Grace, even for the Embers

I don’t know about you, but nobody can beat me up worse than I can.

I am my own worst bully because I fail miserably, often.

Don’t we all?

Even people you think would be exempt from failure aren’t, because human.

Mother Teresa, the Pope, Mr. Rogers…Jesus’ own disciples.

Let’s talk about those guys for a minute.

Honestly, if anyone should have it figured out, it should be them. The ones who walked beside Jesus, followed in his footsteps, saw all the miracles he performed, witnessed firsthand the overwhelming reckless love of God we sing about today…if anyone should be failure-free, it’s these guys.

But, no. No one is exempt.

And so it was in John 18, the night Jesus was arrested, shortly before he was tried and convicted and brutally murdered in a Roman crucifixion…it was on this night that Jesus’ disciple Peter finds himself around a fire at Caiphas’ house, waiting. Reeling. Fearful.

Picture this scene.

The night air is cold. There is a fire crackling and people are standing around warming their hands. Shifting from foot to foot to keep blood flowing to their toes.

You can smell the smoke as it embeds itself on every fiber of your clothing, you can see the flickers of flame, you can hear the embers popping.

Peter was here, warming himself, when a little slave girl approaches him. “Wait,” she says, looking closely at him. “Weren’t you with that Nazarene, Jesus? The one that was just arrested?”

Peter, disciple and follower and friend of the accused, replies, “No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He walks away.

A different girl finds him and says – louder this time, to all who were standing around, “This man definitely belongs to them! He’s one of Jesus’ men.”

Peter denies it a second time. “You are mistaken. It’s not me!”

Well now we have a situation. Other people become interested. “Are you sure you are not part of them? Your accent sounds like you are.”

For a third time, even more emphatically, Peter denies it.

“I DO NOT KNOW THIS MAN JESUS!” he yells.

A hush falls over the crowd.

A rooster crows in the distance.

And Peter remembers Jesus’ prediction.

“Before the rooster crows twice, you will disown me three times, Peter.” 

Realization slamming into him like a freight train, he collapses into the dirt and cries out in shame.

Can you imagine this moment? The crushing weight of what he has done? Pretending not to know the very man he ministered alongside the past 3 years?

The shame, the guilt, the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces.

Have you been here? Failed so catastrophically you were left gutted and in tears?

I have.

Just last week, for one.

• • •

There are two types of people in the world: Fast People and Slow People.

I’m the former, my middle son is the latter.

We have a deal, he and I. If he’s feeling rushed, he can ask me the question, “is this a time we can slow down?” and I’ll answer yes or no. More often than not, I don’t even know why we’re hurrying, it’s just what Fast People do.

But getting into his car seat, man. Wow does he take his leisureliness seriously. If we need to get to preschool by 9 on a Tuesday morning, he needs to start buckling his car seat Monday afternoon.

Last week, he was taking an e•ter•nit•y to buckle up and I just lost it. I was overwhelmed, stressed, late, annoyed. Done.

I exploded on him. “Are you kidding me, son? How can it possibly take you THAT long to buckle two minuscule buckles? It’s truly unbelievable. GET. IT. TOGETHER, KID. Let’s GO!”

I finished my tirade with the loudest exhale I could muster (for good measure), then met his eyes in my rear view mirror.

He immediately looked away, chin quivering.

And then he asked in the quietest, most precious 4 year old voice in the world,

“Does this mean you don’t love me anymore, mommy?”

….you want to talk about being gutted? Where does that question even come from??

Conviction sliced me to my core. I had to gather up my intestines and heart from the floor of my car so I could crawl in the backseat with my boy. I held his face as I repented and apologized and spoke love over him.

So, yeah, Peter. I’ve been there. I haven’t denied Jesus explicitly, but I deny his love and grace to the people I love most nearly every day.

No judgment here, Pete.

But.

Here’s where the story gets amazing.

Just a few chapters later in John 21, a few days after the not one, not two, but THREE denials, Peter finds himself around another fire.

Only this time, Jesus is sitting beside him.

Because, you see, Jesus was resurrected after his crucifixion. He conquered death to not only redeem the whole world, but also every last person. Including Peter.

And so they sit, shoulder to shoulder, around another fire, smoking some fish for lunch.

Different fire, same experience. The same crackling. The same smell of smoke, the same flickers of flame, the same popping of embers.

I imagine as Peter stares into the fire, his senses transport him back to that night – his worst moment. He’s lost in his own thoughts when Jesus nudges him on the shoulder. “Hey, Peter.” he says. “Do you truly love me?”

“Yes, Lord. You know I love you.” replies Peter.

Jesus asks again. “Peter – do you truly love me?”

“Yes, Lord! You know I do.”

Jesus asks a third time. “Peter…do you love me?”

It says Peter was hurt that Jesus had to ask again. “Lord, you know all things.” he says. “You know that I love you.”

And he was right. Jesus did know that.

But I don’t think Jesus was asking for his sake, I think he was asking for Peter’s.

He was taking Peter’s worst moment and giving him another shot. A chance to change every denial into a proclamation of love.

You see, redemption isn’t just for the whole world, it is also for each person. Its splendor extends past the Milky Way, its intimacy comes as close as our five senses.

Jesus not only redeemed Peter’s answers, he redeemed the experience of fire. He redeemed every last detail. The sights, the sounds, the smells.

No more would fire be a reminder of his denials – one time, two times, three times; fire would be a reminder of a God who redeems – one time, two times, a million times.

I don’t deny you, Jesus. I love you, I love you, I love you.

And do you know what? He still extends the very same grace to us.

• • •

And so a few days ago.

I find myself in the same car, same french fry smells, same unbearable kids album full of “silly horse songs” that make you want to stab your ears out. Same kid taking an eternity to buckle. 

Only this time, I recognized Jesus sitting beside me, nudging me. “Let’s redeem this scene, shall we?”

I turned around in my seat.

“Hey, buddy.” I said. “I am so proud of who you are. When you put your mind to something, you do it. And you do it in exactly your own way. And I think that is amazing.”

“I know, mom,” he smiled. “I know you love me ten-thousand-hundred-eighty-nine-thousand-hundred-hundreds. And I love you, too.”

Grace.

Grace upon grace upon grace. For our best, for our worst. Grace.

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness!” Lamentations 3:22-23