It was an anxious time for Peter. He had some serious fence-mending to do. Just days before, Jesus had been arrested and placed on trial in the courtyard of the home of the high priest. After the arrest, his disciples had followed at a distance. Without their leader they were confused and troubled. Their world was surreal, upended, chaotic.
On the edges of the crowd, not once but three times, some bystander confronted Peter with the charge that he knew Jesus. More than that – the accusation was that he was one of Jesus’ associates, one of his disciples.
Each time Peter denied the truth of the accusation with increasing ferocity. Finally, in his exasperation, Peter called curses down on himself and swore his denial. Just then, Jesus turned and his eyes met Peter’s and Peter wept bitterly at his cowardice. To save himself, he had denied his Lord.
Now, little more than a week later, the world which collapsed into chaos at the arrest, condemnation and crucifixion of Jesus has been transformed. There is still a sense of everything in disarray, but it is different now. It is no less disorienting, but it is no longer the disorientation that leads to despair, but a wildness and a newness which gives birth to hope.
But for Peter there is a great shadow which casts its pall over this new dawning. It is the shadow of guilt and distance caused by his denial of his Lord. Could there be forgiveness and restoration? Sitting in his fishing boat on the Sea of Tiberius that question repeats itself over and over. Then a man on the shore calls out, interrupting his thoughts. The man tells these professional fishermen that despite their fruitless efforts through the night, if they would just cast their nets on the other side of the boat, they would take in a catch.
And what a catch! As soon as the fish are hauled on board, John recognizes that the man on the shore must be Jesus. But it is Peter, so eager for reconciliation, who is the first to act. He dives into the water and makes for shore. And, later, when Jesus asks for fish to eat, it is Peter who rushes back to the boat to grab them. No one is more motivated than he is to please the Master.
After breakfast, Jesus asks Peter if he loves him. Not once, but three times he asks. Peter is shaken that the Lord doesn’t seem to believe his affirmation. But just as Peter three times denied knowing Jesus, he now three times professes his love. As they walk along the shore, Jesus then proceeds to tell Peter about Peter’s future – one that promises suffering and hardship. But, despite the high cost, Jesus issues a call to his friend, “Follow me”. Peter is still loved and wanted.
Peter then looks around and he sees John, who is widely known to hold a special place in Jesus’ heart. Peter and Jesus are better, almost back to normal it seems. It is almost as it used to be: Jesus leading out and Peter boldly following. But perhaps there is still lingering guilt and doubt nagging at him. Perhaps he still needs to know where he stands and he thinks, “If I knew how I stacked up against John, then I would know where I stand”. And so, Peter casts a glance back over his shoulder at his fellow disciple and asks, “What about him?”
Jesus then gives an answer which makes it clear that John’s future is not Peter’s concern. “What is that to you?” he replies, “You must follow me.”
“What about him?”
Like Peter, many of us have things in our past that make us wonder if God could ever love us. Could we be forgiven? And, if so, how would we ever know it with any confidence? We read the assurances of Scripture, but personally applying the things we read is hard to do. We have to take those words on faith.
And since faith is what the whole Jesus-life is supposedly about, you wouldn’t think that we would have such a hard time with it. But it seems that many of us are operating on the premise that something as significant as our salvation shouldn’t be left to something as abstract and unverifiable as faith. Or grace.
I feel the need to confirm my security, my worthiness in God’s eyes. So how do I do it? I could rely on God’s grace – but where is the reality in that? What confidence can I place in something that goes against everything my life experience has taught me? The world impresses the lessons upon me that you have to make your own way, earn your stripes and pay your dues. There is no free lunch. Every bit of love most of us have ever known has been conditional and threatened by our failure to perform.
Sure, the scriptures talk about grace. But that’s just the marketing side of the business. When you get to the accounting division, the books had better balance. You’d better be ‘in the black’ when they tote up your account.
It doesn’t help that the church is often so obsessed with external measurements like how much you do, how often you attend, how much you give. It only confirms our suspicions that, under his nice-guy façade, Jesus is a moral bean-counter with very accurate and detailed records. So how do we calm our nagging doubts, our unresolved guilt? How do we know if we measure up and make the cut?
We need something solid to base our confidence upon. We need metrics and measurements, standards and standings. And so we fall back on the always reliable yardstick Peter whipped out on the beach: comparison. “What about him?” And, “How do I measure up?”
