The Smell of Forgiveness

I see you there, Peter. Mulling over the last few weeks. Looking at each memory like small stones in your hand. Turning them over and trying to make sense of them. Nothing was quite like you expected, was it? He didn’t kick Rome out and take His rightful place as ruler. Instead, He turned all the religious systems on their head. He reinterpreted the most sacred of your celebrations. He talked about laying down His life. The Rabbi washed YOUR feet. He went willingly when they came for Him in the darkness. He wouldn’t even let you fight for Him. How do you make sense of all these moments? I see you trying to recall everything and put the pieces together into some sort of mosaic for your memories.

But, that’s not all is it? There’s also the shame you’re feeling. You’re beating yourself up, aren’t you? You’re wishing you would have stayed awake in the garden when He asked you to keep watch. Maybe you would have seen Judas coming. And then there’s the charcoal fire… every time you get a whiff of it, it reminds you of that moment when you insisted you didn’t know Him… for the third time that night. And He locked eyes with you as the rooster crowed. Oh the bitter weeping that followed that fateful moment. The regret and the sorrow. The hiding. You feel foolish now – all your promises of sticking by Him no matter what seem rather childish.

To make matters even more confusing, He’s not in the grave anymore. He’s risen! What to make of that? You’ve seen Him briefly a time or two. But, it’s not the same as before. It’s not even the same as when He raised Lazarus. His body is different now. And He’s not living among you, walking the dusty streets and talking to the people.

The truth is, you’re just not sure what to do. If He did walk the streets, would He even still want you? How could He? You said you didn’t even know Him. And ran away. You had to hear about His final moments from the women. They stayed until the bitter end and helped prepare His body for the borrowed tomb. They were faithful… now you’re asking yourself why you weren’t there with them? So much regret.

What to do with all these memories? All these questions? All these emotions and the “coulda, woulda, shouldas” that are plaguing your heart? It’s too much. So you’re doing the thing you know best… back on the water for some fishing. I see you there in the boat, trying to occupy your mind with something else. Trying to busy your hands so don’t have to deal with the shame and confusion. I see you, because I’ve done it myself. A thousand times. Cleaning the house with extra vigor so I don’t have to deal with my sin and the ensuing shame. Turning to something you can DO because if feels like you have no control at all over the gaping hole in your soul.

What you don’t know, Peter, is that He’s about to reinterpret that charcoal fire and associate it with a new memory. He’s on the shore waiting for you. He’s going to fill your nets to overflowing just like the good old days. And, He’s going to invite you… “Come have breakfast.” And packed behind that simple phrase is the balm that will heal your soul. He still wants you, Peter. He didn’t make a mistake when He renamed you. And He really is going to build His church on your testimony. But, for now, He just wants to sit with you and have breakfast. To reassure you that your story isn’t finished yet. To ask you three times around the charcoal fire – “Peter, do you love me? Of course you know I do, Lord”. This specific exchange three times around a charcoal fire is no accident. ‘Tis mercy all. And as you bask in His agape love and forgiveness, you’ll be reminded that you really do love Him. That it wasn’t all some big mistake. You’ll be known there around that charcoal fire and you’ll let Him take all that shame and regret. And you’ll never be the same after that.

In fact, one day you’ll pen these words for those of us who will come behind you:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time. In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

And we’ll take great comfort from them – in part because we know you know all about His great mercy and being called into a living hope.

I see you there, Peter. And I’m so glad God saw fit to tell us your story because our own stories need it. We need your story to inform our own shame and regret. To show us what forgiveness and transformation can look like.

Look up, Peter. He’s there waiting to have breakfast with you. Oh, and you, too, Shan.