John 18:15-27 The Power of the Cross: Power Denied
The War
There is a war raging within Simon Peter.
Peter is the biggest of Jesus’ disciples. The brashest. The best.
His devotion to his master is impulsive and complete. If Jesus asks a question, the other disciples can count on Peter to supply the answer. If Jesus insists on washing his feet, then Peter wants his whole body washed as well. If Jesus walks on water, Peter wants to be outside of the boat walking with Him. It’s always sink or swim with Peter. All or nothing.
Ever since he first dropped his nets to follow Jesus, Peter has gone wherever his master has gone. The Mount of Transfiguration? Peter was there. The room of that little girl that Jesus brought back to life? Peter didn’t miss it. The garden where that angry mob came for His Lord? Peter was right by His side, ready to fight and die.
But now they’ve led Jesus away. He’s inside the house of the High Priest and on trial for His life. He’s surrounded by angry officials and tense soldiers.
And there is a war inside Peter. A struggle between good and evil, between his commitment to his Lord and his commitment to his own survival.
He followed, of course. What else could he do?
The other disciples have gone to the four winds. That’s what Jesus said would happen. He said the shepherd would be struck and the sheep would scatter. But Peter was full of bluster: Even if everybody else falls away, I never will. I’ll follow you to death if I have to. And he meant it. It might have been impulsive to swing his sword at the high priest’s servant—but Peter meant to back up his promises. If Jesus was going down, Peter was going with Him…
…but then Jesus told him to put the sword away. Jesus didn’t fight. Instead He fixed the ear that Peter had hacked into. And then they were leading Him away in chains…
And the others melted away. And it was just Peter following the mob.
And now Jesus is inside the High Priest’s house, alone, facing His accusers. And the Almighty alone knows what they are doing to Him in there.
And here’s Peter, shuffling his feet outside the gate, fighting the battle inside of himself. He wants to stay. He has to stay. He said he would stay.
He can’t raise an army. He can’t even draw his own sword anymore. But at least he can be here. He can support the Lord by his presence. He can keep his vow.
But he wants to run. Everybody else ran. It’d be so much safer if he ran. Those guards… they’ve seen his face. They saw him swing that sword. They might be looking for him. Whatever Jesus gets, they might have more of the same for Peter. It’s a huge risk to be this close.
The war is raging.
The Price of Admission
And then Peter sees a crack in the gate. He hears a voice whispering his name.
It’s John. He’s inside the courtyard. Apparently, not all of the disciples have run.
John knows somebody inside the High Priest’s household. Social distinctions didn’t always run along class lines in those days. It wasn’t so unusual that the family of a fisherman would be known to the family of a priest. And so when the gate was opened for the guards to escort Jesus into the priest’s courtyard John went in too.
And now he’s persuaded the maid keeping the gate to open up for Peter.
As Peter sinks down into his cloak and makes his way into the courtyard, the girl asks a simple question: You are not one of his disciples, are you? It’s not an accusation, so much, as a question of astonishment: You’re not following this man that has everybody so worked up, are you? It’s practically a leading question, a question begging for the answer no.
So instinctively, reflexively, Peter gives her the answer he thinks she wants to hear: I am not.
Suddenly, Peter is frightfully aware of himself. The war has come to the surface. He didn’t mean to lie. He didn’t plan on it. But the anger he’s already seen that night--the bloodlust in those who’ve come after Jesus--has made it clear what’s at stake. So he deflected attention. He hid under the cover of denial.
Even as he feels the disbelieving eyes of the girl following him, Peter doesn’t turn and flee. At least I’m here, he tells himself. Somebody has got to stay close and support Jesus. Somebody has to bear witness. Peter tells himself the lie was simply the price of admission.
The Contrast
Inside, Jesus faces questions of His own. The High Priest is looking to trap Him. He wants to convict Jesus by His own words. But Jesus does not give. He calls attention to the public record. He stands by what He has said before. Even when an angry official strikes Him in the face, Jesus does not back down.
Jesus faces His questioners and denies nothing. His biggest, brashest, best disciple—meanwhile—cowers before his questioners and denies everything. (D.A. Carson, The Gospel According to John, 585-586)
The Fire
It’s cold. Bone-chillingly cold. The kind of cold that creeps in only after the moon has reached high into the sky.
The servants and officials milling around the courtyard have started a fire. These are some of the same people that were just in the garden, carrying their torches and weapons, eager to get their hands on Jesus. Now Peter tries to blend in with them. He holds his hands out to the fire even as he keeps an eye on the maid from the gate.
