Monthly Archives: March 2016

We fail.

We sin.

We all miss the mark.

Whether it’s by a lot or a little makes no difference. The glory of God is a very high standard and there’s not one of us who hasn’t fallen short of it.

We disappoint others. We disappoint ourselves. We disappoint God.

Yet no failure must ever be final.

No sin must ever be fatal.

A man called Peter could tell us.

It would have been bad enough that evening for this disciple. But he typically was the one who spoke up, and that only made it worse. Jesus had just warned him: “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat” (Luke 22:31, KJV).

Your might expect Peter to have cautiously pondered that spiritual advisory, coming as it did from his Lord. But then he was, after all, Peter.

“Lord,” Peter insisted, “I am ready to go to prison with you, and even die with you.” [22:33, NLT].

All of us pledge enthusiastic loyalty at the outset – and we’re always sincere in the moment. Devotion comes easy until it’s put to the test. Courage means nothing until it’s called for. At the time he spoke those words, Peter meant them.

We’re always ready to march – before we actually have to; before we see the enemy staring us down.

What Jesus then told Peter – perhaps in the presence of the other disciples – stunned him to silence.

“Peter, let me tell you something. Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know me.” [22:34, NLT].

As the ominous evening wore on, Peter’s loyalty began to unravel and the courage he had so passionately professed evaporated into the night mist.

First, he couldn’t even stay awake through Jesus’ agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. While Jesus wept, Peter slept.

As his Lord – the One for whom Peter would be willing to die – was led away by Roman guards, “Peter followed at a distance.” [Luke 22:54, emphasis added].

And then came the expletive-laced denials.

Luke tells us something that the other gospel writers omit. After Peter insisted – for the third time – that he didn’t know who Jesus was, Luke records:

“At that moment the Lord turned and looked at Peter.”[22:61, NLT].

We don’t know how Luke was aware of this startling detail – except that Peter must have told him. Peter remembered that look. How could he ever forget those eyes, so sad yet so kind? Was it not a look of understanding and compassion? Surely, Jesus didn’t scowl at Peter. It could not have been a look of condemnation or anger. It was, perhaps, the brief look of a broken heart.

However Jesus looked at Peter in that instant, the impact was immediate.

“Suddenly, the Lord’s words flashed through Peter’s mind” [vs.61, NLT].

“And Peter remembered the word of the Lord” [KJV].

It cut Peter’s conscience to the marrow.

Luke says that he “left the courtyard, weeping bitterly.”[vs. 62, NLT].

Peter disappears into his shame and disgrace and his incredible guilt. Yes, “Peter remembered.” That’s all he could do. He remembered the courage he had when it didn’t count. And the courage he lost when it did. He remembered how his lofty allegiance melted in a crucible of unimaginable disloyalty.

Most of all, Peter remembered the look. How could Jesus ever forgive him? How could Jesus ever look at Peter – again?

Luke tells us that the buzz following the resurrection was that “The Lord has really risen!”

How did they know?

“He has appeared to Peter” [Luke 24: 34, NLT]. Yes, Peter!

Mark says that the young man at Jesus’ empty tomb commanded the women who had come to anoint Jesus’ body to “go, tell his disciples and Peter” that Jesus had risen. [Mark 16: 7].

“…and Peter…” Don’t forget Peter.

Peter, whose greatest days were still ahead. Peter, who would strengthen, encourage and lead the first Christian church. Peter, who would yet die for Christ. Yes, Peter, who was forgiven and still loved by the Savior he had denied knowing.

You will search in vain throughout scripture for a greater testament to the love and forgiveness of our Lord Jesus than those two simple words, “and Peter.”

They are full of meaning. In them is the glory and redemptive power of the Gospel. Here is the greatness of God’s heart. The resurrected Christ went out of his way to single Peter out – and to include him in the mighty breadth of his extraordinary grace.

For every one of us who has ever stumbled and fallen – who has ever been tortured by a painful regret and a guilty remembrance – he has done the same.

Jesus has reached out and included you and me by name.

He has forgiven us – and asked us to forgive ourselves.

