Tag Archives: Rooster

The Look

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.

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

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The Look

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.

The Moment

Again Peter denied [he was with Jesus in the garden], and at that moment the cock crowed.
John 18:27 (NRSV)

Of the big four biographies of Jesus, John has always been my favorite. Each one has their own style. I can appreciate Matthew for his accounting of the events. I appreciate Mark for his ability to compact so much information into so concise a retelling. I love Dr. Luke for his thorough, methodical presentation of his investigation and the minute details he includes. I love John most of all because John has a flair for writing. John is right brained. John is an artist. He is thematic in his narrative, and he has a flair for the dramatic.

Four chapters ago, John foreshadowed the events in today’s chapter when he recounts Jesus telling Peter: “Very truly, I tell you, before the cock crows, you will have denied me three times.”

As John picks up the story line in today’s chapter I, as a reader, almost feel like I’m stealing alongside Peter and “the other disciple.” (many scholars think the “other” disciple was John himself) as they covertly infiltrate the courtyard and house of the High Priest where Jesus is being questioned. They are in enemy territory. The High Priest is the one who wants to kill Jesus and squash their uprising like Michael Corleone taking out one of the five families. It did not take a genius to know that this High Priest/Godfather would relish the opportunity to kill Jesus’ followers as well. Peter is on thin ice.

John is careful to describe each denial. We learn where he was and who did the questioning. The other biographers merely relay the facts as though Peter’s denials happened in one short burst of conversation. John lays out the story. It is on their way through the gate into the High Priest’s courtyard that the servant woman checking tickets first asks Peter a question and implies a negative answer. “You aren’t one of Jesus’ followers, are you?” The denial is easy and convenient. A little white lie to ensure we get into the courtyard.

John writes out the narrative like a movie script. The scene changes to the questioning of Jesus inside the house. Time is elapsing. Peter’s denial did not come in rapid succession. There was time and space between them.

When the scene shifts back we find ourselves inside the High Priest’s courtyard. We are there warming our hands on the charcoal fire. We feel the chill in the air in the deep watches of the night. There is a crowd around the fire. This is the High Priest’s house and the crowd is full of people who could easily finger us as followers. The situation is tense, to say the least.

A man, an anonymous stranger in the crowd, once again asks Peter if he is a follower of Jesus. Once again the question implies a negative response. “You aren’t one of Jesus’ disciples, are you?” Heads turn. It’s suddenly very quiet around the fire. This is not just a random question. This is a life and death moment. We are about to be found out. Peter, once again, provides a little white lie to shrug off the suspicion.

But, it just may be that the jig is up. Another member of the crowd takes a good look at Peter. This time it is not an anonymous stranger. This is a family member of the man Peter attacked earlier in the evening. When they came for Jesus in the garden, Peter hacked off the ear of this man’s cousin. Now, the question is not just about political loyalty to Jesus. This question is about blood oaths and family and vengeance. You can cut the silence like a knife. Tension hangs in the air before Peter’s denial comes swift and strong. He is preventing a riot. He is saving his own neck. He is making sure we all get out of here alive.

And then, at that very moment, we hear the cock crow.

There is a moment of realization. Peter hears it. We hear it. The words of Jesus come flooding back to mind. “Before the cock crows….” Shame and failure mix in a bitter cup.

What a moment. John is a good writer. He has a flair for the dramatic. This is Jack Nicholson’s “code red” moment in A Few Good Men. This is Michael Corleone’s “I do renounce him” moment in The Godfather. We are there in this moment. We are with Peter. We are Peter. We get it. We understand. There is not one of us who has not had a cock crowing moment in our lives. Our failure and shame crash down on our heads in an instant and we realize just how wretched we are.

Today, I am thinking about my own “cock crowing” moments along life’s journey. It’s not hard to bring them quickly to mind. There are more of them than I care to admit. I am also thinking about John and the way he weaves Peter’s personal story into the Great Story he pens. We are in the darkness before dawn. It will descend to greater darkness before its done. The story is not over, however, for Jesus, for Peter, for you or for me.

It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.

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