I told Him I wouldn’t leave. I meant it when I said it. Even when the others looked unsure… even when the room felt heavy and His words felt distant. I was certain.
“Even if all fall away… I won’t.” I said that. I believed that. I believed I was different. Stronger. More loyal.
But He looked at me in a way that night that unsettled me. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just… knowing.
He said to me, “Before the rooster crows… you will deny Me three times.”
I shook my head before He even finished.
No. Not me. Never me.
But fear does something to you.
It strips away everything you thought you were.
In the garden, I tried to be brave. I reached for my sword, ready to fight when they were trying to take Jesus. I was ready to prove I meant what I said.
But He stopped me. Told me to put it away.
And then… they took Him. And something in me… broke.
Because if He wasn’t going to fight. If He wasn’t going to stop it. Then what was I supposed to do?
So I followed. At a distance. Close enough to see what was happening… Far enough to feel safe.
The courtyard was cold. I remember that. A fire burned nearby, and I stood among strangers, trying to look like I belonged there. Trying not to be seen. Trying not to be known. And then…
“You were with Him, weren’t you?” A girl asked me.
The question hit harder than I expected. My heart started racing. Everything in me tensed. And before I even thought about it.
“No.”
The word came out quickly. Too quickly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I told her.
When I said it, I told myself it was just one moment. Just one answer. I told myself it didn’t mean anything.
But then it happened again. And again. Each time, it got easier. Each time, my voice got firmer.
“I don’t know Him.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“I swear… I don’t know the man.”
The man. That’s what I called Him. Not Rabbi. Not Lord. Just… the man.
And then the rooster crowed.
It cut through everything. The noise. The voices. The fear.
And in that moment… He turned. Even from a distance, even in the middle of everything He was going through, He looked at me.
And I’ll never forget that look. Not anger. Not condemnation. Just… sorrow. And something else. Something worse.
Love.
I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t breathe. I ran.
And when I finally stopped, the weight of it all came crashing down on me. I said I wouldn’t leave. I said I would die for Him. And instead, I couldn’t even admit I knew Him. I broke down crying.
I failed Him. At the very moment He needed us most… I failed.
I don’t know how much time passed after that. Everything blurred together. But I heard what happened.
I heard about the trial. The crowd. The shouting, “Crucify Him.” And I knew.
I knew what He was facing. And I wasn’t there. I couldn’t be. Because how do you stand before someone you just denied? How do you look at Him… after that?
And yet… He went anyway.
That’s what I can’t escape. He knew I would fail. He told me I would. He saw it before it even happened. And still.
He went to the cross.
Not for the version of me that was brave in words… but for the version of me that broke under pressure.
The version of me that chose fear. That chose self-preservation. That chose distance over devotion. He went for that version of me.
And when I think about that day now… I don’t just see the cross. I see myself.
My weakness.
My failure.
My sin.
And I realize. That’s why He went. Not for the perfect. Not for the strong. But for people like me.
People who say they’ll stay… and don’t. People who love Him… and still fall short. People who mean well… and still fail. He didn’t go to the cross because we were faithful. He went because we weren’t.
Step out of that moment with me… Let’s focus back to now. You know, I can’t help but think.
I can’t pretend I’m any different. I still fall short. I still struggle. I still choose wrong sometimes. Don’t you?
And yet… The same truth remains:
Jesus knew. And He went anyway.
That’s the kind of love the cross holds. Not a love that waits for us to get it right, but a love that meets us in the middle of getting it wrong.
A love that covers what we couldn’t fix. A love that stays, even when we don’t.
Because the cross? It was never about what we could do for Him. It was always about what He chose to do for us.
~~*~~
Jesus,
It’s hard to admit how much I see myself in Peter. The fear. The failure. The moments where I fall short, even when I don’t want to.
And yet… You knew. You knew every weakness, every denial, every place I would miss the mark, and You still chose the cross.
Thank You for loving me like that. Not a perfect version of me… but the real one. The one that struggles. The one that fails. The one that needs You.
Forgive me for the ways I’ve denied You in my words, my actions, my silence. And thank You that Your love was never dependent on my perfection.
Help me to draw near instead of pulling away. To trust Your grace instead of hiding in shame. And let me never forget:
You knew… and You went to the cross anyway.
In Jesus name I pray,
Amen.
Scriptural Musings with Booferchick 