Scripture
Simon Peter and another disciple followed Jesus. Since that disciple was known to the high priest, he went with Jesus into the courtyard of the high priest, but Peter was standing outside at the gate. So the other disciple, who was known to the high priest, went out, spoke to the woman who guarded the gate, and brought Peter in. The woman said to Peter, “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” He said, “I am not.” Now the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing around it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself.
Now Simon Peter was standing and warming himself. They asked him, “You are not also one of his disciples, are you?” He denied it and said, “I am not.” One of the slaves of the high priest, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, asked, “Did I not see you in the garden with him?” Again Peter denied it, and at that moment the cock crowed.
Sermon
Poor Peter. What an awful moment. During a night of abject fear and, probably, panic, he has done something that—to be honest—affects him more than anybody else. He has lost himself. He has left himself. He has gone into hiding, in a certain way. He has denied he even knew Jesus, during the long night that will lead to Jesus being strung up on a tree. And he’s done it three times.
Simon Peter is one of the most fascinating characters in the gospels. The take we find on him in the gospel according to John is different from the other three gospels, but we can still see a continuity in how the man is portrayed. He comes to life for us.
In the other gospels Jesus finds Simon Peter and his brother Andrew fishing, casting out their nets, or mending their nets near their fishing boats. Not here. Fishing isn’t even mentioned until the very last chapter of John’s gospel. Here, Andrew is already a follower of John the Baptist. He turns his attention to Jesus after John starts testifying to who Jesus is, pointing to him as the Messiah, calling him the Lamb of God. Andrew urges his brother to do the same. He invites him to follow Jesus.
But we hear Peter’s voice often throughout the gospel. When Jesus feeds the multitudes, and announces that he is the bread of life, the tumult that follows is dramatic: people are so horrified by Jesus’s talk of his body and blood, the gospel tells us, “many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.” At one point he asks the twelve—the inner circle, the apostles—whether they are ready to leave him, too. Peter immediately and passionately replies, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68-69).
We meet Peter next on the night of the Last Supper. During the meal, Jesus ties a towel around himself and begins washing the disciples’ feet. Now it’s Peter’s turn to be horrified. He immediately announces that he will not allow Jesus to do this. In that era and location, washing the feet of guests was work done by a female servant or slave. Peter sees this as Jesus shaming himself, doing women’s work, doing slaves’ work. This is the only conflict Peter and Jesus have in this gospel, and it is only resolved under the threat of being kicked out of the disciples. Peter finally relents and allows Jesus to wash his feet. It is an important lesson for all the disciples. This is symbolic of the life of service Jesus has demonstrated for them. It is symbolic of the kind of service Jesus wants them to be ready for.
This is a long and difficult night. The disciples witness Judas exiting the dinner to turn Jesus in to the authorities—a deadly betrayal. The anxiety is rising among the disciples. It is happening… the thing only Jesus is ready for, and no one else. Later in chapter 13 Jesus and Peter have the following exchange:
“Lord,” Peter asks, “where are you going?” We, the readers, understand that Jesus is going to be arrested, is going to the cross. But Jesus answers Peter, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now, but you will follow afterward.” Peter insists: “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.”
I imagine Jesus talking a long pause before answering, first, with a question: “Will you lay down your life for me?” And then, the heartbreaking, and true, prediction: “Very truly, I tell you, before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.” (John 13:36-38).
Our passage, the one in which Jesus’ prediction is fulfilled, is the next time we meet Peter. Five chapters later, it is that same night, after the arrest of Jesus, and Peter is trying to follow. Actually, I believe this first line of our passage is an important reminder. It is Peter’s intention to follow Jesus. That is who he sees himself to be—faithful, loyal, true. Not one to cut and run, not one to hide, not one to lie his way out of being associated with Jesus. But, in this moment, Jesus knows Peter better than he knows himself. Out of his mouth fly the three denials. A cock crows. And Peter stands by the fire, shivering.
We talked in Bible study about how the body responds to fear and panic. We can shiver when we’re cold, but fear can cause us to shiver as well—adrenaline speeds up the contraction rate of muscle fibers, readying us for fight or flight. So, high levels of adrenaline can lead to muscles twitching uncontrollably, and we end up shivering, shaking. Poor Peter. What must be going through his head? Or is he just numb? There he stands, warming himself by the fire, in this moment, a shadow of the man who said, “You, Lord, have the words of everlasting life.” But is it possible the fire, in addition to simply warming his body, is also warming his heart? Providing him some sense of comfort?
I believe that one of the reasons we find Peter so fascinating is this: He is us. We are Peter. Exuberant and faithful, then wondering what any of this is about. Maybe even afraid of some level of commitment.
It’s possible that the most devastating betrayal is when we betray ourselves. When we hide in closets. When we harm the people we love the most. When we compromise ourselves into corners we can’t escape. I have a handful of memories of me at my worst as I was a young mother—me, not being the mother I’d imagined I’d be, but being impatient, angry, short with these precious little people who depended on me for everything. I thank God that I have warm memories of beautiful moments with them, too, and that they far outweigh the difficult ones. Our relationships today are strong. But I still remember a night when I shivering by a metaphorical fire, confronted with my limitations in a way that was truly difficult. I had betrayed by own sense of who I should be.
Which, of course, is a human experience many of us have. None of us is perfect. None of us does anything flawlessly. None of us lives up to the aspirations we set for ourselves every moment.
So when that happens, I’d like to suggest that there is a kind of campfire we can stand (or sit, or recline) by to warm ourselves. For me, that fire looks like prayer in which I acknowledge what has gone wrong, but in which I also acknowledge that today is a new day (or, tomorrow will be one), that every moment is a new moment, and I am here now. I am here, held in the presence of a love that knows all, stays with us through all, and forgives all.
It may look like something else for you. It may look like stepping outside and taking in the green of the grass or the fragrance of trees in midsummer, receiving tiny signs of God’s presence in creation, and knowing that you, too, are a part of everything that’s been created in love. It may look like turning to scripture, to a good old psalm of lament like Psalm 13, which starts with a wail, and ends with quiet words of assurance. It may look like a conversation with an understanding friend, or relative, or therapist, who can help you hold together the parts of yourself that drive you crazy and the parts of yourself you rather like, and would like to shore up a bit.
And, as we learn, Peter’s story doesn’t end here. None of our stories end here. His story continues in chapter 20, when, awakened by a distraught Mary Magdalene, he and another disciple run to the tomb, looking in at the graveclothes strewn about, and not entirely understanding, but knowing that something is happening, something is changing, something that is bigger than any one person’s regrets or worst moments. The day of resurrection.
In a few weeks, we will meet Peter once again, the final time we encounter him in this gospel, in which any remainders of this painful night will be healed at last, in which the promise of the campfire expands in ways he can’t yet see.
What’s your campfire? What brings you back to yourself when you are feeling the person you meant to be has gone AWOL? What is the place or practice or song or phone call you make that reminds you, and helps you to believe, that every moment is a new moment, and that you are here now? That you are here, and you are held in the presence of a love that knows all, stays with you through all, and forgives all?
Thanks be to God. Amen.