The Peter Principle

Even when their foolish words they turned on him,
He did not his disciples send away;
He knew their hearts were foolish, eyes were dim,
And therefore by his side needs must they stay.
Thou wilt not, Lord, send me away from thee.
When I am foolish, make thy cock crow grim;
If that is not enough, turn, Lord, and look on me.

—GEORGE MACDONALD

Warm-up: Luke 22:54–62

Peter, you know, was a commercial fisherman, fishing on one of the most dangerous inland seas in the world, the Sea of Galilee. Every day he faced death, and, like other men who live on the edge, he had that calm assurance that made you believe in him.

On one occasion, when our Lord was telling his apostles of the trouble that lay ahead, he suggested they buy a sword. The disciples replied, “See, Lord, here are two swords. . . .” (Luke 22:38).

Peter had one of the swords, we know, but he may have packed both of them—slung low on his hips and tied down. Peter was ready to defend his Lord and die if he had to: “Even if all fall away,” he swore, “I will not!” (Mark 14:29).

When the Roman cohort came to arrest Jesus in the garden, Peter was true to his word. He took on the mob. You have to admire his courage, though arguably his judgment (as well as his marksmanship) left something to be desired.

If you didn’t know better, and you were standing there watching Peter at that moment, you might think that this was his finest hour, but it wasn’t, as Jesus made clear. Peter’s finest hour was actually the hour of his denial. That’s where we see the makings of a good man.

Luke gives us an explicit and candid account of Peter’s betrayal. He did not try to shield his friend from the shame. Peter wouldn’t have wanted him to, because he wanted others to learn the lessons he had learned: that our strengths are more dangerous than our weaknesses, and that our Lord is as gracious in failure as he is in success.

Luke tells us that at Jesus’ arrest all his disciples forsook him and fled. “Strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered,” as the prophet had predicted (Zechariah 13:7).

Two of the apostles, however, Peter and John, managed to pull themselves together and follow the crowd to Annas’s house. John went inside, since he was known by the high priest, but Peter was left outside the gate.

John immediately missed his companion and went looking for him. Discovering Peter lingering outside, John went to the young woman who was in charge of the gate and asked her to admit his friend.

Someone had built a charcoal fire in the middle of the courtyard to fend off the evening chill, and Peter moved toward the warmth of the fire with the crowd gathered around. The group was composed of soldiers and temple officers and and their families and friends, and they were almost certainly talking about the events of the night. Peter stood with them and listened in, warming himself by their fire and enjoying the warmth of the inner circle.

His inclusion, however, was short-lived: the young woman who let him in the door wandered over and recognized him in the flickering light. Luke says she “stared” at him, perhaps surprised to see him with the crowd acting as though he belonged.

If, like John, he had withdrawn into the shadows of the courtyard, she might have left him alone, but to find him near the fire, amiably chatting with Jesus’ enemies seemed so incongruous that she blurted out: “This man was with [Jesus]” (Luke 22:56).

Peter was caught off guard. If he had been arrested and dragged before Annas he might have stood his ground, but he hadn’t expected this attack—and he buckled. Confused by the girl’s statement and the lapse in conversation that followed, Peter blurted out, “Woman, I don’t know him” (22:57). This was his first denial.

After this Peter went out into the outer porch, perhaps to get away from the growing hostility of the crowd. At that moment a cock began to crow signaling the dawn, but the warning was lost on Peter, for there was another young woman standing nearby who spoke to one of her male companions, who in turn said to Peter, “You also are one of them.” “Man,” Peter blustered, “I am not!” (22:58). This was his second denial.

An hour went by. Once again Peter was near the fire chatting with those who were gathered and some man, noting his accent, began to say, “Certainly this fellow was with him, for he is a Galilean” (22:59). Others chimed in.

Peter was frightened and began to curse and swear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he declared and walked away (22:60). Even as he was speaking, the cock crowed again as Jesus had said it would. This was Peter’s third denial.

It happened at this moment that Jesus was being led from Annas’s house to Caiaphus and must have passed through the courtyard or one of the porches that surrounded the courtyard. He turned and looked at Peter—a lingering look of mingled love and sorrow—and Peter’s heart broke.

