill these guys?" Peter, in the process drawing one of the two swords the disciples had brought with them. Malchus, one of the guards of the high priest was near. Ready to grab Jesus. Almost without thinking, Peter sliced off his ear.
"Stop!" cried Jesus. "Enough!" And He picked up the ear from the garden's dewy grass and put it back in place on the servant's head. Perplexing to Peter. Trying to live up to his name. To be the support Jesus needed. And he somehow got it wrong.
Peter followed at a distance when all but John and he fled the garden in fear for their own lives. The soldiers started a fire in the courtyard and waited. Peter sidled over for the warmth. "Hey, that man was with them!" said a girl as she came near to look him in the face.
"Woman, I don't even know Him." Peter's stomach churned with the lie.
Not long afterward another person recognized Peter as a disciple as he walked near the circle of blazing coals. "You were one of them." The man peered into the disciple's eyes, searched them. "Man, I'm not!" Firm. A rock now cracked.
A group of men strolled close an hour or so later. Peter was still sitting there. Conflicted. Wanting to be something he now knew he clearly wasn't. How could he have denied even knowing Jesus? What had gotten into him? "For sure this man was with Him! Look, he's from Galilee, too!" said one of the men as they came near Peter, trapping him in the ring they formed around him. He felt unable to breathe. Stood and pushed them away. He cursed at them, then declared too loudly, "Man, I don't even know what you're talking about!"
Then the rooster crowed. Heralding daylight. In the commotion, Peter missed it. Jesus being led out of His inquisition by guards. The words of denial had barely left his mouth when he turned to Jesus, stopped still for a moment. Looking at him as he cursed and screamed his betrayal. Their eyes locked. And the Rock was crushed into powder. Ran and hid. The pain of understanding he is just a man, capable of the most cruel behavior, wanting to save his own hide rather than be faithful to the One Who loved Him and prayed for him sent Peter away, crying hysterically. Shamed beyond bearing. Jesus heard his every word. How could Simon ever be Peter again?
I suppose knowing that Peter was going to betray Him didn't make it hurt less when Jesus caught the glimpse of his disciple angrily disowning their friendship. I guess the best that could be said of Peter is that at least he and John followed. Peter thought he had what it took to be a rock. Satan had spoken to Jesus about him. Let's see what he's really made of. A rock...pshaw! He's not even a pebble.
Not there for the moment of His death, too ashamed to look on a suffering Savior. Peter alone somewhere, disgusted with himself, anguishing not only over the depth of his betrayal, but also over the pain he'd caused Jesus. How could Jesus ever look him in the face again? Wailing in the earthquake, shivering in the darkness, Simon was only Simon. Nothing more.
Sunday morning. In the garden tomb. A group of women approach the entrance and discover the stone rolled away. An angel sitting there. They were scared to death. Couldn't move. Couldn't fathom what they saw. "Don't be afraid. You are looking for Jesus from Nazareth, Who has been crucified. He has risen from the dead. He isn't here." The angel moved aside and showed them the empty cave. "See! That's where they laid Him." As the women marveled, the angel told them, "Now go and tell His followers...and Peter."
And Peter. Singled out not by his denial. Not called Simon. Go tell the rock he's still a rock. Jesus deemed it so and Satan can't steal from us what God has called us to be. Not when Jesus is praying against our enemy. At the seaside eating fish many days later, Jesus says: "Simon, do you love me? The way I love you? With agape?"
"You know you are my dear, dear friend," replied Simon. Not yet ready to be Peter and declare undying devotion. Knowing by then he's not all that! Capable of sin. Capable of shame.
Three times he's asked the question. Three times Jesus makes him say, "I love you." Three denials. Three affirmations. "Peter, follow me."
And he will. To his own crucifixion. But not before the church is built. Not until the Spirit has come to indwell a bawdy fisherman with a big heart, a big mouth and a bigger destiny. Saved because Jesus said, "..and Peter."
And...me. And...you. Incapable of living authentically without Him. Only able to be what He knows we can be because He's named us something different than what our lives have defined us to be. Clinging to what we always have been instead of embracing who He says we are. But Jesus has called my name. Reached past my stuff to say I can be more. Forgiven the days I turned away while my Savior watched my unfaithfulness. Let me cry my remorse. Accentuated in the darkness, trying to hide from the eyes that find me even there. How could Jesus then reach to me in love? Call me by my name? Embrace me as His own? "Follow Me." It's all I want to do.
Peter. Jesus named him that. Because he was a rock. Solid. Just the kind of man Jesus knew would obstinately follow Him anywhere. "You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!" Peter had proclaimed it. Verbalized it before the rest even had the depth of understanding to grasp exactly Who this Man they followed really was. "Flesh and blood didn't reveal this to you, Peter. My Father showed you this. You are a rock. And on this rock, I'll build my church."
I'm a rock! Jesus named me Rock. Cool. And so Peter tried to fulfill the name. Walking on water. Trying on the moniker. "Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to test all of you as a farmer sifts wheat. I have prayed that you will not lose your faith! Help your brothers be stronger when you come back to Me."
