A Good Friday Meditation

This is a meditation I wrote for our Good Friday Experience. Feel free to use it or pass it on to others.

Ever heard the same story about an event, but from different story tellers? It’s always a little different. Even if the storytellers are true to the facts, each story will be unique. Take “the details” for instance: what detail might be important for one storyteller is omitted by another.  Each storyteller also brings a unique perspective – what one person sees from where he is standing, another might have missed because of where she was at.

That’s what we get with gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. While each book is ultimately about the story of God’s rescue mission of his people through Jesus Christ, each one weaves the story of Jesus in a little bit different way. Each one brings out different details and perspectives. In the final words of John’s gospel, the writer said this to us,

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

So we have weeks and months and even years of Jesus life omitted. Countless miracles and conversations, journeys he took and jokes he made, all waiting for another Day to be told. And another Storyteller to tell them.

But regardless of the difference points each of the gospel storytellers bring out, each one narrows their focus to one Thursday night in the spring at the end of Jesus’ third year of ministry. We learn of a meal Jesus and his disciples shared – it wasn’t just any meal – it was the meal that remembered the blood. The blood spread on the doorframe that caused the Lord to passover the houses of the Israelite slaves – sparing the lives of their firstborn, but bringing death to the Egyptians’ sons.

And from each Gospel writer, we learn that Jesus predicted his betrayal – as well as learning who the betrayer is. From three of the writers, we learn about his praying in an olive grove called Gethsemane. Matthew, the tax collector who followed Jesus, tells us that this was a usual spot for Jesus to hang out and pray.

From here, each gospel writer carries us along in a story that starts with a kiss and leads to a crucifixion. We learn that one of the disciples cut off the ear of the high priest’s slave. John wasn’t afraid to name names: his Gospel told us it was Peter. Luke was the only one to tell us that Jesus healed the man’s ear. And what was Luke’s vocation? Oh yeah, a physician. Two gospels tell us that Jesus followers fled – and Mark goes so far to say that one follower lost his shirt in the chase, so to speak. Two of the gospels give us the sense that Peter and John doubled back to follow Jesus to the high priest’s house. John’s connections got them in the courtyard, and a fire kept them warm as the high council killed time until Pilate’s office opened in the morning.

At this point, each of the Gospel writers moves to the subplot of Peter’s story. Without exception, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John all wrote of Jesus’ prediction of Peter’s denial, as well as Peter’s vehement refusal that he could or would ever deny his Lord. Now in the courtyard, John tells us that the first denial came as he barely made it in the door – the servant girl who let them in recognized Peter and accused him of being a disciple. She was easy to shrug off with, a “No, I’m not.”

The second denial was also made to a servant girl. This wasn’t the Sanhedrin interrogating Peter – but lowly female servants without any social standing or authority. And yet, he denied his connection with his friend Jesus.

The third denial happens after Peter is being Peter – he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Those around him recognized his Galilean accent and asserted that he must’ve been with Jesus. John pointed out that one of the men who challenged him was a relative of the guy who’d had his ear cut off.  You can almost hear him, “Hey man, you’re the one that cut off my cousin’s ear!”

It was all too much for Peter. During his second denial, he went so far as to declare an oath that he did not know Jesus. Now on his third denial, his years as a rough commercial fisherman pay off: he’s able to cuss and swear to convince them that he doesn’t know this Jesus.

At this point all the gospel writers tell us that the rooster crows. Each gospel tells that Peter immediately went out and wept, knowing what he had done. All except one Gospel. The Gospel of Luke adds one short sentence, eight words, that none of the other Gospel storytellers give us. It’s easy to miss it. But here it is.

As Peter was cursing Jesus, the rooster crowed and the Gospel  of Luke says this: “The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter.”

 According to Luke, it wasn’t the rooster that brought Peter back to the memory of Jesus telling him that he would disown him. It was Jesus himself.

Luke 22:61-62: The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: "Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times." ⁶²And he went outside and wept bitterly.

The Message translation says the Peter went out “and cried and cried and cried.”

I wonder what he saw in Jesus’ eyes that drove him to such despair.

Was there hurt? A close and dear friend had just cut Jesus deep. He had to be hurt.

Probably anger. Maybe Jesus thought, “They were servants, Peter, two of which were girls. You couldn’t even stand up to servant girls?! After everything I did for you?”

Maybe there was a look of “What did I tell ya?!” Jesus called it, and now Peter had to believe it.

I think for a lot of us, the thing we would expect to see in Jesus’ face is disappointment.

Think about how often we must disappoint God. The way we talk about other people. The way we treat our kids or our spouse. The things we look at and think about that nobody else knows about. The way we handle our money. The way we tell little lies to make ourselves look good. How can he not be disappointed in us?

I wonder if that’s what Peter saw. Luke doesn’t say. But whatever he saw, it tore him up inside.

There’s a story told in three Gospels about a rich young ruler asking Jesus what must be done to ensure eternal life. At one point in this brief encounter, Mark tells us that Jesus “looked at him and loved him.” This wealthy young man was lost – he was so lost that he didn’t even know he was lost. And Jesus looked at him and loved him. Over and over we see in the Gospels situations where Jesus sees a hungry crowd, or an invalid, or blind man, or some other lost and rejected person, and these storytellers say that Jesus had compassion on him or her or them.

Peter was no less lost or rejected than them, even as the morning of the first Good Friday began with the rooster crow. Could it be that Jesus looked at him and loved him? I think that’s what Peter saw, and I think that’s why it was so overwhelming and heartbreaking. If Jesus had given him a look of disappointment or one that said “I told you so”, it might have been easier to take. Peter probably would’ve preferred a look of anger or hurt, because he knew that’s what he deserved. But he didn’t see anger. He didn’t see hurt or disappointment.

I think Peter saw love. And that’s what made the bitter reality of his denial cut even deeper.

The story of the first Good Friday continues on from there, but let’s, for a moment, think about your story. How would you tell it – which details would you leave in and which would you omit? What if your spouse told your story, or maybe your kids, or maybe your parents? What details might come out? What if your closest friend or a long-time coworker told your story from her perspective?

At some point, from some source, the story of your deepest failures and your darkest moments will come out. Where no matter how hard you tried, no matter what your intentions were, you fell. You failed. You denied. You betrayed. You walked away.

How does that story end?

If we could see beyond the veil of this fallen world, we could finish our story of our darkest moment and our deepest failure with this: “Jesus turned and looked straight at me. I saw His love.”

When Jesus looked at Peter, he was looking at all of us, each in our darkest moment. And his look of love said, “this is why I’m about to go to the cross, to rescue you from the darkness. To defeat the enemy who has held you in captivity. I’m not disappointed with you. I didn’t expect you to stand up or to not fail. You’re lost and broken. And I love you too much to let you stay that way.”

And so began Friday. The day Jesus would endure multiple trials, beatings, a Roman flogging, and eventually have his hands and feet nailed to cross. And yet we call it Good. Good Friday. It’s only by knowing the rest of the story – by standing outside the empty tomb on Sunday and looking back. From there we can see that Jesus, through the cross, has redeemed our deepest failures and darkest moments. And has written us a new ending to our story.