Crow | Wayfarer

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The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter…
Luke 22:61 (NIV)

One of the great themes woven through the entire Story is the tension between chaos and order.

Genesis opens with the chaos of the deep.
God speaks—and order is born.

The serpent enters the garden.
Deception takes root.
Sin fractures the world.

And from that moment on, the Story becomes a slow, relentless restoration.

Order… reclaimed from chaos.

Luke 22 is one of those moments where everything feels like it’s falling apart.

From the disciples’ perspective—boots on the ground—the world is unraveling.

What began as a night of celebration collapses into fear.

A friend—Judas—becomes a traitor.
Jesus, the one they’ve followed for three years…

Healing the sick.
Casting out demons.
Commanding storms.
Feeding thousands.
Raising the dead.

…is led away in chains like a lamb to slaughter.

The disciples scatter into the night.

And suddenly, the questions come rushing in:

Are we next?
Who will protect us?
What do we do now?

Earlier that evening, Jesus had led them—as usual—to a garden.

A place of peace.
Of prayer.
Of presence.

But another presence slithered in.

The ancient serpent.
Already coiled within Judas.

God.
Garden.
Order.

And then—

Chaos.

Peter, to his credit, doesn’t run far.

He follows… at a distance.

Close enough to see.
Far enough to stay safe.

Until he’s recognized.

“You’re one of them.”

He denies it.

Again.
And again.

Then Luke gives us this haunting detail—

As Peter speaks his third denial, Jesus is being led past him.

And in that moment…

Jesus turns.

And looks straight at Peter.

Not a glance.
Not a passing flicker.

A look.

And suddenly, the words from earlier that night come rushing back:

“Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.”

The rooster crows.

Peter breaks.

For most of my life, I’ve stood in that moment with Peter.

And I’ve felt what he felt:

Shame.
Guilt.
Self-loathing.

But in the quiet this morning… I saw something different.

I saw control.

In the middle of chaos, Jesus is not surprised.
Not overwhelmed.
Not scrambling.

He is fully aware.

I saw compassion.

Though He is the one suffering—though the weight of what is coming is already pressing in—His eyes are not on Himself.

They are on Peter.

I saw purpose.

This moment didn’t derail the plan.

It was the plan.

Jesus knew.
Jesus said it would happen.
And still… He chose Peter.

Above the chaos the disciples would eventually see and understand that something deeper was unfolding:

Sin being atoned for.
Death being undone.
Creation being made new.

Order… rising again from chaos.

And somewhere in that storm…

Jesus looks at Peter.

And He looks at me.

Because I know that moment.

When fear floods in.
When anxiety tightens its grip.
When doubt whispers louder than truth.

When I fail in ways I swore I never would.

And in that place…

Jesus gives me the look.

Not the look of condemnation.

But the look that says—

I’m still in control.
I still love you—yes, even here.
And there is purpose… even in this.

The Creator is still at work.

Still speaking.
Still restoring.
Still bringing order… out of chaos.

I’m traveling on business this week. See you Friday.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.

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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.” And he went outside and wept bitterly.
Luke 22:61-62 (NIV)

As a child, I had a healthy conscience. If I had done something wrong, it weighed on my heart like the proverbial millstone Jesus referenced as just punishment for causing a little one to stumble. Looking back, it’s fascinating for me to think about the things that sent me into attacks of shame and the the things I could convince myself weren’t “that bad.”

It starts at such an early age, doesn’t it? The mental gymnastics of moral justice: What’s bad? What’s very bad? What’s not a big deal (if you can get away with it)? What sins weigh heavier on the scales of justice within the family system, the school system, the neighborhood system, and the peer group system?

It was fascinating for me to become a father and observe just how opposite two children with the same genes can be within the same family system. One daughter’s conscience was impregnable. She always pled “not guilty” no matter how red-handed she might have been caught. She remained stoically resolute, stuck with her plea, and quickly appealed any parental verdict as prosecutorial overreach and abuse of power. At times it was comical, at other times it was maddening.

With the other daughter, all it took was a look. A look of condemnation, or worse yet – a look of disappointment. Her little spirit wilted. Tears flowed. If nature helps to determine temperament, then I’m pretty certain she got that from me. Oh, that parenting could always be as easy as a look.

The look. That’s what struck me in today’s chapter. I find it fascinating that Luke included this little detail. Peter utters his third denial and immediately the rooster crows. With that audio cue, Jesus turns and looks directly at Peter. The denial, the rooster, the look. The weight of his denial, his sin, and the hollow emptiness of his emphatic assurance to be imprisoned and die with Jesus all come crashing down on Peter in a moment. He runs. He weeps bitterly.

As a child with a healthy conscience, it’s easy for me to feel that weight. I identify with Peter.

“Me, too, dude,” my spirit whispers to the weeping, shamed, unworthy Simon. I totally identify with Peter at that moment; The seemingly ill-chosen ”Rock” and ”Keeper of the Keys.” By default, I ‘m ready to sit down with Peter and have a shame-induced pity party.

But, there’s something else I noticed in today’s chapter: Jesus knew. Jesus not only saw Peter’s impending denial and failure to follow-through on his assurances, but He also saw past the failure to the sorrow, repentance, and restoration. Jesus’ perceived that Peter’s fall would ultimately help mold him into a more solid, humble, and capable leader. Much in the same way that, as a father, I knew that one daughter’s tender spirit was going to develop into a heart of compassion that God would use in one way, and that God would use my other daughter’s strength of will and resolution for different but just as meaningful purposes.

In the quiet this morning I find the realization that I’m quick to sit and wallow with Peter in the failure and shame. This, however, means that I am slow to accept God’s perfect knowledge of me, my shortcomings, my failures, my heart of repentance, my restoration, and all that He is molding me to be for His Kingdom purposes. Embracing the former without embracing the latter is to accept an incomplete reality: Jesus remains very disappointed in me and I remain shamed and self-condemned. Within days, the resurrected Christ would stand on a beach graciously prompting from Peter three “I love you’s” to replace the three ”I don’t know Him’s.” Peter remains on course for the journey of love, faith, leadership, transformation and sacrifice to which he’d been called from the beginning.

It’s so easy for me to see “the look” of Jesus as one of a disappointment. But just as I could “look” at my daughters and see beyond their momentary infractions to the amazing individuals they would grow to be, “the look” of Jesus always sees beyond my failure to the fullness of all I am and will be in Him.