Peter Denies Jesus

Well, I invite you to turn to the Gospel of Mark and to chapter 14 as we continue our studies in Mark’s Gospel, heading for the opening verses of 16, all being well, that are there waiting for us on Easter Sunday, which is coming up fairly swiftly now—final Sunday in March, I think, from memory. But this morning we’re in verses 66–72. And I’m going to read them as you follow along—page 852, if you need that page reference, in the Bibles that are around you.

“And as Peter was below in the courtyard, one of the servant girls of the high priest came, and seeing Peter warming himself, she looked at him and said, ‘You also were with the Nazarene, Jesus.’ But he denied it, saying, ‘I neither know nor understand what you mean.’ And he went out into the gateway and the rooster crowed. And the servant girl saw him and began again to say to the bystanders, ‘This man is one of them.’ But again he denied it. And after a little while the bystanders again said to Peter, ‘Certainly you are one of them, for you are a Galilean.’ But he began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear, ‘I do not know this man of whom you speak.’ And immediately the rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered how Jesus had said to him, ‘Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.’ And he broke down and wept.”

Amen.

Well, a brief prayer:

Make the Book live to me, O Lord,
Show me yourself within your Word,
Show me myself and show me my Savior,
And make the Book live to me.[1]

For Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Well, I wonder, if we were to assess the keys to Peter’s usefulness—as we think of him in all of his powerful declaration of the story of redemption on the day of Pentecost, as we see him there at the beginning of the book of Acts—I wonder how much significance we would attach to this particular section that we have just read here at the end of chapter 14. I have a sneaking suspicion that many of us would have—if we had been discussing this in a more interactive setting—many of us would have been tempted to say, “I think probably the launching pad for his selfness was in his great declaration when in Caesarea Philippi he was enabled by the Father to say, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.’”[2] Someone else may say, “Well, I wonder if it wasn’t the privilege that he enjoyed on the Mount of Transfiguration to be taken in that intimate setting with the Lord Jesus Christ himself and to encounter all that unfolded there.” And that, I think, bears certainly a lot of consideration. But as I’ve thought about it this week, I’ve come to the conclusion that a large part of Peter’s usefulness may be actually traced to the scene that is ascribed for us here—that the subsequent usefulness of Peter is tied in significant measure to the brokenness of Peter that is recorded for us.

Brokenness may be the key to usefulness.

Sir Edward Elgar, who was a significant composer, was once sitting listening to a soloist, a young lady, singing one of his songs that he had written. Someone had suggested that he would come and listen to her, I think it was, in rehearsal. And it is recorded that she sang with a beautiful voice, wonderful pitch, and faultless technique. And the individual who’d invited the composer to listen turned to him and said, “And what do you think? What’s your assessment?” Elgar responded, “She will be … great when something happens to break her heart.”[3] “She will be … great when something happens to break her heart.” In other words, her faultless technique, her pitch, her skill, her wonderful voice still needed another element in order to transform who she was and what she was as a singer of songs.

Now, I think that our generation, this generation, more than perhaps any other in most of our lifetimes, is really unwilling to embrace such an idea. We recoil from such a notion that brokenness may be the key to usefulness. We’re encouraged all the time to make sure that when we write our resume, everybody knows that we’re virtually flawless, that we are absolutely—even the things that we’ve done badly, we’ve done them wonderfully badly, and that we are able to be as positively negative as it is possible to be.

And so it is that Peggy Noonan, writing in the Wall Street Journal in 2009, observing this, writes, “For 30 years the self-esteem movement told the young they’re perfect in every way. It’s yielding something new in history: an entire generation with no proper sense of inadequacy.”[4] “No proper sense of inadequacy”—nothing that has happened to break the heart, to break the pride, to break the arrogance. And so we find ourselves looking in the mirror and singing the song, “[My life,] filled with only me.”[5] And that’s the way we’re told it ought to be.

Well, it’s fair to say that to this point in the record of Peter’s life, we would not be accurate in using the word inadequacy to describe him. There is really very little that speaks of inadequacy, either in his background, in business, and so on. In actual fact, I think the word that we could best use is the word audacity. Audacity. And it is the first of three words that I have this morning to help us trace a line through this passage.

Peter’s Audacity

Audacity. In other words, Peter displays in his life what is defined in Yiddish as chutzpah. Right? I never knew that word before I moved to Cleveland, but here in Cleveland, I find that it’s used every so often. At its best, it depicts a reckless courage, at the high end. And at the low end, at its worst, it is representative of an arrogant self-confidence. So you have that kind of continuum: at its best, reckless, courageous, “Go for it”; at its worst, stuck on myself, unable to do any wrong, knowing the answer to just about every question, and able to contradict all the teachers.

