Standing in the Ruins
There are a lot of things in life that make us afraid.
I’m convinced that fear is one of the most dominant forces we deal with every day, although a lot of the time we give it other names … names like stress. Or anxiety. Or worry, disquietude, troubled hearts.
It’s all fear in some form, and fear for all kinds of reasons. I think it’s impossible for us to live in this world without fear, so a better question is:
Do we fear the right things?
What fears should be bigger than others?
Are there serious fears we’ve never even thought about?
Are you afraid of being unimpressed by the love of God?
If you’re not, you should be. And this is where the logic of the Heidelberg Catechism helps us.
Meet the Heidelberg
The Heidelberg Catechism was first published in Germany in 1563, and it starts with the question:
Q1: “What is your only comfort in life and in death?”
This is an amazing first question that gets right to the heart of what every human wants to know: How do I have joy, in this life and beyond his life?
What is the main thing I should be holding onto?
Where should I set my hope?
What is my only comfort?
Answer:
That I am not my own,
but belong —
body and soul,
in life and in death —
to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
He has paid for all my sins with his precious blood,
And has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.
He also watches over me in such a way
That not a hair can fall from my head
Without the will of my Father in heaven:
In fact: all things must work together for my salvation.
Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
Assures me of eternal life
And makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
From now on to live for him.
Amen. Isn’t that beautiful? This is gospel reality! You can build your life on these truths.
But how exactly?
What do we need to know in order to live in this comfort?
Well, that’s the second question:
Q2: “What must you know to live and die in the joy of this comfort?”
And we might say:
We need to know the love of God in Christ.
We need to know what Jesus did to show us that love.
We need to understand the meaning of the cross.
And those are all good answers, but listen to the Heidelberg:
What must you know to live and die in the joy of the belonging wholly to Jesus Christ?
Answer:
Three things:
first, how great my sin and misery are;
second, how I am set free from all my sins and misery;
third, how I am to thank God for such deliverance.
Starting with Sin and Misery
Ultimately, the Christian life is a life of gratitude for our salvation. And the kind of gratitude we’re talking about is humble joy. We are a mainly thankful people — glad in God!
And that joy is rooted in a fact — the gospel event:
that Jesus Christ came and lived and died and rose again from the dead for us.
That he manifested the love of God for us.
That in him we are forgiven and free, both from the penalty and the power of sin.
This is the love of God! This is our salvation!
— Which does not make sense unless we start by knowing that first thing mentioned …
According to the logic of the Heidelberg, the coherence of the Christian life hinges on our first knowing the greatness of our sin and misery.
Simply put, we will fail to marvel at the magnitude of God’s love if we fail to realize the severity of our sin.
If we don’t realize how badly broken we are, we will miss the miracle of God’s remedy.
It’s like the snack cabinet door in our kitchen. …
We have two big cabinet doors in our kitchen that open up to our snacks — a favorite spot for our kids, as you might imagine. But they have a bad habit of leaving the cabinet doors wide open. And when the doors are open, with all the foot traffic, the doors get bumped and slammed and ripped off the hinges. I’ve repaired them several times, but most recently, the left door got absolutely shredded. It was split into about four different pieces. Part of it was still on the hinges, part of it on the floor. Looked like someone hacked it with an ax (I mean, I live with animals! … and we have a dog).
But when the house got quiet, and kids were in bed, I went to work on this thing, in phases. And the more I got into it, the more I realized how bad it was. I had to glue pieces back together, remove some nails, reconnect splintered sections, and rehang the hinges. It was a process, and the whole time I was thinking there’s about a 10% chance I can pull this off.
But, somehow, it worked. I was able to fix it, and now the cabinet door is back in operation, good as new.
And … nobody cares.
Nobody else is impressed by the repaired door because nobody else understood how badly it was destroyed.
They look at the cabinet door and just see a door, as expected, but every time I see it, I think “It’s a miracle!”
— What is the love of God to you?
If we assume that we’re not that bad off,
If we think that we’re mostly good people who just got a little turned around,
if we have a shallow understanding of sin,
then we will be unimpressed by the love of God. … And that should frighten us.
The Failures of the Disciples
It is really important that we understand and remember the severity of our sin and misery. The Heidelberg gives us the categories. The disciples give us the exhibit — and if we’re paying attention, we’ll see ourselves in it.
The Gospel of John almost features the failures of the disciples. John quietly, but steadily, brings them into view.
One by one, they speak.
One by one, they misunderstand.
One by one, they who are nearest to Jesus — and have been near to him for three years — they show they are still missing him.
