You Are The Man

 

When our oldest son was born, my wife and I chose as his namesake two men who I always felt a close affinity to: David, from the Old Testament, and Peter, from the New Testament. Both men had a burning love for God that is intimate and shamelessly authentic; both were chosen and anointed by God for a special mission. Both were great men but also fell victim to great sin, and the fact that these two things were not in contradiction was not lost on me.  

As we head into Good Friday and the final few days of Holy Week, I am just always struck, year after year, with the story of Peter's denial of Christ. I will confess that I struggle with a degree of "Catholic self-worth" which usually comes up in proximity to the other Catholics in our circle--the ones who seem to have the liturgical seasons down pat, their kids on a good catechized schedule, their lives in order, and who just exemplify what it is to be a good Catholic. I feel like a scandal to my own self, unworthy of emulation because of my bad example. I am full of strong bravado that blows up in the first few miles of the marathon and then leaves me limping the remaining miles, or taking shortcuts. I have gone from embracing my cross to now trying to shirk it off at every turn.  I eat in the middle of the night. I find excuses not to pray. I indulge in this or that excess. 

Of course I am not above human weakness more than the next man. The burning shame I feel when what I do (and don't do) does not square with what I profess seems to be amplified by that fact that I truly love the Lord, and yet I can't back up that love with action worthy of its degree. I don't understand it.

But then all I have to do is look at Peter.

Just as David's murderous plot, adultery, and cover up was grave, Peter's sin is nothing to sneeze at either:

He lies.

He curses and swears an oath.

He betrays the confidence of his closest friend.

He denies God.

As Christ falls carrying his own cross three times on the way to Calvary, Peter seeks to get out from under his not once, not twice, but three times. Feeding his denial is a sensitivity to the outlook and talk of others. We see in Paul's letter to the Galatians that this does not completely leave him either after the Resurrection, since Paul accuses Peter of not eating with the Gentiles because they are uncircumsized, even though he knows it is not right to do so. 

But like David, who is shown his sin by the prophet Nathan and is brought to recognition and repentance with the words "You are the man!," Peter is cut to the heart with sorrow when he hears the cock crow and recalls the prophetic words of his friend and Savior foretelling his denial. He, as well, is the man--not "the man" that everyone wants to be, but the man who stands accused and has no more room to deny. 

When he realizes this and the shadow of shame is cast over him, he weeps bitterly. Like Judas, in a way, Peter has traded in his closest friend for pieces of silver--the silver of blending in with the crowd, of not being a standout, of the world. But unlike Judas, Peter lets the glance from the Lord in that moment cut through him with love. Though he is taken out at the knees and brought low, he does not abandon or forsake his love for Jesus. He will recover his name, and his weakness will be perfected in strength...but now is the time for tears.

Lent is an utter humiliation for me, and typically nearing the end of it I am reminded of how much Christ endured...and how little I have. As he takes flog after flog at the pillar, I complain about a blister on my heel. As he staggers with exhaustion under the tree from which he will hang,  I snack on crumpets and count down to my next meal. As he bears the weight of sin, I continue to stack my own on his shoulders. When being a disciple is worthy of praise I'm all about it--when it becomes the scorn of the crowd, I, like Peter, look to instead join a winning team. I am a worm and no man. 

But I am, in fact, the man. The man who denies Christ to his face to save face myself. The man who chooses comfort and good name again and again over being maligned and counted as one of his disciples. The man who is not a good friend, who is a liar, who swears and curses and abandons. And as I stagger out of the courtyard during these final hours of Lent, all I can do is lower my head and say, God, be merciful to me a sinner!