Now, I’m suggesting that this word fits. Then you would have to say, “Well, you have to give evidence of that,” which I’m happy to do beginning in 8:31—a little rehearsal of what we’ve seen before. This kind of audacity is displayed as Jesus is rebuked by Peter. Even the terminology ought to stand us up on our heels. Peter has made this great confession of Jesus as “the Christ, the Son of the living God,” and he is commended for this. And then Jesus, in Mark 8:31, “began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, and after three days rise again.” Mark tells us that “he said this plainly”—in other words, there was no possibility of misunderstanding what he was saying—and then here you have the audacity of Peter. “And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.”

You have the very same thing when he seeks to correct Jesus. And we can fast-forward into 14:29—14:29. Well, we should really go to 27: “Jesus said to them, ‘You will all fall away, for it is written, “I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.” But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.’” And here you have the audacity of the man: “Peter said to [them], ‘Even though they all fall away, I will not.’” In other words, he contradicts Jesus. Jesus says, “You will all fall away.” He says, “You got that wrong, Jesus.” Now, I don’t think this is at the high end of chutzpah; this is at the bottom end of it, right? This is an arrogant self-confidence.

You see it, if you stay in the same verse, in the way in which he sets himself apart from others: “Even if they all go, you needn’t worry about me. If they all fall away, I will not.” So it’s no surprise that—although Mark does not identify him in the incident in the garden on the occasion of the arrest of Jesus—it is no surprise that the other Gospel writer tell us that who was it that gets his sword out and lops off the ear of the high priest’s servant? None other than Mr. Chutzpah.[6] Jesus has explained to them many times: his kingdom is not of this world; if it were, there would an occasion for fighting. There’s no need for fighting.[7] “‘Let your kingdom come, let your will be done,’[8] and let me help out in the process here. Let’s try and take a head off, or at least an ear off. Let’s make the point.” Who is it? None other than Peter.

And so we now find him in “the courtyard,” in the verse that we left from last time, verse 54. Peter had “followed him at a distance, right into the courtyard of the high priest. And he was sitting with the guards and warming himself at the fire.” That’s pretty gutsy, isn’t it? At least he’s holding true to what he said: “Even if they all go, I’ll still be there.” Well, that’s exactly what has happened. They’ve all gone, one to never come back again and ten into hiding, and just Peter is left. He takes his place amongst the guards—that’s pretty good—and there in the courtyard, warming himself in the cool evening by the fireplace. So let’s give credit where credit is due. Before we criticize him for his collapse, let’s commend him for his courage. He may, as it says here, have followed “at a distance,” but nevertheless, he still followed.

Let’s be honest: many of us, most of us, would never have been in the courtyard with him. So before we get on our high horse, saying, “Oh, I can’t believe that somebody who is so… And deny, deny, deny! I mean, it’s amazing to me.” Are you kidding? We would have been with the ten, behind closed doors. He at least has followed “at a distance,” and not simply at a mile and a half back, waiting to see if the news will filter out, but, as Mark tells us, “right into the courtyard of the high priest.” That’s good!

What he doesn’t realize is his own vulnerability. You see, it’s his audacity that says to him in his psyche, “I’ve got this covered. I can actually handle this.” You remember when Jesus has said, “Now, I want you to watch and pray.[9] I want you to come with me.” He’d taken him, as part of the inner group, once again, in the garden of Gethsemane. And in all of the sleeping that had followed Jesus, back in verse 38 or so, had said to them, “Listen, fellows, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.”[10] Peter hadn’t fully figured out just exactly what that meant in his life. But his spirit was definitely willing; otherwise, we wouldn’t find him where he is. But his flesh, as we’re about to see, was weak.

You have to love Peter for his devotion. You have to love a fellow like this. But he is an illustration of the fact that the best of men are men at best. And that is true for women as well.

Peter’s Disloyalty

So, if audacity fits, what then of the scene recorded for us that we’re now considering? Well, surely there’s only one word that is able to encompass what takes place, and that is the word disloyalty. Disloyalty. Despite his audacious expressions of commitment and faithfulness and so on, this is an illustration of his disloyalty rather than his loyalty.

