Season 2 Episode 3 What happens when you discover something about yourself you never thought was there?

Come sit with me. Let's open the word and discover together how Jesus forms a wholehearted life. Last week we sat with Ham and we talked about surrender, about what happens when we prayed, believed, waited, and life doesn't unfold the way we thought it would. We talked about trusting God when we cannot see what He sees. But today, I want to turn that question around. Because sometimes the things we don't understand isn't what happened to us. Sometimes it's us. Sometimes we're the one who did the thing we never thought we'd do. We're the one who reacted badly. We're the one who went back to the old pattern. We're the one who became afraid. We're the one who compromised. We're the one who hurt somebody. Or we're the one who backed away when we thought we'd be courageous. And suddenly we're not asking, God, why did this happen? No, we're asking, how could I have done that? And maybe an even deeper question: who am I now that I know I'm capable of this? So today we're going to talk about Peter. Welcome to the Wholehearted Woman Podcast. I'm Chris Rennie, and this is your heart. A place where your story is safe, your questions are welcome, and meeting healing is never a failure of faith. This season is the whole hearted life. Learning to live from heart flipped by Jesus. And today, we're talking about failure. We're talking about shame, repentance, restoration, and what Jesus says to us when we've disappointed ourselves. And maybe believe we've disappointed him too. Peter fascinates me in so many ways because Peter loved Jesus. And I think we need to begin there. He wasn't pretending, he wasn't standing on the sidelines watching all of this happen. Peter had left his nets and followed Jesus. He had spent years with him. He had listened to him teach. He had watched him heal people. He had seen provision where there shouldn't have been enough. He had watched demons submit to him. He had seen Jesus transfigured. Peter had stepped out of a boat and actually walked on water toward him. And Peter had been the one to declare, You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Imagine what it must have been like to live in that atmosphere, to walk beside Jesus, to be one of the twelve, to know he had chosen you, to witness things you could hardly explain, to experience his love, his authority, his presence, his provision, his miracles. There must have been moments when everything seemed possible. And then Jesus tells his disciples something they don't want to hear. They will fall away. And Peter says, Even if I'll fall away on account of you, I never will. Jesus tells him, before the rooster crows, Peter will deny him three times, and Peter becomes even more emphatic. Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you. And you know what? I think Peter meant it. I think Peter loved Jesus. Well we knew he did. I think in that moment Peter was saying exactly what he believed was true. Never. Not me. Not after everything I've seen, not after everything we've experienced, not after everything you've done. I will never leave you. I will never deny you. And here's what strikes me. Peter wasn't only certain about Jesus, Peter was certain about Peter. He believed he knew what he would do when the moment came. But Peter had never lived the moment that was coming. I've been thinking about this because I've experienced versions of it myself. Maybe you've been in a church service, a conference, or a retreat, or a gathering where the presence of God feels so tangible. Joy is flowing. People are praying. The worship is powerful. Your heart feels completely open. You feel courageous. You feel filled with faith. You love God. You mean what you're saying, and sometimes in those moments, we make declarations. God, I'll go anywhere, I'll do anything, I'll trust you no matter what. I'll never go back. I'll never be afraid again. You can have everything. And we mean it. I don't think those moments are necessarily false. The love can be real, the encounter can be real, the joy can be real, the intention can be completely sincere. There's something we may not understand yet. A promise made in one atmosphere may eventually have to be lived in an entirely different one. It's one thing to say, I'll trust you when you're surrounded by people worshiping God. And it's another thing to say it in the emergency room. It's one thing to say, I'll follow you anywhere when you feel his presence so strongly. And it's another thing when following him might cost you something you don't want to lose. It's one thing to say, I'll speak the truth until speaking the truth might cost the relationship. It's one thing to say, I'll set a boundary until somebody becomes angry when you do. It's one thing to say, I forgive, until you're standing face to face with the person who hurt you. It's one thing to say, God, you can have everything until he touches the one thing you didn't realize you meant to exclude from everything. The worship music eventually stops, the conference ends, everybody goes home, and eventually we find ourselves in a courtyard. That's what happened to Peter. Within hours the atmosphere changed completely. Jesus was arrested, there were weapons, soldiers, confusion, fear, the disciples scattered. And the one Peter believed was the Messiah was being taken away. Remember, we know what happens next, but Peter didn't. We know Sunday morning is coming, but Peter is living Thursday night. We know the resurrection, but Peter is watching what looks like the collapse of everything he believed was happening. And this is something we talked about with Hannah. We read these stories backward. They had to live them forward. Peter doesn't have the ending. He has the moment in front of him. And suddenly association with Jesus may cost him something. Everything. A servant girl looks at Peter and says, essentially, you were with him, you were one of them. And now Peter has seconds, not a week to pray about it, not time to journal, not time to call a friend, not time to go home and think through the theological implications. Seconds. And Peter says, I don't know what you're talking about. Another person recognizes him. He denies it again. Then others confront him, and Peter becomes even more emphatic. I don't know that man. The man who hours earlier said, I'll die with you, is now saying, I don't know him. And can we be real? We can read that and think, Peter, how could you? But wouldn't that be us? Maybe