The Fall Is Loud

Back in the day, my father saved coins in a plastic tube with a slot on top. To avoid seeing the progress, he wrapped tape around the transparent sides. What he hadn’t accounted for was the cunning of his youngest son: me. With a metal strip, I could tap the top coins until the bottom popped open—just enough to snatch one. Naturally: it was too easy and I got greedy. Eventually, my father noticed the tube wasn’t filling up, and the culprit was quickly found…

It wasn't just stealing, it was betrayal. And it was painfully visible, unavoidable. Impossible to look away from. But my father forgave me (even though I had to pay it all back and it did take some time to regain his trust).

I am always reminded of this when I read the story of Simon Peter's betrayal. He is full of grand promises (and himself) when Jesus predicts that all the disciples will betray him—but of Peter—you will betray me three times, even before the cock crows (when it is morning). Simon Peter's denial of Jesus wasn’t subtle (and certainly not behind closed doors in the safety of the family, as with my coin robbery)—it was public, heartbreaking and undeniable.

Perhaps you too are familiar with feeling up close to the suspense between bold intentions and human weakness in moments that count. Maybe you too have betrayed someone at one time or another—who knows: maybe you’ve even betrayed yourself? How did you recover from that? How do you ever recover from something like that? Simon Peter wept bitter tears when his betrayal came out and Jesus looked him in the eye.

There’s a moment in every betrayal when the truth catches up with you—sometimes in a glance, a question, or even a silence. And yet, the story doesn’t end with failure. For Simon Peter, it began there. The tears weren’t the conclusion; they were the turning point. Maybe that's true for us too.

When has failure opened your eyes not just to your weakness, but also to your need for grace?