I wonder: Did Paul have this incident in his mind when he wrote to the Corinthian believers, “Let anyone who thinks … he stands take heed lest he fall[s]”?[11] Because Peter was pretty sure that he was standing tall, unlike the others. And now, in the flickering firelight, he is given the opportunity, a threefold opportunity, to identify himself with his Lord and Master. But he collapses like a broken deck chair, doesn’t he? All of this great and brave affirmation now is silenced. And this is a monumental collapse. That’s why Peter is remembered far more for his failure than he is for his faithfulness. It’s a reminder of what we’ve seen already in our studies: that you may spend a significant part of your life building character and a reputation, and you and I may destroy it in a matter of moments.

Two thousand and eleven, there was an earthquake in Washington, DC—actually, in the Virginia area. It wasn’t hugely significant; it was 5.8 on the Richter scale. I wrote it down at the time; that’s why I know. So those of you who say, “Where’d he come up with that illustration, just in passing?”—you know, “Did he go in a book and found out about an earthquake? He looked up earthquake and then found it?” No. No. When things happen, I write them down then so that if I ever need to remember, I’ll remember two years later that there was an earthquake, and it was 5.8 on the Richter scale. Otherwise, how would I ever know? But anyway, that’s by the way, for those of who are working on your teaching plans.

It was the twenty-third of August, so it was exactly a week after my wedding anniversary. And one of the things that it did was it completely rocked the National Cathedral in DC. The reason I had interest in it was because I had been once in the National Cathedral, and I was struck by the building and so on, and so it just registered for me. But what registered for me was the publicity that the National Cathedral then put out in order to encourage people to donate to its refurbishment. It was a very interesting piece, and this was the tagline that they used: “See the lifelong impact a few seconds can make.” “See the lifelong impact a few seconds can make.”

The earthquake didn’t last beyond just a matter of seconds, but it was sufficient enough to rock the very foundation of that structure—so much so that it has cost multimillion dollars in order to put it back to where it was before. And that is exactly what is happening here. See the impact! See the lifelong impact in Peter’s life and in the lives of others that just a few seconds, that moments, might make, here in this scene.

Now, something else that we ought to just pay attention to is the fact that as we’ve read Mark’s Gospel together, we have acknowledged that Mark’s primary source for his material is Peter himself—that Mark is not a firsthand observer of all of this material, but he has had it reported to him. He writes as has been reported, and not exclusively but largely, that material has come from Peter. So you imagine that Peter has to tell Mark and tell others as well, “I was so proud of myself. I was so sure that I would do fine. But I got to tell you, I collapsed. I denied Jesus. I denied him, ultimately, with oaths and curses.”

Now, look at it; there’s a progression in it. You will see that Peter is “warming himself at the fire.”[12] One of the servant girls—it doesn’t say “a big soldier,” “a big, intimating soldier.” It doesn’t say “the high priest himself.” It doesn’t say somebody of stature came and cornered him and confronted him. It just says that a girl—maybe she’s making up this fire, maybe she’s bringing materials for something—she sees Peter warming himself, and she looks at him. That verb there, “she looked at him,” is an important little verb. It means, you know, that she made eye contact with him. She looked right at him. She saw him—perhaps his face was illuminated by the firelight—and there was just something about him, something that registered. After all, Jesus and the Galileans had been making quite an impact in Jerusalem in these past few days. Leading up to the Passover, it would have been impossible for anybody living in Jerusalem not to know that Jesus the Nazarene, Jesus from Galilee, and his entourage were really making their presence felt in Jerusalem. And so it would be that they were identifiable. And certainly Peter was, in some measure, identifiable to this girl.

I don’t know how to convey this in American terms, but in British terms, what is actually unfolding here in the Galilean contingent in Jerusalem would be the akin to a group of people from Yorkshire, in the North of England, hanging around in London, the capital city of England. And they would be identifiable in some measure by their dress, especially if they came from a farming community, and they would be identifiable by their accents. So it would be impossible for them to move around incognito. People say, “Well, you’re not from here, are you?” That’s exactly what is happening. That’s the significance of these little statements here about Jesus being “the Nazarene,” about these people coming from Galilee. He’s making the point that they were identifiable by their distinctiveness.

And so she looks at him, and she says, “You also were with the Nazarene, Jesus.” Well, the answer was “Yes, I was.” In fact, back a long time ago in our studies, in Mark 3:14, when Jesus calls the Twelve—you have the record of the calling of the Twelve—it says right there in Mark that he called them to be apostles and to “be with him.” To “be with him.” That was the distinguishing feature of their lives now: that they were called into the company of Jesus, first to be with him, then that they might go for him—then that they might tell others about him.

