Mark 14:66-73: Trial #2 (Peter’s Trial)

July 18, 2012

Peter followed Jesus, albeit distantly and cautiously.  Nevertheless, unlike other disciples (including the “young man”) in Mark’s narrative, Peter did follow. The weight of his earlier adamant insistence that he would die with Jesus as well as his natural impetuousness emboldens him to warm himself at the same fire where the guards, who arrested Jesus and would shortly torture him, sat .

The Sanhedrin, due to the early morning predawn hours as well as its secrecy, had convened at the high priest’s home.

The setting is important because it shapes the narrative in a dramatic way. Just as Peter followed Jesus into courtyard of the hight priest’s house where it would be obvious what was happening, he slowly extricates himself from the situation by movement out of the house.  His three denials are portrayed as three steps away from Jesus. Mark emphasizes that last step by Peter’s own insistent denial.

Number Place Accuser Testimony Response
1st Denial Courtyard Servant Girl “You were with Jesus” Denied it!
2nd Denial Gateway Girl to Bystanders “He is one of them” Denied it!
3rd Denial Gateway Bystanders “You are a Galilean” Self-Imprecation

The accusers identify Peter as a disciple of Jesus. He was “with Jesus” of Nazareth. He was “one of (ek) them” (repeated twice!)—he belonged to the community of disciples that followed Jesus. He was a Galilean rather than a Jerusalemite—he came from the region where the trouble started.

Peter, the most adamant follower of Jesus—perhaps even the one you would most likely say he would never betray him, denied Jesus three times. At first his denial is seemingly a lighthearted dismissal of the accusation: “I do not know or understand what you are talking about.” It is a deflection, but he feels the heat. He backs away from the fire (literally and figuratively) to the gate. Perhaps he thinks he might need to make a quick exit.

At the gate the servant girl renews the accusation with a more specific identifier, but this time she tells others about Peter rather than talking to Peter directly. Peter was not only “with” Jesus (some kind of general association perhaps), but he was “one of them.” He belonged to that group. He is a disciple, a follower! Peter denied it and presumably Mark wants us to think that he denied it in a similar way. Peter is still deflecting. He is struggling to confess his faith but as yet he is not yet in full denial.

The third occasion, however, evokes a tirade from Peter. The bystanders repeat the second accusation of the servant girl and they do so with emphasis.  “Certainly” (truly!), they broadcast, “you are of (ek) them”—you belong to Jesus’ group, his circle of disciples. Peter then curses, swears and emphatically denies. This is different from the first two. There is no deflection here; there is no lawyer-speak. It is an explicit disclaimer with a self-imprecation (he anathematizes himself). His “curse” is not the four-letter variety but a self-condemnation. “If I am lying,” he essentially says, “may God send me to Hell.” He swears that it is true with an anathema. “If I am lying, may I be cursed!”

Then the cock crowed twice.

Then it dawned on Peter what had just happened.

And, falling apart, he wept.

Ever been there with Peter? Ever had a moment, an addiction, an obsession in which you were so caught up as in a vortex that you were not fully conscious of what you were doing and how it undermined everything you held dear? Sin—including compulsive addictions—can be so overwhelming that we act before we think. We act in the moment rather than from the depths of our commitments.  We react rather than respond. We deny when we should have confessed. We sin when we know better.

When it dawns on us that this is what we have done. We weep and feel the depths of a brokenness previously unrecognized. We see ourselves in a new way.

Perhaps we think that God could never use us again. Perhaps we think we are irreparable. Perhaps we imagine that our discipleship was only an illusion.

We are Peter and Peter is us. We often deny what we should confess but God retells the story of redemption through us nonetheless. Mark’s narrative is Peter’s story. Peter told it to him. It is a confession, yes, but it is also redemption.


A Tale of Three Conversions (Acts 10-11, 15)

May 15, 2010

We often call it the “conversion of Cornelius.” And, indeed, that is a significant moment. Cornelius was a Roman centurion—the commander of 80 men (sort of like a Captain of a company, though centurions could rank much higher in a Legion—stationed in Palestine. This was no honored placement. It was like soldiering on the Eastern Front during World War II. It was hostile, unpleasant and potentially explosive.

But Cornelius was a devout man who prayed incessantly and gave alms to the poor. God heard his prayers and honored his gifts. But that does not strike us as earth-shattering as it was in Palestinian Judaism. We are too tamed by the story, domesticated by hearing it innumerable times.

Let me say it again. God heard the prayers of a pagan soldier who served in the regime of an imperial nation that oppressed God’s people! Does God hear the prayers of a devout, alms-giving Taliban foot-soldier on the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan? What Jew would have dreamed that God would hear the prayer of a Roman commander? But he did.

This shocked everyone. It even, I think, shocked Cornelius. His rush to obey God, his obeisance to Peter when he arrived at his house, and his willingness to believe and do whatever Peter told him point toward not only the excitement Cornelius felt but his utter gratitude that God answered his prayer.

