Easter Thoughts - Revisited - Peter's Story

Last super long one. I wrote this the night before Easter this year. Please excuse the crazy errors: I wrote this on my laptop and it didn't transfer well. Plus I wrote it so quickly - it's my heart and (for the moment anyway) I want it to stay imperfect.

My favorite song is "He's Alive" written by Dolly Parton. I can't sing it through without breaking down and weeping in the middle of it. I've been wanting to write a detailed version of the song for a while and thought now would be the best time. I wanted to share the results:

A rooster was crowing in the distance. My heart clenched with unspeakable pain at that sound. That wretched, agonizing sound. I threw my arm over my face and wept. My body shook with sobs and I wished to be as lifeless and hard as the cold stone beneath me. My throat ached and my eyes were swollen from the hours of weeping since the last crow I heard.
Will I ever forget? The call of the rooster, now an echo in my memories, brought with it the sharp image of my Lord’s eyes. Full of sorrow. Full of truth. Of determination. Of authority. I still didn’t understand.
In the days since His death – death! His execution! His murder! His crucifixion! I gasped as grief again stormed through my senses. In the days since my betrayal-for I was no better than that thieving Judas-in these past days I had tried to recall something, anything to reconcile myself to my Lord.
Did I not cut off the ear of that swine’s servant? In the name of my Lord? But that was not for Him as much as for my own pride. I had bristled when Jesus corrected me and healed the man. Realization had dawned on me and with it I felt very real fear. This was not the hour I had been waiting for. We were not going to storm in and declare Christ’s Kingdom. Instead Jesus was led away and I fled. I ran.
I didn’t run far. John and I entered the high priest’s courts. We were close. Close enough to defend the false claims. To stand up against the unjust mockery of a trial. To look Jesus in His eyes and show that we loved Him, supported Him and would stand beside Him even unto death.
Instead, we warmed ourselves by the fire. Our Lord stood in the cold, shivering in the night, but strong in His stance. He never wavered. Through punches. Through false accusations. How many times did a defense rise in my throat? Only to fall back in fear. Each time, I only stepped closer to the fire. And continued to deny my God. My friend.
Oh, God, Oh God! I forsook Him! I betrayed Him. Just as I promised I wouldn’t. Just as He promised I would. The realization made vile rise in my throat.
Our eyes met at each crow. Those eyes that have burned into my very soul for these last years. Did I not give up everything for Him? And yet, I betrayed Him out of fear for my own flesh.
At that thought I clawed at my arms in frustration and anger. This flesh! This worthless, wretched flesh! The Jews can have it! Just for another chance to stand by Him. I wasn’t even there when He died. While He suffered in innocence. I wasn’t there.
More sobs. Would my tears ever run dry?

Suddenly I heard scraping beneath the window and my heart stopped. Even as fear clawed at my throat, I hated my cowardice. Had they come for us at last? Found us here in our hiding place? Slowly, I pulled myself from the floor and crawled to the window and cautiously looked down in the street, expecting soldiers sent by the Jews to finish what they started before with the Christ.
I exhaled with relief when I saw Mary, then tensed again at the look of fear and bewilderment on her features. Was it a trap? Furious with my spinelessness, I rose to my feet and shook John’s shoulder on my way to meet her. He was awake, as I knew he would be, for his grief was as great as my own. We unlocked the door and met Mary in the frigid morning air.
Her breath came in rapid puffs against the cold as she rambled and shook. I glanced at John and wondered if he could understand the panicked utterances. Had the death of Jesus allowed her old demons to return? What was this babble? John seemed as dazed as I but reached out to hold her steady.
“Mary, look at me.” When she heard his calm voice, she looked between us as tears clung to her eyelashes. She must have realized that we didn’t understand what she had been trying to say.
After a deep breath, she whispered, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they have put him!”
I stared at her in absolute confusion while John took off in a sprint. As comprehension fizzled through my brain, I felt my feet take off after him.
Gone? But where? Why? Anger, my ever-present guide, sprang up inside me. Could they not leave well enough alone and leave our Friend in peace?
As my feet pounded through the streets and out the city gates I was amazed at how crisp and clean the world felt today. My skin tingled with the beauty of spring and I felt an inexplicable excitement churning in my very surroundings. I didn’t understand how I could feel so charged and so absolutely full of sorrow. The air around me seemed to be waiting to sing and I could not grasp it.
I began to tremble when the tomb came into view. The stone was rolled away, just as Mary described it. John had arrived first, but was on his knees outside the tomb, peering in at something I couldn’t see. I ran past him inside and smelled the cloying scent of burial spices. In utter shock I stared at the strips of linen and neatly folded burial cloth that had been wrapped around His precious head. It was separate from the rest of the linen and I unconsciously reached out to touch it. My skin tingled. It was warm!

