Pleas for Peter

It occurred to me: no one really wants to be like Peter. Aside from Judas, I'd say Peter is near the top of the list of disciples you don't grow up wanting to become. Yet, in my most honest moments, I find that I am just like him.
 
"Three times before the rooster crows," Jesus forewarned Peter of his denial (John 13:38). And, as Peter stood beside a charcoal fire the night of Jesus' arrest, these words must have come back to him, stinging. "You also are not one of his disciples, are you?" "I am not" he said for the third time as the rooster crowed (John 18:27). 

Many of us might know the feeling of being betrayed, but do we know the regret-filled feeling of having betrayed? Imagine the sickness that came upon Peter's stomach. Imagine what he walked home feeling that morning. He had just witnessed Jesus tied up and taken away and Peter denied Him because he was afraid for his own life. His whole world-view and integrity were thrown into question in a matter of hours. Could he sleep that night? How vicious were his own thoughts? 

Fast-forward to the resurrection: three days after Peter had witnessed the man he professed as Lord die a heinous public death, without ever having had the chance to apologize. Lord, I'm sorry, I was afraid they were going to arrest me too. Instead, Peter was still carrying the weight of his denial.  

The disciples were out at sea fishing when Jesus wanders onto the shore. He asks them about their catch and tells them to try casting their net on the right side. Their net becomes so heavy they can't pull it on deck. They quickly realize who this man is (John 21:1-11).  

Peter, in pure childish, unrestrained excitement, jumps off the boat and swims to shore. But, as he walks closer to Jesus, he finds him standing next to a charcoal fire. I bet Peter remembered the smell. They all ate breakfast together that morning, probably quite excitedly, and Peter must have been hoping Jesus would forget the whole thing. He must have sat in silence, hiding the shame and quiver in his voice, when Jesus turned to him in the midst of it all and asked: "Simon Peter, son of John, do you love me?" (John 21:17). 

Jesus asks him three times and I feel like I'm rooting Peter on. C'mon, Peter, this is your opportunity  to redeem it all. He's giving you three chances here. Notice the parallel. C'mon, Peter, just say it. 

But he doesn't say it and it really bothered me. 

As I found out, Jesus and Peter are using different words to express their level of commitment: the greek words agape and phileo. Jesus asks Peter: Do you agape me? Are you willing to sacrifice for me? Peter says: I phileo you. I love spending time with you, Lord. Jesus asks again: Peter, Do you agape me? And Peter says: I phileo you. I really like you, Lord. Jesus asks a last time, acknowledging his understanding: Peter, do you phileo me? And Peter says: Yes, I phileo you. 

The temptation would be "Yes, Lord, I love you. I'm all in. I'm ready. Let's go," like a hyper puppy that didn't really know what it was getting itself into. I've grown to appreciate Peter's answer. He was honest. He was counting the cost and knew what to count. He had been with Jesus, day in and day out—he knew the life—and he answered from the heart of a man with admitted weakness. Thoughts of his denial must have been relentless; he must have felt the embarrassment in having been so quick to say "Lord, why can't I follow you now? I'm ready to die for you!" (John 13:37). Peter had taken inventory. He knew he was a man with divided passions and as deeply as he wanted Jesus at times, he knew he was afraid of being arrested. Humility must have ensued when the rooster crowed. 

It's comforting to me that Jesus wanted Peter to know that He knew. That it's okay. I know your fear, Peter, I understand the hesitation, and the hurt. There was something taking place in acknowledging it, together. Jesus embraces it. It was almost as if Jesus is saying: "honesty I can work with." Not only did Peter need to know his frailty and limitations—he needed to know that it was not foreign to Jesus; He had a way of dealing with human weakness. In that, Peter could throw off the guilt from his no-longer-alarming less-than-perfect performance and live freely.  

So, when I find myself lying in bed late at night, staring at the street lights streaking through my window blinds; when I shy away from my fears, am slowed down by pain and confusion; when I am frustrated by the tensions and pressures in which we live; when I feel tired, and am not sure I care about anyone else but myself—I can know that He knows. And, like Peter, have the courage to voice my unexaggerated, honest thoughts to the One who understands.