He sees the woman telling others of her suspicions. He notes the sidelong glances. The gestures in his direction. But still he stays. He promised to stay.
Now some of the guards are moving toward him. His eyes take in the hilts of their swords. The muscles tense beneath their robes. The square set of their jaws. You are one of them, aren’t you?
Peter gives a nervous chuckle. He deflects the attention with a shrug and a glance toward the gate. I don’t know that man, heh-heh. I don’t know what you are talking about.
The war is absolutely horrible now. Part of him is desperate to save himself. This lie was not a slip. It was deliberate and considered. Peter has separated himself from his Lord.
And yet, that he should even make the second denial at all proves that he intends to stay. His cover is blown, the danger is obvious, and Simon Peter is still here, sweating it out, loving His Lord.
Walter Wangerin Jr. writes:
Right now—after the second denial, before the third—the forces warring in Peter’s soul seem terribly equal: a tremendous, selfless love for Jesus keeps him there, while a consuming self-interest keeps him lying. He denies himself to stay by his Lord. He denies His Lord to save himself. Both. Good and bad.
Peter is paralyzed between the good that he would and the evil that he is. (Reliving the Passion, 88-89)
Struggling with Sin
Peter is not alone in this fight. The war raging in Peter is one that rages within us all.
Years later, the Apostle Paul gave voice to his own struggle. His words could just as well have been written by Peter that night in the courtyard. They are words we can all identify with, found in Romans 7:
15I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. 16And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. 17As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. 18I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.
What Peter’s story reveals to us is the reality of sin. Sin is an affliction that infects all of us—even the best of us. Sin is a capacity for doing things we hate.
Even when Peter knew the right thing to do—even as every fiber of his being called out for him to be faithful, to be loyal, to stand up for his Lord—he found himself covering his tracks. What I want to do I do not do.
You have to know that Peter didn’t want to shake with fear in front of a servant girl. You know he didn’t want to fail the biggest test of his life. And yet, push came to shove, and there were the lies. What I hate I do.
How often does that happen to us?
Does this sound familiar? You and your spouse had a fight. Voices were raised. Unpleasant things were said. You’ve since resolved the issue, but an uneasiness remains. There is a coldness between you still, an edge. So you commit to be agreeable. You tell yourself that when you get home from work you will not be cross, you will speak only kind words. You’re going to make up.
But then a computer malfunctions. You don’t get out of work as soon as you thought you would. A clerk is rude and unhelpful at the store. There’s a message from one of your kids’ teachers waiting for you at home, and it isn’t good. Your mood sours. You get impatient. And then, there’s your spouse, and you can’t keep the sarcasm from dripping. And BOOM! You’re right back in that fight.
It’s not what you planned—what I want to do I do not do—it’s not what you wanted—what I hate I do—you know it isn’t right-- I agree that the law is good—but you just can’t help yourself-- it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.
We all have this war waging within us between what is right and wrong. We know what is right, and yet so often we do what is wrong.
That’s sin. That’s our sinful nature. And it is oh so hard to kill.
Years ago Beth and I took our kids to San Antonio on Christmas break and we spent a couple of days at Sea World San Antonio. And one of our favorite things was the killer whale show. We were amazed to see these huge animals doing flips out of the water and swimming in synchronization and taking their trainers for rides.
And so it was a little jarring a couple of months later when news reports came out that a killer whale had killed its trainer at the Sea World Park in Orlando. It was sad and disturbing. And as I listened to the various debates on TV about whether killer whales should be in captivity or not, one thing stood out to me. A whale expert came on the news and said that when we watch the jumps and the shows it’s easy to start to think of these whales as pets. He said it’s easy to forget that they are still wild animals. Even though the whale in question had been in captivity for 30 years, it was still wild. Its nature hadn’t changed.
And that struck me. Because no matter how much we try to make ourselves better people… no matter how many resolutions to improve we make and the different ways we try to domesticate ourselves… no matter how many times we tell ourselves we are going to stop lying; we’re going to be more patient; we’re going to be less self-centered and more generous; we’re going to let go of grudges; we’re going to stop this bad habit or that…no matter how much we try, the fact remains that we are sinful by nature.
I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.
The fact is: we are all paralyzed between the good that we would, and the evil that we are.
The Breaking Point
And so, here is Peter: fighting to stay, wishing he could hide.