I heard a mighty whoop behind me and turned to see John on his feet inside the tomb, light shining from his eyes.
“He is risen!” He shouted. The sound echoed and vibrated the empty cave. The joy in his exclamation grated my raw nerves. I envied his belief for it brought color to his ashen face. I wanted to believe a miracle had happened. But I knew He was dead. I saw the lashes. The thorn pierced cap of his head. The spear in His side and holes in His hands and feet. And now as I looked on the strips of empty linen my shame grew and my emptiness burst forth within me. John’s belief in a miracle and exclamations of joy only increased my shame. It did no good to have hope. The Christ was gone. Even if He were alive, it wouldn’t be the same as before. I could never look in His eyes again.
* * *

A day had passed since Mary led us to the empty tomb. Despite John’s urging that some miracle was at work, we were still hidden away. Eleven of His most devoted followers hiding behind locked doors, our faces a mixture of fear, hope and shame. Waiting and wondering when the Jews would come to claim us as well.
I wouldn’t face the others. I had declared my loyalty and devotion louder than anyone. And I had betrayed Him louder than anyone. I would not give in to hope. I would not seek out an escape from the blackness that was now my ever-present friend. Despair. That was all I clung to now.
Rumors swirled among the followers of Judas’ suicide. Oh how we hated him. And I was equal to him. Now he was in complete torment as we both deserved to be. I knew I should be done with myself as well, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I still feared for my life too much to take it. And so I hid behind these locked doors and behind my disgrace. Oh sweet despair. My constant companion.
A soft dawning of light warmed the corners of the room and I felt great disappointment. If only darkness would linger. Why must morning come so early? Yet, I realized it was far too early for morning light. As the soft light became brighter and more intense, I felt tingling on my skin. The same inexplicable feeling of the earth rejoicing on our way to the tomb was upon me. I watched as the radiance licked up every shadow, diminished every corner of darkness. The room vibrated with power and illumination. Squinting, I looked into the source of light and saw the sweet face of my Jesus!
Without thought, I lunged to His feet, wrapping my arms around His ankles. Solid ankles! Flesh and blood and life were now encased in my arms. As I wept, my tears fell on scars where nails had sliced through His flesh. Despite the exhilarating realization that He was here and alive, my shame leaped out and shoved me, forcing me back on my heels. How unworthy I was! I covered my face with my hands, afraid to look upon Him, ashamed at my boldness. I desperately tried to cover my head. How could I be in this room and not be struck dead already? I wailed in my grief and began to crawl away when I felt His hands, firm and solid around my arms.
He raised me to my feet before Him and I wanted to hide. Without words He commanded that I look into His eyes. A power and will not my own obliged and I hesitantly looked into His brilliance. I found His eyes and caught my breath. Oh the love and forgiveness that radiated there! Without words forgiveness and love embraced me with one look and I finally understood.
Everything He said. Everything He had taught us. What fools we had been! What power and majesty we missed out on and now could drink in like the finest wine. A yelp of joy escaped where once only sobs had been and I grasped His arms. Oh those mighty arms! He is risen! Risen indeed! Alive! Alive and here offering forgiveness, hope and love. Never would fear clamp down cold and clammy upon me. Never would despair rape my soul and leave it empty and hopeless.
He’s alive! Life is new! Life is abundant! And I am forgiven! Reconciled! It is finished and He is alive!

This is really how I feel. I identify with Peter because I have betrayed my God so many times. Over and over. But I know that I am forgiven and loved by Him. I know He died and rose again so that I would not be separated from Him. Oh what a sweet release that is for my spirit. I pray you know the love and amazement of our Savior's sacrifice this Easter.