Three Strikes, You're Forgiven: A 5-Day Challenge by Micah E. DavisNäide

SCENE THREE: THE (PREDICTED) DENIAL(S)

VERSE: Matthew 27:45

Surely, at this point, Peter’s willingness to recommit to Jesus is even stronger than before, right? I mean, Jesus called out that Peter would disown him, and when they go to the garden, Peter’s actions seem to prove Jesus right. Maybe now Peter will find the courage to follow through on his pledge?

Not quite.

Although Peter does stay near Jesus when all the other disciples desert him, a servant girl of the high priest ends up raising the stakes and revealing who Peter really is. She identifies him as one of Jesus’ followers. His response? “I don’t know or understand what you’re talking about” (Mark 14:68, NIV).

But the servant girl doesn’t let it go. “He’s one of them!” (Mark 14:69, msg). Again, Peter denies it.

A third time, others standing nearby say, “Surely you are one of them, for you are a Galilean” (Mark 14:70, NIV). At this, Peter swears that he “[doesn’t] know [the] man” (Mark 14:71, NIV).

Immediately, the rooster crows a second time. Peter remembers Jesus’ ­words—“Before the rooster crows twice, you will disown me three times”— and he breaks down and weeps. (Mark 14:72, NIV).

Three denials . . . Peter’s out.

This is the last time we hear from Peter in the Gospel of Mark. It’s an ominous, disturbing end. A prophecy fulfilled.

Peter the denier.

Peter the liar.

Peter the abandoner.

Taken at face value, this is the defining moment of Peter’s life. The proverbial period at the end of the sentence. How could it not be? Peter had three chances. And you know what the rule of the day was? Three failures, you’re out.

The next day, Jesus hung on a cross, and for three hours, darkness came over all the land (Matthew 27:45). It seemed like the tale of three was winning in the end. Perhaps failure was final after all.

Except that’s not the end of the story. Three days later, Jesus would come to redefine and reshape our imagination around three chances. Apparently, the Kingdom of Heaven is bigger than our preconceived notions about forgiveness and failure.

Failure is inevitable. And yet, we’ve somehow convinced ourselves that failure is avoidable. That if we can avoid failure, then we can somehow ­self-actualize into an ideal ­self—that simply does not exist. But this doesn’t stop us from holding others to this same unrealistic standard.

My friend, the fact of the matter is that if you’re reading this, you’ve failed. So have I. So have others in your life. It’s inevitable. To fail is to be human. It’s the starting point for all of us.

If we are ever to learn how to forgive others or ourselves, we must begin with this truth. We cannot earn our way into heaven. We cannot earn our way into love. We cannot earn our way into perfection. No one can. If life is reduced to a scorecard of success versus failure, we lose. Every time.

But the gospel? The good news? The good news is that your failure isn’t final. We serve a God who took on all your ­failures—past, present, ­future—and nailed them to a cross. Three days later, he rose, conquering death and sin forever.

Because of this reality, we’re offered a new invitation. To pick up our cross and follow Jesus. To practice his way. A way not of forgetfulness but of forgiveness. Not of revenge but of reconciliation. We can embrace what we often avoid. Why? Because our failure isn’t ­final—it’s forgiven.

For Reflection: What if our greatest failures are not the end of our stories, but the place where God begins to rewrite them? Do you feel like this narrative around Peter’s life gives you more compassion and empathy for someone else in your life who you’ve defined by their greatest failure rather than Christ’s forgiveness? What is holding you back from buying into and believing the resurrection grace that is on offer toward us?