Come back to Him? What? "I'm ready to go to prison or even die with You!" Come back to Him. I'm not going anywhere!
"Three times, Peter, you are going to deny you even know me before sunup tomorrow."
To prove he wasn't lying, Peter drew his sword in the Garden of Gethsemane. Judas was there, kissing Jesus. The kiss of death, confusing and swift. Jesus was surrounded by armed men ready to take Him away. "Lord, should I kill these guys?" Peter, in the process drawing one of the two swords the disciples had brought with them. Malchus, one of the guards of the high priest was near. Ready to grab Jesus. Almost without thinking, Peter sliced off his ear.
"Stop!" cried Jesus. "Enough!" And He picked up the ear from the garden's dewy grass and put it back in place on the servant's head. Perplexing to Peter. Trying to live up to his name. To be the support Jesus needed. And he somehow got it wrong.
Peter followed at a distance when all but John and he fled the garden in fear for their own lives. The soldiers started a fire in the courtyard and waited. Peter sidled over for the warmth. "Hey, that man was with them!" said a girl as she came near to look him in the face.
"Woman, I don't even know Him." Peter's stomach churned with the lie.
Not long afterward another person recognized Peter as a disciple as he walked near the circle of blazing coals. "You were one of them." The man peered into the disciple's eyes, searched them. "Man, I'm not!" Firm. A rock now cracked.
A group of men strolled close an hour or so later. Peter was still sitting there. Conflicted. Wanting to be something he now knew he clearly wasn't. How could he have denied even knowing Jesus? What had gotten into him? "For sure this man was with Him! Look, he's from Galilee, too!" said one of the men as they came near Peter, trapping him in the ring they formed around him. He felt unable to breathe. Stood and pushed them away. He cursed at them, then declared too loudly, "Man, I don't even know what you're talking about!"
Then the rooster crowed. Heralding daylight. In the commotion, Peter missed it. Jesus being led out of His inquisition by guards. The words of denial had barely left his mouth when he turned to Jesus, stopped still for a moment. Looking at him as he cursed and screamed his betrayal. Their eyes locked. And the Rock was crushed into powder. Ran and hid. The pain of understanding he is just a man, capable of the most cruel behavior, wanting to save his own hide rather than be faithful to the One Who loved Him and prayed for him sent Peter away, crying hysterically. Shamed beyond bearing. Jesus heard his every word. How could Simon ever be Peter again?
I suppose knowing that Peter was going to betray Him didn't make it hurt less when Jesus caught the glimpse of his disciple angrily disowning their friendship. I guess the best that could be said of Peter is that at least he and John followed. Peter thought he had what it took to be a rock. Satan had spoken to Jesus about him. Let's see what he's really made of. A rock...pshaw! He's not even a pebble.
Not there for the moment of His death, too ashamed to look on a suffering Savior. Peter alone somewhere, disgusted with himself, anguishing not only over the depth of his betrayal, but also over the pain he'd caused Jesus. How could Jesus ever look him in the face again? Wailing in the earthquake, shivering in the darkness, Simon was only Simon. Nothing more.
Sunday morning. In the garden tomb. A group of women approach the entrance and discover the stone rolled away. An angel sitting there. They were scared to death. Couldn't move. Couldn't fathom what they saw. "Don't be afraid. You are looking for Jesus from Nazareth, Who has been crucified. He has risen from the dead. He isn't here." The angel moved aside and showed them the empty cave. "See! That's where they laid Him." As the women marveled, the angel told them, "Now go and tell His followers...and Peter."
And Peter. Singled out not by his denial. Not called Simon. Go tell the rock he's still a rock. Jesus deemed it so and Satan can't steal from us what God has called us to be. Not when Jesus is praying against our enemy. At the seaside eating fish many days later, Jesus says: "Simon, do you love me? The way I love you? With agape?"
"You know you are my dear, dear friend," replied Simon. Not yet ready to be Peter and declare undying devotion. Knowing by then he's not all that! Capable of sin. Capable of shame.
Three times he's asked the question. Three times Jesus makes him say, "I love you." Three denials. Three affirmations. "Peter, follow me."
And he will. To his own crucifixion. But not before the church is built. Not until the Spirit has come to indwell a bawdy fisherman with a big heart, a big mouth and a bigger destiny. Saved because Jesus said, "..and Peter."
And...me. And...you. Incapable of living authentically without Him. Only able to be what He knows we can be because He's named us something different than what our lives have defined us to be. Clinging to what we always have been instead of embracing who He says we are. But Jesus has called my name. Reached past my stuff to say I can be more. Forgiven the days I turned away while my Savior watched my unfaithfulness. Let me cry my remorse. Accentuated in the darkness, trying to hide from the eyes that find me even there. How could Jesus then reach to me in love? Call me by my name? Embrace me as His own? "Follow Me." It's all I want to do.
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