We jockey for security by earning a place at the head of the line. But in our desperation to move to the front, we sometimes move forward by pushing others back. We elevate ourselves by pushing others down. It has become such a normal part of who we are and what we do, we don’t even see what we are doing anymore.
And so comparison comes with a whole raft of nasty traveling companions: criticism, character assassination, pride, pushing for recognition, condescension, gossip, boasting, self-righteousness, false humility, hypocrisy and self-justification – just to name a few. The list pretty well makes up the heavy-hitters of issues that non-Christians bring up as to why they are so turned off by Christians.
“What about them?”
But it is not just a matter of comparing where I stand in my line, but we are looking at all the other lines, as well. How does our line compare with the other lines that are queuing up alongside us? Is our line straighter, or longer, more contemporary or more traditional, more accurate or more relevant? Are we more correct in our theology, more correct in our worship, more correct in our ecclesiology? Are we more moral? Are we the purest in our personal ethics or the most socially ethical? Do we do a better job of avoiding worldliness, or do we do a better job of serving the poor? Are we better because we are the biggest, or are we the purest because we are the smallest?
I was reading a blog post the other day that talked about the tendency of Christians to try to convert other Christians.[i] The host of the blog is, himself, a ‘post-evangelical’ who has pretty much withdrawn himself from the conservative denomination in which he was raised. But by admitting that he has not yet found a settled new denominational home, he has invited the attention of scores of people who try to convert him to their tradition. And each one is convinced of that tradition’s superiority to all the other options.
After reading a number of their comments, I added my own, and it went something like this:
Many of us have been, at one time or another, a persistent or even pushy advocate for a denomination or group. I wonder if we can honestly recognize our devotion to that group and our willingness to proselytize for it as an act of self-protection and self-identification, as much as it is a subscription to their particular forms or beliefs.
While those forms and beliefs may be the stated issues of contention when we argue amongst ourselves, it is possible that these are not the real issues and that something much more visceral and personal is at stake.
Our value and security should be centered in our identity in Christ. But that identity is, in some ways, abstract and frustratingly intangible. So we find ourselves driven to find a more tangible assurance of our identity and worth. Identifying with a particular church that we choose to believe ‘gets it’ and is the real deal, gives us a more concrete sense of getting it and being the real deal ourselves.
Once we are among the ‘really’ saved and those who are ‘really’ in-the-know, we possess a sense of belonging and security. Then we are obliged to protect that upon which our identity now depends. So, to protect that security, we must defend our brand with zeal and proselytize as if the rest of Christendom is in peril if they don’t come around to our view.
“What about him? “ These three words represent one of the most effective traps which would pull us away from personal, vital faith to religiosity and self-righteousness. It is the snare of comparison. How do I stack up? Am I below average, on the mark or at the head of the pack? What do others think of me relative to others here? Do they think I’m impressive, or a disappointment? Am I better liked, more respected, admired (or even envied) by others?
Paul talks about how foolish it is to do this when he writes, “When they measure themselves by themselves and compare themselves with themselves, they are not wise.”[ii]
Yes, comparison gives us something tangible and visible to measure ourselves against. But in God’s kingdom, what we can see isn’t always the most reliable or trustworthy guide. Plus there’s also Paul’s reminder that spiritually, “We live by faith, not by sight”. [iii] Or by comparisons.
Bottom line, Jesus’ response was, “What is that to you? You must follow me.” If you’re really in step behind him, He will lead you down a path unlike anyone else’s. (If we’re all walking the same way, there’s a good chance that our eyes are so intently focused on each other that we can’t have our eyes on him.) On your journey, you won’t have others to compare yourself to. On your journey, there’s no race, no competition and no rankings. There’s only one question: How closely are you following him?
[i] http://www.internetmonk.com/archive/how-to-talk-to-an-evangelical-on-a-journey#more-4552
[ii] II Corinthians 10:12b
[iii] II Corinthians 5:7
Steve, you bring up a very important point. You spoke of our worthiness and how we “measure up” and the dangers of thinking that we are there and have it all, and those other guys over there don’t. We tend to forget that “no one is worthy, no, not one”. If we think that we have “measured up”, we haven’t! And I like the translation you use of John 21:22. The “you” is emphatic in the Greek and not present in some translations, but it should be there. The word Jesus used, the verb “akoloutheo”, meaning to follow, means more than that. With it also carries the sense of order and obedience. Maybe when it comes time to do my master’s thesis I’ll do some exegetical work on the more subtle meanings of some of the Greek passages in the N. T.