Well, I wonder how that rang in Peter’s mind, when she said, “You also were with him.” And he blusters and bluffs it off: “I neither know nor understand what you mean. I don’t even understand your question. What are you talking about?” And you will notice he went out into the portico, into the gateway, and the rooster crowed. Now, that should have helped him right there, but there’s no indication of a response. She says, “You were with him.” He denies it, and he relocates.

But he doesn’t run for it. I think I would have made a run for it at that point. You know: “Okay, I’ve done pretty good. They all were hiding; I showed up right into the court. This is going to get crazy here. You know, if I’m going to roll over, as it were, and deny on the strength of a simple assertion like this by a servant girl, goodness knows what will happen to me.” But no, not Peter. No, no! No no! He’s going to hit the next pitch. He will hit the next pitch. He knows! He has the chutzpah: “Yeah, that was a strike. But watch what I do with the next one!”

And what does he do with the next one? Exact same thing. Strike two, 69: “The servant girl saw him.” Presumably, she’s moving back and forth. He’s in the gateway now. She saw him, and she broadens the implication. And she “began again to say to the bystanders”—to the folks round and about—she said, “This man [was] one of them.” There’s no allegation in it; it’s just an observation: “This [fellow] is one of them.” Verse 70: “But again he denied it.”

And then it broadens out again: “And after a little while the bystanders said to Peter, ‘Certainly you[’re] one of them, for you are a Galilean.’” “If we don’t know you by your face, we at least know you by your accent.” And then you have his final denial: “But he began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear.”

What is recorded for us here is not that he was guilty of profanity—using filthy language or something—but rather that he would be saying something, “May I die if what I say is false,” or that he’s saying, “God is my witness to these things.” In other words, he calls on something higher and greater than himself to affirm his denial. Remember, Jesus had said, “Let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes’ and your ‘No’ be ‘No.’”[13] He fails in this as well.

Unaware of what it means that his spirit is willing, that his flesh is weak. Unaware of his own personal vulnerability. He’d been absolutely emphatic in denying that he would deny Jesus, emphatic in his denial of being a denier. Verse 31—we’re still in 14—and “he said emphatically, ‘If I must die with you, I will not deny you.’” “I will not deny you.” That’s what makes this so dramatic, so memorable. It’s not so much his denial under pressure as it is the absolute, vast collapse from these proud, audacious affirmations of what he’s going to be able to do and what he ultimately does. “If I must die with you, I will not deny you.” But he collapsed like a pack of cards.

The progression—you can rehearse it for yourself—is pretty straightforward. It’s a sad progression. He followed Jesus, as he said he was going to do. He denied Jesus. The rooster crowed, as Jesus had said it would. That rang the bell for him. And he then remembered, and then he wept. He followed, he denied, he remembered, he wept.

Peter’s Recovery

And that is how chapter 14 ends, and that is how Mark ends anything that we have in relationship to Peter, except for one little statement that I’ll point out to you in a moment as we close. Because I want to be able to say with the late Paul Harvey, “And now you know the rest of the story.” Because it would be wrong for us to finish here. “Why? It finishes here in Mark 14.” Yes, but we’re not studying Mark 14 in isolation from the from the entire drama, are we? We’ve said all the time that every passage of Scripture we need to understand in the context of what sets before it and what follows it. So our last word is recovery. Recovery. Audacity, disloyalty, recovery.

Now, as we’ve gone through this study, we’ve been moving back and forth between the various Gospels, the different records, the little bits and pieces that are recorded as one Gospel writer fastens on something that another Gospel writer determines not to include. And here is a case in point.

Let me quote to you from Luke’s record of this. Luke 22: “Peter said, ‘Man, I do[n’t] know what you[’re] talking about.’ And immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed.”[14] And then here Luke, with his eye for detail—this is Luke 22:61: “And the Lord turned and looked at Peter.” “The Lord turned and looked at Peter.” That’s the same verb as the lady, the servant girl, “seeing” him, she “looked at him.”[15] Now we’ve got eye contact again.

Now, what do you think Peter saw in the eyes of Jesus? Condemnation? No. Compassion. Compassion. John explains that Jesus loved his disciples. He “loved” them, and “he loved them to the end.”[16] He loved them in a way that was unconditional. He loved them in a way that was not related to their effectiveness or to their usefulness or to their success quotient.

Before we criticize Peter for his collapse, let’s commend him for his courage. He may have followed ‘at a distance,’ but nevertheless, he still followed.

