The fearful disciple shot back,
To servant girl, dignity lacked,
Not only once, but thrice was said,
‘This man on trial, cursed as dead,
I do not know his origin
His teaching, his fol-wers of men,
Who sat beside him, day and night,
Asking questions, inquiring light
On mysteries of things of old
Of whom the prophets patiently told.
I say again, this criminal
--my verdict comes; there is no lull—
You say accent betrays, hear this:
This Son of David, I will not miss.’
As dark foaming clouds spread abroad
Former blue skies, this man now thought
Of broken confidence now revealed
Concerning this man of Galilee.
With the pain of Gethsemane,
This broken man now groped to see
And so he wept, “God of Abraham
What have I done! Three years a sham
Of faith! Three years of patient grace
Now thrown back in my Savior’s face!
I promised! Swore! Though oth’rs would fail
To stand, my firm faith must prevail.
The Gates of Hell, now burst open,
Consuming the confession when
I said, ‘You are the Christ, Rabbi.’
You called me the Rock,” Peter cried.
“I’ve hewn myself, and been cast aside
Your steadfast grace, no longer mine.”
His heavy heart began to sink
As boulders hurled into the sea.
Then thoughts of doubts coupled his mind
About this man. “Recall the time
A week ago, donkey he rode
Worship given, majesty flowed
Our burdened yoke he came to break
He said he’d die, I knew he’d make
Our bondage loose. The Romans should
Have their reign toppled. I thought he could.”
Despair now turned to rage. “O God,
Reigning on high, worthy of laud,
Only I may but speak my mind
Of prom--ses made, you’ve failed this time.
The yoke we have is tyranny
Others outside of Galilee.
Kingdom you prom-sed has never come
And without this man, is it done?
Moments ago my faith denied
But about this man,” Peter cried,
“Messiah to die? Why, God, why?”
Stumbling past the desolate
Terrain, broken Simon now met
A memory from days before
Kind words to Peter from his Lord,
“Simon, behold, Satan has asked
Like chaff from wheat, he wants to cast
You from my side. You will not last.
But Simon, here is hope: I pray
That despite your fall, you will stay
And when you turn, point to my grace
For others, like you, won’t seek my face.
You see, my friend, my life I give
Sacrificing so they might live.
Simon, you’ll fail, but hear me say
O my friend, here is hope: I pray.”
Life sprang forth from this stony Rock
He knew Jesus—the one he’d mocked
With denial—was one who’d save
Man from trials, not others-made,
But trials within, inside the heart,
Addicted to pride one can’t depart.
Patterns of malice, fear, and greed
Peter now knew his enemies.
The Rabbi’s mission was to save
Not from Romans, but in the grave,
Defeat the dreaded foe within
Ways of the tyranny of sin.
At once the Rock began to see,
“I’ve been saved, I’ve been saved from me!
Rescued now from Satan’s grasp
Of guilt, his conscience free at last!
As morning on the Friday dawned
Peter proclaimed, filled with a song,
“I’m starting to see, why your Son,
Made as a man on earth to come.
Along I’ve thought, he crush our foes,
But pride is not the path he chose
Clothed not with flesh to wield a sword
Abstaining pomp, a baby born,
The God who thought and laughed and cried
Perfectly man who soon will die
To establish his throne and break
The chains of bondage. He will take
My fear and doubt, as perfect one,
Breaking bondage is why he’s come.