Everyone included Peter. Even though he had announced that the promise of the gospel was for even those who were “afar off” in his Pentecost homily, he was unprepared for the three visitors who came from Cornelius’ house in Caesarea to the tanner’s house in Joppa. The Holy Spirit had to tell him to go with them as if Peter was racked with confusion and uncertainty.

Peter’s response was understandable. He had been taught the difference between clean and unclean all his life—clean food and unclean food, clean people and unclean people. And the Gentiles were, as a class, unclean. There was no touching them, there was no visiting them, and certainly there was no eating with them allowed within the halls of Jewish Orthodoxy.

When God told Peter in a vision to kill and eat unclean food, he refused. He reminded God of how he was raised and that only kosher food had touched his lips. Three times—mirroring the three who came from Caesarea—God invited him to eat and Peter refused. Refusing to eat what God has provided is no small act.

Perhaps Peter thought God was testing him; perhaps it was a false vision, even a temptation from Satan himself. But it was actually the first step in Peter’s conversion. He received Cornelius’ friends and they stay the evening in Joppa (they must have been Jewish friends of Cornelius—Cornelius was probably a “God-fearer”). He goes to Cornelius’ house, hears his story and concludes what he had been previously unable to even conceive, that is, God is no respecter of persons and whoever does what is right is honored by God, even among the nations (Gentiles).

But the story is not over. There is yet another conversion to come. It is the conversion of the church itself.

When Jerusalem heard that Peter had gone to the Gentiles—a Roman soldier no less—and ate with them, they were dismayed, scandalized and perhaps even hostile. Remember that those who are “zealous for the law” (even if they had become Christ-followers, as in Acts 21:20; cf. ) are hostile to any Jew who violates the traditions of the fathers, especially when it involves relationships with Gentiles, much less Roman soldiers. Circumcision—an Abrahamic covenant—must be maintained and the distinction between clean and unclean must be practiced even if Gentiles become Christ-followers. They must, so many believed, live by the Torah and embrace the covenant of Abraham through circumcision. This hostility continued for decades within the early church as it even fueled some of Paul’s letters like Galatians.

The book of Acts tells the story of Cornelius three times. The only other story it narrates three times is the conversion of Saul. This was a community-altering event in the life of church. It changed the church, and church had to undergo a conversion. The church had to rethink how it thought about Gentiles, related to Gentiles; it had to think about how it would receive Gentiles and live in the community with Gentiles; it had to think about how Jews and Gentiles could eat together, even eat the Lord’s Supper together given their divergent table manners.

That must have been an excruciating process filled with doubts, discomfort, and fear. Certainly in Acts 11 the church hears Peter’s report with joy and praises God. But the church has to hear it again in Acts 15, along with Paul and Barnabas’ missionary report as well as James rehearsal of Scripture to be convinced. Even then the Gentiles had to accommodate some Jewish sensibilities such as not eating food that had been strangled. That the process was frustratingly slow is evident when Peter himself felt so much pressure in Antioch that he withdrew from eating with Gentile Christ-followers in order to smooth the ruffled feathers of some from Jerusalem.

Gentiles in the church are fine as long as they are not in our local congregation, or as long as I don’t have to eat with them, right?

The conversion process for the church was filled with pitfalls—starts and stops and start ups again. The centuries of hostility, mistrust and scruples did not cease with one conversion in Caesarea. We might even wonder if the process was ever actually completed as the church failed to learn to live together as Jew and Gentile in peace and harmony (see Romans 14-15).

Sometimes the church needs conversion. When the church becomes encrusted in its traditional practices….when the church erects cultural or racial barriers….when the church favors particular habits over people….when the church finds spirituality only within the walls of its buildings…when the church is so territorial that it fails to plant new congregations…it needs conversion.

Sometimes the church needs conversion. It needs to hear the voice of God anew. It needs to listen to the stories of God’s work among people. It needs to hear the testimony of changed lives.

Given the history of the church in many places, no wonder that those outside the church retort back to it, “heal thyself.” Sometimes the church needs conversion just as much as those outside of it.


Jesus’ Eyes: Do You Know “the Look”?

October 30, 2008

One of the most vivid scenes in Luke is Peter’s 3x denial, particularly “the look.”

         ”The Lord turned around and looked straight at Peter” (Luke 22:61, GNB).

The verbs are intensive, descriptive, and full of significance.  “Turned around,” which is actually a participle in the Greek text, involves twisting or reversing; it is turning the back 180% degrees. Jesus turned around–he “converted” as the term is sometimes translated–to look at Peter. But it was no mere glance; it was an intense gaze. Jesus looked at Peter with piercing, discerning eyes.

         Turning his body toward Peter, the Lord’s eyes rested on Peter (JMH amplified).