I can’t remember—I read so many books all the time—but I just read the title page of a book. Maybe it was a book by—yeah, I think it was by Ken Venturi, the golf commentator and the guy who won the US Open years ago. Ken Venturi. I think the title page says, “To my mother and father, who love me unconditionally.” “Who love me unconditionally.”

And here you have Jesus, looking into the eyes of this Peter fellow—the one that he said to at the very beginning, “Peter, I want you to follow me. I’ll make you a fisher of men.”[17] The one who has made all these great statements: “You’re the Christ, the Son of the living God.” The one who’s been told, “Get behind me, because you’re like Satan. You don’t have in mind the things of God but the things of men. Your head’s in the wrong place.”[18] The one who has to swipe with the sword and Jesus has to put the ear back on. All of this is wrapped up: “And he looked at him.” He looked at him, and Peter saw his eyes, and Peter wept.

I’m not sure he would have wept if Jesus had said, “That’s exactly what I thought of you, Peter—a worthless character from the beginning, despite all of your protestations, despite all of your great affirmations about yourself. Be gone with you—you and Judas as well.” No. Why? Because the good work that he begins he brings to completion.[19] Judas went out from them because he was not of them.[20] Peter is restored to him despite the tragedy of these circumstances. Because remember (and you’ll find this in Luke again) that Luke records that Jesus says to the disciples—he actually addresses Simon, speaks to the group, and then applies it to Simon peculiarly—“Simon, Simon, Satan has desired to sift you as wheat, but I have prayed for you. And after you have been restored,” or “after you have turned again, then strengthen the brethren.”[21] Jesus knew him. Jesus knows you. Jesus knows me. He knows us. He knows our stumblings. He knows our great boasts. He knows our dreadful collapses.

The mystery of this little drama is the mystery that is there between what is happening upstairs and what is happening downstairs. As I said in passing in one of the services last Sunday, there’s a kind of Downton Abbey thing that is going on here: that upstairs, inside, in the high priest’s home, this drama is unfolding as they are interrogating Jesus; but downstairs, what is happening is also a drama, and it is unfolding. And the answer to all of the predicament in Peter’s denial downstairs is to be found in that which is actually taking place upstairs. Because Jesus loves his own. He dies in their place. Because Peter actually, in this instance, loves himself more, and his security and his safety, he denies his Master.

But I’ve said that there was one little indication in Mark of his future. And it’s actually just in two words in Mark 16:7. We think in terms of, now, recovery or restoration. You might like restoration better. But I’m using it in that sense.

So, now we’re at the resurrection day, and the angel has rolled back the stone. This young man is sitting there, and he says to the woman, “Do[n’t] be alarmed”—verse 6. “You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen; he is not here. [You can] see … where they laid him. But go, tell his disciples”—here we go—“and Peter.” “And Peter.” Special mention.

Wouldn’t “Go, tell his disciples” have covered it? Course it would! Peter was one of his disciples.

“Aren’t you one of them?”

“He’s one of them. You’re definitely one of them!”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m not one of them. I don’t know the man. God be my witness, I don’t know the man.”

“Go, and tell his disciples he’s alive—and Peter.” How wonderful! Because the story of Peter doesn’t end with the collapse in the courtyard. It doesn’t even end with the breakfast on the beach. But the breakfast on the beach settles the demise that has taken place in the firelight of the cold evening in Jerusalem.

You’ll need to read this for yourselves. How does it all end up in John’s Gospel? Peter says, “I[’m] going fishing.”[22] The friends say, “You know what? We might as well go fishing as well.”[23] Commentators spend vast amounts of ink trying to decide what he meant by that. Frankly, I don’t know. But they went fishing; I know that for sure. ’Cause the main things are the plain things. “I[’m] going fishing.” So he was going fishing.

Secondly, they didn’t catch any fish. That’s easy to understand as well. And thirdly, a stranger on the shore said, “Hey, how’s the fishing?” They said, “Nothing.” He said, “Go the other side.” “We might as well. We never caught anything.” Now they can’t even contain what it is they’re bringing in, and somebody says, “You know what? You know who just said, ‘Put it down on the other side’? That was the Master. That was the Lord. He’s risen to life again.”[24] Peter’s out the boat like a shot. And we find him up at breakfast with Jesus, and what does Jesus say to him? He says, “Peter, I got three questions for you. Question one: Do you love me?” “Yes.” “Question two: Do you really love me?” “Yes.” “Question three: Do you really, really, really, love me?” “Yes.” “That’s all I needed to know, Peter. Now I want you to go out and live for me.”[25]

Do you see how masterful this is, that his threefold denial is met by the opportunity for a threefold affirmation? That here on the beach, by the power of God, the canvas of his life… And his life is not defined by the encounter in the courtyard, but it is marked by the encounter in the courtyard. The reason that it will be significant for him to call to mind is not so that he can bury himself in all of the agony of recalling what a dreadful mess he made of things but in order that he might be able to say, “When I was lost, you came and rescued me, reached down into the pit and lifted me.”[26] “I’m the denier. I deserve to face the punishment. I deserve to bear those nails. But you bore them for me. You bore my punishment in order that I might enjoy your forgiveness.”

