Brother Peter was a torn man.
After attempting to remove my head with his sword, and succeeding only in slicing through my right ear, and then scattering with the rest of the eleven disciples, he could not fully acquiesce to either the compulsion to flee or to fight.
His immortal soul (for I now knew he possessed one, as do we all whether we like it or not) was urging him to stay close to the One who was his Master. His flesh desired nothing more than to hide in a cave until his terror had passed. Or to rampage through the gathering of his enemies committing mayhem.
His soul was ascendant for the moment, so like me, he followed the mob of priests, officers and soldiers, but from a distance.
I confess I never liked Annas as High Priest, or as a person for that matter. He is arrogant and his sense of entitlement is exceeded only by his conviction of self-importance. His son-in-law Caiaphas, a product of an arranged marriage, is obviously poured from the same ambitious and self-serving mold. These men are without real morals, hypocrites, and ruthless beyond reckoning; willing to undertake any action to preserve their own self-interests.
Deception, extortion, murder, and any other vile and evil strategy come as naturally to them as decay to a corpse.
I was thus more than a little sympathetic when Peter began his trifold denial of Jesus. After all, when in a pit of vipers it is understandable to tread carefully so as not to receive a fatal bite. And burly, towering Peter was anything but inconspicuous and could hardly remain unnoticed.
Yet, I was also mortified by the fact that it was my cousin who was the last straw in the Apostle's moral and ethical downfall. First the servant girl, Rhoda, then those gathered around the fire against the night's eery coldness, and finally my own relative, all challenged the Galilean's allegiance to this Criminal.
Each time, Peter became more vociferous and emphatic in his betrayal, his panic rising with every confrontation.
He was tested in this way, I have come to believe, precisely because he was hard to ignore, and because he was the only one who had raised sword in defiance of authority. Having taken such a stand, it is hard to fade again into the background. And as the singular victim of his attempted resistance, I was hardly unknown in the High Priest's household.
I was only later informed of the added divine irony of this episode - Peter's equally vociferous and emphatic boasting of loyalty and commitment to the Christ only hours before, even declaring his desire to die rather than deny his Lord.
But Jesus knew what would happen, and loved him anyway.
In all this, I was very thankful that I was not the one in Peter's shoes. What would I have done?
Would I have betrayed the One who had shown me such compassion and miraculously healed me?
Would I have tried to save my own life at the expense of denying Him?
I do not know, but I suspect my courage would have failed me, just as Peter's did during that chaotic and horrible night when Goodness itself was subjected to the rampant evil of mankind - subjected to it in order to defeat it finally on the Cross of Death.
And herein lies my deepest mortification - that we humans are so far fallen that God Himself had to suffer at our hands to redeem us from the curse of our own depravity.
I say this having seen Him, and been touched by Him, the Man who took upon Himself our own flesh and blood in an act of such selfless and humble condescension that no mere human imagination could have conceived of such a plan.
In that brief and violent encounter in the Garden of Gethsemane, I was shown both the depths of Christ's love and the vastness of His power. It was strange beyond anything that words could possibly describe, and it ripped open my heart even as my ear was healed.
I saw Him, and in His kindness, I saw that I was his diametric opposite.
His absolute purity against my defiled and corrupt uncleanness.
His all-encompassing love against my small-minded and vile hatred.
His power against my delusional weakness.
And I was undone.
Never again will I be able to look at myself as other than completely unworthy in the face of His unspeakable worthiness.
In the years since, I have been asked what I thought about Judas in relation to Peter. Both men betrayed their Lord, why was one forgiven and the other condemned to Perdition?
My answer is simple. Peter repented and sought forgiveness. Judas regretted and sought release. Judas wanted his mortification over. Peter wanted his made right, and was humbly willing to do whatever it took.
Judas denied Christ in unbelief. Peter did so out of fear, but then confessed his evil in dust and ashes.
The difference between them is as large as the difference between eternal life and eternal condemnation.
