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Peter Was There

Peter. Intense, impetuous Peter. I've always thought he was pretty unfaithful there at the end, in the courtyard of the high priest, when he denies even knowing the man Jesus. Not saying I would have done better, mind you. Just that that failure to stand with Jesus was ignoble.

But I had a new thought the other day:  at least he was there. Unlike all the other disciples, when Jesus began his journey to Golgotha, Peter was near. Luke 22:61 reports that upon Peter's third denial, Jesus turned and looked directly at him. He was close enough that Jesus could make eye contact.

One of the hardest aspects of suffering is the sense of suffering alone. Who can really understand another's pain? Even if we've experienced something similar, each of our trials is unique. Our particular biochemistry, our particular emotional history, our own experiences combine to create specific suffering.

And yet, it matters when others make the effort to understand. It matters to be listened to. Eye contact matters. Jesus must have been glad for Peter's presence. Though Peter may not have performed well, he was close.

Lord Jesus, help us draw near to those who suffer. 

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The Possiblities of Loss


For the past 10 years of our 36 year marriage, my husband
and I have slept in different rooms. I resisted that for several years, but
finally we decided we really had to sleep apart if either of us were to sleep
well—I snored, his legs twitched. I cried myself to sleep, pouring out my heart
to God, alone in what had been our bedroom, for the first four days. On the
fifth morning, I woke up with the thought: 
“There are some advantages to this.”

 

I went to the paint store and found a deep red for the walls.
Wide white crown molding joins the red walls to the off-white ceiling. On a
trip to an Illinois river town, I found a cotton lace valance. Because I needed
to only please myself, I could decorate in a style I liked. What I grieved,
the warm closeness, we actually do more of since we sleep apart. We snuggle
and pray every morning and night in a way we didn’t when we slept together.

 

Sometimes the outcomes we most resist have unforeseen
blessings. When we grieve our losses, God uses his endless creativity to redeem
that pain. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” is a call
to grieve fully. If I’d stayed angry and sad and kept that to myself rather
than crying out to God on those first four nights, would I have seen the
possibilities? I wonder. God meets us in our honest grief.

 

Father, at the right times and in the right ways, help us to
mourn our losses. Amid those losses, may we see your possibilities.  

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