“Peter, when you have been restored, I want you to strengthen the brethren.” Time goes by. He’s now writing to the scattered Christians of his day. This is your homework. You go to 1 Peter chapter 5, and as he gives advice there to the elders in their care of the church, as he gives counsel to young men to submit to those who are older, he then runs down a line where he gives these exhortations that are vital for the community to which he writes. And he says to them, “Clothe yourselves … with humility toward[s] one another.”[27]

Do you think that sentence cost him? When you come up against an exhortation to humility, don’t you remember not the times that you were so phenomenally humble but the times you were so horribly proud? “Clothe yourselves with humility towards one another. Because I remember, I didn’t. I said that I was the only one out of the group. I was the best. I was the top of the tree. I was the man. Clothe yourselves with humility. Humble yourselves. I didn’t humble myself. Cast your anxiety on him; he cares for you. I was overwhelmed by the pressure cooker of life, in that context. Be watchful. I wasn’t watchful. I was vulnerable. I didn’t focus on what he said.” And then he gives this great word of comfort and assurance. He says, “After you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace … will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”[28]

Now you know the rest of the story. Despite his classic collapse, Peter was restored—restored to usefulness. Eventually, he would die. Legend says that he died by crucifixion. Legend said that he asked to be crucified upside down, so that he would then bear in his own body that reality of the fact that in that courtyard, he got the whole thing upside down. But the glorious news is that the God who restored Peter is the God who restores all repentant sinners. The Jesus who knew Peter, knew his vulnerability, is the Jesus who knows you and knows me. And God is the God who restores even the years that the locusts have eaten.[29]

Father, thank you that the Bible speaks with clarity. Help us, Lord, to be equally clear in our understanding, in our believing, and in our application. Forgive us, Lord, when we are guilty of that self-centered audacity, when we crumble at the questions of our friends. But thank you that you are the God of restoration. Thank you that you bore all the punishment that our sins deserve in order that we might know a forgiveness that is not ours ever to assume.

Thank you that the message of the gospel is not “Do this. Do all these things. Try and be better, and you will be accepted.” But it’s the story of what Jesus Christ has accomplished so that we might rest in him and find all of our righteousness in him—all of our joy, all of our peace. Look upon us in your mercy, we pray, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

[1] R. Hudson Pope, “Make the Book Live to Me.” Language modernized.

[2] Matthew 16:16 (ESV).

[3] William Barclay, The Letters of James and Peter, The Daily Study Bible, rev. ed. (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), 273.

[4] Peggy Noonan, “A Farewell to Harms,” Wall Street Journal, July 10, 2009, https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB124716984620819351.

[5] Larnelle Harris, “Greater Still” (1988).

[6] See John 18:10.

[7] See John 18:36.

[8] Matthew 6:10; Luke 11:2 (paraphrased).

[9] Mark 14:38 (paraphrased).

[10] Mark 14:38 (paraphrased).

[11] 1 Corinthians 10:12 (ESV).

[12] Mark 14:54 (ESV).

[13] Matthew 5:37 (paraphrased).

[14] Luke 22:60 (ESV).

[15] Mark 14:67 (ESV).

[16] John 13:1 (ESV).

[17] Matthew 4:19; Mark 1:17 (paraphrased).

[18] Matthew 16:23; Mark 8:33 (paraphrased).

[19] See Philippians 1:6.

[20] See 1 John 2:19.

[21] Luke 22:31–32 (paraphrased).

[22] John 21:3 (ESV).

[23] John 21:3 (paraphrased).

[24] John 21:5–7 (paraphrased).

[25] John 21:15–19 (paraphrased).

[26] Kate Simmonds and Miles Simmonds, “When I Was Lost” (2001).

[27] 1 Peter 5:5 (ESV).

[28] 1 Peter 5:10 (ESV).

[29] See Joel 2:25.