It has been said that “we need to be loved the most when we deserve it the least. Only God can fulfill this need. Only God can provide a love so deep it saves from the depths.”

Peter could tell us that.

He knew.

Chris Bires, 41, was on his way to work.

He walked this street in downtown Chicago every day, Monday thru Friday. It was routinely uneventful.

Until that day.

When Chris spotted a man playing his saxophone on the street and the empty can next to him, he decided he’d do a good deed. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out all his coins and emptied them into the can. The bearded young saxophonist smiled at the clean-shaven executive and thanked him.

When he got to work, Chris discovered that he was missing his wedding ring. The ring fit a little loose and he had been planning to have it re-sized. He must have somehow accidently handed it over to the street musician when he gave him his money. His heart sunk. Chris raced back to where the saxophonist had been but he was gone.

As he walked back to his office, Chris wondered how he would explain this to his wife. And then he thought, “If only I hadn’t given that guy my money”. Chris ruefully sneered to himself. “I guess it’s like they say, no good deed goes unpunished.”

Weeks went by.

Then one day, walking to work, Chris was anxiously intercepted by a smiling middle-aged woman. She reached into her handbag and pulled something out. When she opened her hand to Chris, there was his lost ring.

Chris couldn’t believe it.

Bonita Franks, a panhandler, had seen Chris return that day telling someone about the man with the saxophone and his lost ring. She remembered it when she later spotted the sax player. And she took it upon herself to get the ring back, as only a street- savvy panhandler could do.

Bonita didn’t know if she’d ever see Chris Bires on that crowded city street again but she vowed to watch and when she did, she couldn’t wait to return his lost treasure. And there, on that busy Chicago street, surely surrounded by all manner of greed, apathy and selfish striving, two unlikely people hugged, brought together by their kindness and generosity.

We’ve all been tempted to feel that in this world, sooner or later, idealism gets brutally mugged; that good deeds are unrequited and, as often as not, punished. Our age breeds cynicism and contempt and the headlines blare it.

We shake our heads. “That figures. They should have known better.”

God, faith and the Bible go boldly against this rough and hardened grain. They beckon us to a higher standard, a softer heart and a more hopeful disposition.

There is an ancient Hebrew saying found in the Old Testament: “Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again” (Ecclesiastes 11:1-2, NIV).

What does this mean?

Give generously, with no thought to your own interests and, no matter what may happen in the meanwhile, your kindness will not go unnoticed or unrewarded. The blessing may be immediate or it may be delayed but it will never be abandoned or overlooked by a God who sees all and cares deeply.

How do we know this?

Because God will be a debtor to no one. We cannot out-give him. God is the ultimate Giver. He has given us His only Son and our greatest gift, eternal life. Daily God blesses us beyond all measure in so many ways we fail to count or recall. As the poet wrote, “he giveth and giveth and giveth again.” God is unbelievably and extravagantly generous.

He gave all this to us when we had nothing, could do nothing and were nothing.

We cannot pay God back.

This is the glory of our salvation – and its chief stumbling block for so many. We feel we must earn that which we can only accept. There can be no grace without God’s giving; nor can there be grace without our open arms and empty hands.

“In my hand no price I bring, simply to Thy cross I cling”.

In a world and culture that’s all about taking and getting, everything about Christianity involves giving. As Jesus prepared to send out the disciples to perform all manner of good deeds, He reminded them:

“Freely you have received, freely give” (Matthew 10:9, NKJV). Their receiving was the basis of their giving.

So is ours.

“Give”, Jesus tells us, “and it will be given to you: good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over will be put into your bosom. For with the same measure you use, it will be measured back to you” (Luke 6:38, NKJV).

“Give away your life; you’ll find life given back, but not merely given back – given back with bonus and blessing. Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity” (Luke 6:38, The Message).

In these fractured and coarsened times how important that we remember our Savior’s teaching.

The poet Edwin Markham expressed this spiritual truth when he wrote:

“There is a destiny which makes us brothers; none goes his way alone. All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own.”

Chris Bires and Bonita Franks would smile, fist-bump and say, “Back at ya!”