Sadly, Peter Isn’t the Only One to Deny Knowing Christ

To deny Christ is something only Peter would do….right?

This post is part of the Five-Minute Friday quick write hosted by Kate Moutang. Join us each Thursday night on Twitter (#FMFParty) for fun and fellowship, then grab a pen and start writing when the prompt goes live!

To Deny Christ

“I’d die for you, Jesus!” Peter exclaims as the disciples gather around Jesus for the Passover feast. His voice vibrates with passion and expectation. Peter feels the energy of the crowds during the week. The whispers of change, rumors of salvation from Roman rule, and greater things to come surge in the room.

Peter looks around at the men who gave up normal to travel with Jesus and witness miracles. He sees nods of silent confirmation. They, too, feel the energy and know the culmination of their work will happen soon.

“Die for me? I tell you the truth, Peter—before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny me three times.”

What? To deny the Christ? The Messiah? After boldly declaring him the very Son of God? Impossible! Peter can’t believe it, he won’t believe Jesus’ quiet admonition.

Hours later, Peter hears the rooster crow, and the truth of Jesus’ words stabs at his heart. To deny the One he promised to die for such a short time before. The ignominy.

I read Peter’s story and I assure myself, “To deny Jesus as Peter did? No way. Not me!” I think of all the ways I’ve given up normal to travel the Jesus way. And I know I’ve walked too far along the narrow path to deny MY Savior.

Denial Looks Like Lack of Love

Hours later, my father-in-law shuffles into the kitchen and points out the window towards the freeway and train tracks. “So many trucks, going, going, and going,” he says. For the fifth time this week, the fourteenth time this month, and the 105^th time this year.

I struggle to keep my sigh to myself, but it slips around my words. “Yes. There’s a lot of traffic out there, isn’t there.”

I watch out of the corner of my eye as he picks up a paring knife and slowly peels an orange. Then he places the dirty knife in the knife block.

“Oh, don’t put the dirty knife back in the block,” I say. Finally, I’ve caught him in the act and can explain to him how crumbs and juices will make the block dirty. I try to filter the frustration out of my voice. But I fear it comes out less kind than it should.

“Oh, it makes the block dirty,” he repeats, as he feebly removes the knife and sets it on the edge of the sink.

The sight of the knife stabs my heart. No rooster crows in the distance, but I realize Peter isn’t the only one to deny Christ. I have denied his mission by my failure to speak with love.

I deny him daily when I want to follow him. To deny the one who loves me by my careless actions and less-than-loving words hurts. Both him and me. But when I confess, he nods his head and smiles gently. He’s heard it before. Probably for the fifth time this week, the fourteenth time this month, and the 105^th time this year.

Maybe this time I’ll really understand the depth of my denial and remember it before I open my mouth.