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The Greatest Failure

by Chris Alexion, Copyright October 19, 2007, all rights reserved. 470 views

St. Peter was the most remarkable failure in history. Raised from being a humble, uneducated Galilean fisherman, he became part of a group of twelve of Jesus' most trusted followers, and even part of a closer ring of three that witnessed Christ's Transfiguration (see Matthew 17). He had the amazing blessing of hearing Jesus speak firsthand and the grace to recognize Him as the Son of God, which Jesus said had been revealed to Peter by God Himself (Matthew 16).

But consider how far Peter fell. One late night around a fire, following the arrested Jesus at a distance, he denied that he even knew the man. Three times. In those pre-dawn hours before Jesus' trial, Peter experienced his own trial. His test. And he failed–miserably. Just like I have during numberless fiery trials of my own.

Humanly speaking, Peter should have been finished at that point. He was washed up; he'd tasted the benefits of his position with Jesus and the knowledge God had given him, and he'd dishonored them. He'd let Jesus and the rest of the disciples down in a way that people would read about for centuries. In today's world of business and politics, we wouldn't expect someone with such an enormous failure to rise again. Donald Trump would have fired Peter.

But Jesus never did operate like a human CEO. In fact, he knew about Peter's failure before it happened. The devil, he told Peter, wants to sift your soul like wheat. But I have prayed for you, Peter. God isn't just the God of second chances, but the God who Himself imparts the grace needed to rebuild a failed Christian. God does His own work, even in us.

So read the account of Peter's denial, and then read the first few chapters of Acts. On three separate occasions, the rough, impulsive, cowardly fisherman returns, and he has no shame. Given the opportunity to address crowds from Israel and beyond, he strategically (and unabashedly) leverages his opportunities to point out just who Jesus really is.

The first takes place on Pentecost, after the Holy Spirt had fallen on the apostles, giving them a supernatural ability to speak other languages. Imagine the shock as international pilgrims entering Jerusalem hear the gospel in their own tongues. Some marvel, while some jackasses jest that the apostles get drunk as early as nine in the morning. In the midst of all this Peter somehow gets a chance to address the crowd–the same Peter who was afraid of a servant girl. This same cowardly failure not only calls them on their ridiculous accusation, but turns the topic to the heart of the matter: "[Jesus], being delivered by the determined purpose and foreknowledge of God, you have taken by lawless hands, have crucified, and put to death, whom God raised up. . . . . Therefore let all the house of Israel know assuredly that God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ" (Acts 2:23-36).

Peter not only takes advantage of the opportunity to preach Christ, but he takes a bold stance on the compliticy of Israel's religious and political establishment in the death of Jesus. He tells the very people in Jerusalem that they're the ones who delivered the Son of God to death. Are we talking about the same Peter?

Lest we think this is some kind of fluke, Acts gives us two more examples of Peter's message. Later, Peter and John heal a paralytic in the Temple. When an amazed crowd gathers, Peter addresses them. "The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of our fathers, glorified his Servant Jesus, whom you delivered up and denied in the presence of Pilate, when he was determined to let Him go. But you denied the Holy One and the Just, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you, and killed the Prince of life, whom God raised from the dead, of which we are witnesses" (2:13-15). But even then Peter wasn't done. After being hauled into jail by the conservative religious authorities, he addresses them, pointing out that they were especially the ones who crucified Jesus–whom, incidentally, God raised from the dead (4:10). The irony is palpable–the same Peter who was ashamed to own up in front of the domestic waitstaff is now in the face of the corrupt religious power of his day.

I don't think Peter did this in the sense of finger-pointing. He knew all too well his own complicity in the death of Christ, as do all of us with some inkling of our corrupt hearts. Nor do we have the roots of a ridiculous anti-semitism that cloaks racism in bad theology–Peter was, after all, Jewish. What Peter is doing is making clear that the death of Christ was a crime–a crime of which we are all guilty. But, paradoxically, it's the only crime that itself provides the pardon for the criminals. Peter devoted the rest of his life to this message (and the Lord he'd denied), and one tradition holds that the fisherman was eventually crucified like his Master, only upside-down out of his own sense of unworthiness.

The greatest failure became a true success.

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