The next verbs in Luke 22:61-62 describe Peter’s actions.  He “remembered” what Jesus had predicted about the denial….he went and wept bitterly.” Confronted with his betrayal, Peter “remembered.”  He then escaped; he ran away. And then he wailed violently–a visible, audible, wrenching sob. Peter, faced with his denial and memory, was a totally broken man. Remembering Jesus’ prediction–and, no doubt, his own insistence that it would never happen–he burst into tears.

What  did Peter see in the eyes of Jesus that pierced his heart?  What did those eyes tell him?

I think how we answer that question will probably say more about our own vision of God than it would Peter’s.  We can’t get inside of Peter’s head, but we can examine our own.  Our root image of God–perhaps one we learned in childhood, one that is at the core of our inner being–will probably shape how we “feel” this text.

We can easily imagine what Peter felt.  No doubt he felt shame and guilt.  We have all felt the same when confronted with our sins. That shame and guilt taps into something deep within us, and our core understanding of God will shape how we deal with it.

For some the eyes of Jesus may be primarily condemning. Peter sinned; he did not measure up. He did not keep the law; he betrayed a friend. The law condemns him, and Jesus condemns him. At the root of this perception is an angry God, a judge who strictly administers the law without mercy. Jesus, with these eyes, is insulted and offended.  “How dare Peter deny me!  I thought he was my friend!   Didn’t he say he would go to the death with me! He deserves whatever he gets!” This God is the Zeus who sits on the throne ready to cast his lightning bolts to earth on those who deserve his vengeance. These eyes convey no hope, no redemption. Unfortunately, they are the eyes that many have lived with for years, even when intellectually they know the story of grace much better than their guts will let them feel. It is what some got from their parents–a series of spankings, condemnations. They heard the message that they were bad kids and deserved punishment. Are these the eyes that met Peter’s eyes?

For others the eyes of Jesus may be primarily filled with disappointment. Peter disappointed Jesus; he had hoped for better.  Peter knew better; he knew he should not deny his Lord, but he did nevertheless. Peter had expectations of himself. Even if everyone else ran away, he would not.  He would die with Jesus if necessary. The disappointed eyes are the opposite of what Peter wanted. He wanted approval, praise, and honor. To feel Jesus’ disappointment means he was seeking Jesus’ commendation. It is what we often seek from parents as children; we don’t want to disappoint our parents. Some parents, when disappointed, shame their children.  “I knew you couldn’t do it.  Why can’t you be like Johnny? When will you ever learn?  Do I have to do everything myself? I can’t trust you with anything. I’ll have to finish what you could not complete.”  We tend to project this onto God so that he becomes like the shaming parent who voices disapproval, disappointment, and dissatisfaction. Are these the eyes that met Peter’s eyes?

At my core, my childhood images–images that I learned but surely few, if any, ever intentionally taught me–tend to see the eyes of an angry, disappointed God. My sin gave me a toxic shame that meant that I was worthless, a mistake, a screwup. I needed to get God’s approval, to get on his good side. I wanted God to like me and certainly not punish me. So, I needed to work harder, better, even faster…to do more, to do enough.

Intellectually, I know that last paragraph is bogus. Emotionally, however, it has been a different story. And so when I worked my way to a hellacious screwup (read: sin)–working for what I thought God wanted but actually working myself to death, even a spiritual death–I immediately felt God’s disappointment.  “John Mark, you should’ve known better.”  Or, “John Mark, how could you?!”  Or, “John Mark, what were you thinking?”

This week I have been meditating on these eyes–the eyes that pierced Peter’s heart.  I am Peter. What did Peter see?

I don’t think he saw condemning, judgmental eyes.  Neither do I think he saw disappointed eyes.  I think he saw sadness, a compassionate and hopeful sadness.  Jesus grieved for Peter. His eyes expressed sympathy and caring. They were redemptive eyes. Jesus is more interested in relationship with Peter than excluding, punishing or shaming Peter. Jesus reveals the divine loving parent who grieves over the failures of his children but does not give up on them. Peter saw in Jesus’ eyes his ongoing compassionate, forgiving, loving prayer that Peter would be strengthened by this experience and the hope in his eyes was the assurance that indeed Peter would.

In our betrayals, our sins, our denials, what do we see in the eyes of Jesus? With Peter we will remember and weep bitterly. That is understandable and healthy.  But also with Peter we may gain strength through the compassionate hope in those eyes.

In The Shack, Mack asked Papa: “honestly, don’t you enjoy punishing those who disappoint you?”  Papa “turned toward Mack” and with “deep sadness in her eyes,” said:  “I am not who you think I am, Mackenzie. I don’t need to punish people for sin. Sin is its own punishment, devouring you from the inside. It’s not my purpose to punish it; it’s my joy to cure it” (pp. 119-120).

I think Paul Young got that just about right. Intellectually, I understand it.  Emotionally, well, I’m learning.

Jesus’ eyes, though sad, anticipated the joy of redemption for Peter….and for me…for all of us.


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