This becomes especially clear at the end of Chapter 16 (we saw on Sunday). They suddenly think they have arrived. They act as if they are completely on board with everything Jesus has been saying.
Jesus, now we get it!
We understand who you are and what you’re up to, and we’re all in.
John doesn’t single anyone out here. He tells us that all of them — even himself — were caught up in this moment. But if we listen closely, the tone feels familiar. We’ve heard this voice before. There’s a certain kind of confidence here — a quickness to speak, a readiness to declare, a certainty that outruns reality. It brings to mind one disciple in particular.
Peter.
Peter, in Particular
Always first to speak.
First to step forward.
First to say what others are still thinking.
On this Thursday night, Peter has already spoken twice with a measure of self-confidence — and both times, Jesus has corrected him.
First, Peter said to Jesus: “You shall never wash my feet”!
Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” (13:8)
Second, Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.”
Jesus answered him, “Will you lay down your life for me? Truly, truly, I say you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times.” (13:37–38)
And in Chapter 16, verse 29, still, the confidence remains. John says all the disciples responded this way, but my hunch is that Peter was the ringleader. We’ve seen that he seems to set the tone. But Jesus has another correction. He tells him, and the others: You’re all gonna leave me.
And they all did. The others scattered quietly, but Peter … he makes such a mess. God knows I love him.
We could skip straight to the denials, but there’s another episode in the garden before we get there. All the Gospel writers tell us about it, but in the Gospel of John, John tells us it was Peter, again.
All the disciples are with Jesus at this point, and Judas suddenly shows up with a band of soldiers and temple officers. They had come to arrest Jesus, with their lanterns and torches and weapons and swords. And Peter, who also has a sword, draws it and swings. He cuts off one of the soldier’s ears.
Matthew, Mark, and Luke say it was one of Jesus’s disciples who did this. But John says it was Peter. Of course it was Peter. And it’s a big deal. He is doing exactly what he said he would do.
Peter said he would die for Jesus, and he thought this was it. He didn’t stand a chance against these soldiers — their swords outnumbered him. So he assumed this was when he would lay down his life for Jesus, like he said. It was a courageous moment, on one hand. Peter was ready to go out fighting. But Jesus put a stop to it. Jesus corrects Peter again.
Put your sword up, Peter.
Another direct correction, for the third time — fourth if you include 16:29. … And the worst is still ahead.
The Three Denials
Peter follows at a distance. Close enough to see. Far enough to feel safe.
He slips into the courtyard of the high priest, where Jesus is being interrogated.
Matthew tells us that a servant girl, who was standing at the door, came up to him and said, “You also were with Jesus the Galilean.” But he denied it before them all, saying, “I do not know what you mean.”
And when he went out to the entrance, another servant girl saw him, and she said to the bystanders, “This man was with Jesus of Nazareth.” And again he denied it with an oath: “I do not know the man.”
Really, Peter?
Just moments ago you stood before a band of soldiers, swinging your sword, ready to die for Jesus. But now, here, twice, standing before two servant girls, you say you don’t even know him. The contrast is staggering.
Bravado in the garden. Cowardice in the courtyard.
After a little while the bystanders came up and said to Peter, “Certainly you too are one of them, for your accent betrays you.” Then he began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear, “I do not know the man.”
At this point, Peter is cussin’ mad, and he insists on the lie that he doesn’t even know Jesus — not his teacher, not his Lord, not his name.
And then the rooster crows.
Peter snaps out of his pathetic delusion, he remembers what Jesus told him. He had denied the Messiah, three times. “And he went out and wept bitterly.”
Because what else do you do after doing a thing like that? … Standing in the ruins of his sin and misery. …
Peter must’ve thought: upon this rock he will build his church?
Light of the world? Salt of the earth? — now the only light is the one he hides from; he only salt is the taste of his tears as they streamed down his face.
Would he love me to the uttermost? He wants me to have peace? He tells me to take heart? Oh the greatness of my sin and misery!
He now knew the severity. Not as a category, but as reality. He was badly broken, beyond repair, he thinks. What kind of love could love him now?
If there was such a love … if it ever could be … there is only one word for it: “miracle.”
And a miracle is what we see.
In Jesus’s cross? Yes.
In his empty tomb? Yes.
In the love that holds us even here, in our sin and misery? Yes.
And that’s what brings us to the Table.
The Table
Brothers and sisters, we share in this meal because of a miracle — a miracle that we can only see if we understand the severity of our sin. Jesus went so far to save us! And despite our failings, he calls us back, again and again, into his fellowship.
Christians in the room, imperfect disciples, living miracles, this is for you.