Another group approaches. Servants this time. Members of the High Priest’s house. And the one in front, familiar. He looks an awful lot like the fellow in the garden—the one with the ear. So similar, in fact, that they could be twins. And he’s got a look of malice on his face.
Didn’t I see you with him in the garden? In other words: Hey! Aren’t you the one who tried to cut my brother’s ear off?
And now the panic in Peter reaches new heights. His nostrils flare, his eyes go wide—he looks like a cornered animal. He calls curses down upon himself. He waves his arms as if to fend off an attacker. He says: Man! I have no idea what you are talking about!
At that precise moment three things happen: 1) over on the courtyard wall a rooster begins to call down the morning and Peter is reminded of his Lord’s prediction that he would fail; 2) Jesus Himself emerges from the house and turns to look straight at Peter; and 3) Peter breaks.
The battle is over. Peter flees the courtyard and in the shadows of Friday’s dawn he falls to the ground and weeps bitter tears.
Look Inside
It’s so easy to be hard on Peter. It’s so easy to say he should have stood up and done the right thing.
But there is a reason that the story of Peter’s denial makes it into all 4 accounts of Jesus’ life. There’s a reason we’re considering this story today. And it isn’t so we can pile on Peter.
God tells us the story of Peter because He wants us to know that Peter’s war is our war as well. This story is here to serve as a mirror. God wants us to look and see ourselves.
Please understand: sin is a reality for us all. We have all had the experience of doing what we hate; of doing the very thing we promised we would not do. And it is because of sin.
That’s not an excuse! It’s not O.K. for us to just shrug and say: well, that’s my nature. Just because we are sinful by nature does not give us license to do whatever we please.
But we will never resolve this war if we don’t understand our fundamental problem. We will never overcome this tendency to do what we hate unless we first grasp how entrenched sin is within our own hearts.
And so we must look inside of ourselves. We must look honestly at our lives and admit to our wrongdoing. We have to stop making excuses and own the sin that we do.
The Bible has a couple of words for this: confession and repentance.
Confession means we identify the sin in our lives and agree with God that it is wrong. It means no longer pretending that God doesn’t see. When we confess our sins to God we are acknowledging His right to set the standards for our lives and our failure to live up to them.
Repentance, then, goes a step farther. To repent means to turn away from something, to renounce it. It means to make a 180 degree course change. Genuine repentance involves a true sorrow over sin as an offense against God. More than just agreeing that sin is wrong, repentance hates sin and leaves it behind.
I read Peter’s weeping outside that courtyard as true repentance. He knew his failure. He hated it. And it brought him to tears.
I stand before you today and plead with you to confess and repent of your sins. Today, acknowledge that you have a sin problem. Admit your failures and let your heart break over the wrong in your life.
We will have no peace until we admit to the war. We will not change until we are willing to say that change is something we need.
Look to the Cross
But there is good news here as well. There is great and glorious news.
Because this is not Peter’s final scene in the Bible. As serious as his transgression in disowning his Lord was, Jesus is not done with Him. There is grace available.
The fact is: our sinful nature is not a beast that we can domesticate on our own. We cannot train it or whip it into shape. That’s the whole point Paul is making in Romans 7. But just as he comes to that sober conclusion, he gives a triumphant shout of hope:
24What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? 25Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!
While the war against sin is not one we can win on our own, it can be won by Jesus. It HAS been won by Jesus!
In fact, that’s the whole point of everything that was going on as Peter denied his Lord. The whole reason for Jesus’ arrest, the whole reason He was on trial, the whole reason for His crucifixion is that He was going to the cross to defeat sin and make forgiveness available. Forgiveness for Peter. Forgiveness for Paul. And forgiveness for you and me.
Last week Beth made the case that the cross was an absolutely necessary part of God’s plan. She said it was no accident that Jesus was arrested and led away. She said that the only way to solve our sin problem was at the cross.
But somebody might ask: is our sin problem really that bad? Is sin really so intractable that the bloody, violent, self-sacrificing death of God’s own son was really necessary?
And then comes the story of Jesus’ best disciple losing the war with sin, and the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. There was no other way to rescue us. It is not a problem we solve ourselves.
And so, in addition to pleading with you to look inside and be honest about your sin; I must beg you to look to the cross. Look to what Jesus did at the cross and accept the offer He gives. Let Him win the war for you. Let Him rescue you from sin.
When you turn away from your sin, you must also turn toward something. Turn toward the cross. Look to the Savior.