He ran from Annas’s house through the dark streets of Jerusalem, down through the Kidron to Gethsemane—perhaps to the spot where his Lord had knelt in the grass—and there he wept tears of deep repentance. Dear Peter: quick to defend, quick to deny, quick to repent.

Remarkable, isn’t it, that Peter could have fallen so easily? His honest, ingenuous nature didn’t lend itself to lying, and he wasn’t prone to cowardice, but in the face of ridicule he turned into a mass of pudding.

None of the other disciples would have imagined that the “Rock-man” could become such a hapless, blustering coward. How could Peter have fallen apart so completely?

Well, the answer is easy. He did so because he believed too much in himself.

Earlier Jesus had warned Peter:

“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”

But he replied, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” Jesus answered, “I tell you, Peter, before the cock crows today, you will deny three times that you know me” (Luke 22:31–34).

Did Peter mean what he said? Of course he did. He took a solemn vow that he would not deny his master, “Even if all [by which he meant all the other apostles] fall away, I will not.” Peter was “the little engine that could.”

But he couldn’t. His grief and weariness, his hunger for approval, his natural instinct to protect himself did him in.

Firm determination is commendable, steadfast commitment is laudable, but self-confidence is deadly, and there’s more of that dangerous stuff in us than even the best of us can imagine.

The main thing is to acknowledge that our strength is the worst thing about us. God fears it and so should we. Strong men blunder around and make things difficult for God and for themselves. There’s little that God can do with them. It’s only the weak who can be made strong and able.

That’s why God has to break down our strength. That’s why we have to be humiliated. It’s the only way. Peter later wrote, “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (1 Peter 5:5–6). He learned that lesson through the humiliation of his humiliating denials.

Some years ago Carolyn wrote a poem about Peter’s failures and her own. It’s one of my favorite poems (as she’s one of my favorite poets). Carolyn calls it “Peter’s Prayer and Mine.”

Lord, I start so strong
saying “Anywhere!”
And I try to war and to defend you
with sharpness and steel.
But Lord, I merely maim and wound;
You alone can heal.

And then, bewildered in the mess,
I start denying, all confused.

But Lord, that crowing in the night
has jerked my spirit to attention.

And now I know—You knew it then—
I’m weak
inept,
cowardly,
betraying,
dust,
guilty—just like him.

O Lord, compassionate and healing,
You prayed then.

And now I turn
in humble weakness and
in faith
to worship You—and then
to strengthen them.

Hallowed be Thy name!

There is another lesson to learn from Peter’s denial: God walks with us through our failures. “He keeps his foolish disciples close to his side,” George MacDonald said, “for he knows we would never learn anything if he shunned us.”

Jesus never gave up on Peter. Under the surface and out of sight there was a singular grace that redeemed and restrained Peter’s natural willful and wayward life: it was his passionate love for his Master and his profound hunger to obey him.

Sin is not the worst thing in the world. The worst thing in heaven and earth is a cold, hard heart. Peter had many flaws, but a cold heart was not among them. He loved his Lord passionately. “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Jesus asked. “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you,” was Peter’s reply (John 21:17).

The other thing about Peter is that he knew he was loved by his Lord. Nothing he did or didn’t do could make God love him more; nothing he did or didn’t do could make God love him less. He dared to believe in his Lord’s forgiving and renewing grace.

The real quality of the soul is revealed, not in the way that it yields to temptation, but in the way that it recovers from failure. Peter knew he could come back to Jesus again and find the forgiveness he needed.

Carolyn pointed out to me one day that perhaps the only difference between Judas and Peter is that Peter never gave up. There is something much worse than failing. It is failing to try again.

“No amount of falls will really undo us,” C. S. Lewis said, “if we keep picking ourselves up each time. We shall, of course, be very muddy and tattered children by the time we reach home . . . . The only fatal thing is to lose one’s temper and give up.”

Man’s forgiveness may be true and sweet
Yet he stoops to give it. More complete
Is Love that lays forgiveness at your feet
And pleads with you to raise it.
—ALBERT PROCTER

Taken from In Quietness and Confidence, ©1999 by David Roper. Used by permission of Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids, MI 49501. All rights reserved.