Peter’s Darkest Night
I possessed no doubt. Your identity
secure in my arrogance like a sword against
the throat of my enemies. You are the Messiah! But
your kingdom came, not with a roar
of victory, but a depressing death cry of, it is finished!
the same ministry dirt under the nails.
Fished for men. You called me friend.
This death you hinted at—not
on my watch!
You capsized my boat. Wrecked my
expectations. Did I really know you? Hope lies
rotting in a borrowed grave. I replay your
ministry over and over in my head. Where did I
go wrong? I called you Messiah! Did I really know you?
My battle cry, so passionate, so confident, last night, choked
out by the cock’s crow of my betrayal today. You looked at me.
You knew I would betray you, and still, you chose me. “Why?”
Bitterness mocked, “I’ll
follow you anywhere!”
I was ready to establish your kingdom.
The battle was in front of me. My heart pounded.
My nearest enemy’s ear lay on the ground, with
first blood of freedom. Who’s with me?
“Put your sword away, Peter,” you commanded. Put my sword
away? Didn’t you put this sword in my hand? Even as I was ready to destroy
you were ready to restore.
“Your kingdom come!”
What kingdom has ever come through a cross…
Countless times, you knelt and drew in the sand.
Treated the self-righteous as heathens. I felt elevated.
A part of something gloriously divine. Oh good,
the master will put these accusers in their place. I witnessed
your miracles, but restore an enemy? My knowledge of your royalty was robbed
by your humility—by your sacrifice.
Why did you choose me?