not the exact circumstance, but how many times have we stood on the edge of something, a change, a risk, a possibility, something that requires courage? And when it becomes real, something inside us backs away. How many times have we been certain what we would do until doing it actually costs something? And then we say, I'd never stay in that situation. Let's say someone is going through an ugly relationship situation, and we say to ourselves internally, oh thank God that's not me. I'd never stay in that situation until we're in it. I'd leave. Until leaving means losing financial security. I'd speak up until speaking up could cost your job. I'd trust God completely until the bank account starts dropping. I'd never compromise until we're frightened. I'd forgive every single time until the wound gets touched again. I'd follow Jesus anywhere until we don't understand where he's leading. We are very good at knowing what we would do in circumstances we have never actually lived. And Peter thought he knew too. And then the rooster crows. Luke gives us a detail that stops me every time. The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Can you imagine? Peter's eyes meet Jesus' eyes. Jesus knows. Peter knows Jesus knows. And suddenly Peter remembers the words Jesus had spoken. There is nowhere to hide from the truth of what just happened. And Luke says, Peter went outside and wept bitterly. I wonder whether Peter was grieving more than what he had done. Maybe Peter was also grieving the person he had just discovered himself capable of being. Because sometimes that's one of the most painful parts of failure. We discover something about ourselves we didn't want to know. Peter's denial mattered. We're not going to excuse it because he was frightened. Understanding the circumstances of failure isn't the same as saying the failure doesn't matter. Peter knew it mattered. That's why he wept. But I think something else broke that night. Peter's confidence in Peter. Hours earlier, he was saying, I will never. And now he had done exactly what he was certain he would never do. And maybe you have had a moment like that. I can't believe I said that. I can't believe I reacted that way. I thought I was past this. I thought I had healed. I thought I was stronger. I thought I'd had more faith. I thought I would never go back there. Pressure can reveal things. It can reveal fear, pride, control, jealousy, anger, self-preservation, a need for approval, an old wound, and sometimes insecurity. Something we genuinely didn't realize was still operating on us. And revelation can be painful, right? But revelation doesn't have to become condemnation. It can become an invitation to transformation. So the question becomes, what will I do with what has been revealed? Because there's a tremendous difference between saying I did something wrong and saying, this is who I am. One can lead us toward repentance and the other can imprison us in shame. If you listen to season one, you'll remember something we talked about, that every wound has a voice, and we asked, Who told you that? But wounds aren't the only thing that speak. Failure has a voice too. Imagine what Peter's failure could have said. Coward, fraud, you said you'd die for him, and when the moment came you denied even knowing him. Who do you think you are now? How could he ever trust you again? Maybe your failure has a voice too. You're a bad mother, you're a terrible wife, you're a hypocrite. You'll never change. You ruined it. God could have used you before this. You're disqualified now. If people knew the truth about you, and here's where season one meets season two. We learned the wound doesn't get the final word. And now we're learning, neither does failure. Because Jesus has a voice too. So the question becomes, whose voice is going to become authoritative in your heart? I think we need to distinguish some things here because conviction and condemnation are not the same. Healthy conviction can say, what I did was wrong. It brings something into the light. It invites responsibility, confession, repentance, responsibility, accountability, and change. But shame that takes what happened and attaches it to our identity. I did something terrible, therefore I'm terrible. I failed, therefore I'm a failure. I sinned, therefore, this is who I am. And shame usually tells us what to do next. We hide, withdraw, we punish ourselves, stay away from God, sew fig leaves over ourselves, replay it, rehearse it, make yourself pay. And sometimes Christians can continue doing this long after we've asked God to forgive us. We believe Jesus forgave us, but emotionally we're still serving a sentence. We're still cutting ourselves. I wonder how many women listening have repented of something years ago, but still introduced themselves to themselves by what they did. And now we come to something extraordinary. Before Peter ever denied Jesus, Jesus knew. Luke records Jesus saying, Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat, but I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And then, and when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers. Now listen to those words, not if you turn back, and when you have turned back. Peter hasn't failed yet, but Jesus knows what's coming. And Jesus knows Peter is going to discover something about himself that night that Peter didn't yet know. But Jesus is already speaking about Peter's life after the failure. Strengthen your brothers. Peter sees this will never happen. What is he saying? Jesus sees the failure and Jesus sees beyond it. And that is amazing grace. Grace doesn't pretend the denial doesn't matter. Grace doesn't call wrong right, but Peter's worst moment does not cancel the future Jesus sees for him. And maybe somebody needs to hear this. Jesus knew the truth about you when he called you. You didn't surprise him. You didn't reveal something that made Jesus say, Oh gosh, I didn't realize she was capable of that. He knows us fully, better than we know ourselves. And still, he calls, he loves, he corrects, he transforms. And when we fall, he picks us up and calls us back. And there's another man in the story who fails Jesus, and that's Judas. And I want to be careful here because Judas's story is complex, and I don't want to reduce his death to one simple explanation, but there is a sobering contrast. Both men sin terribly against Jesus. Both experience anguish over what they had done, yet their stories move in very different directions. And it raises an important heart talk. What do we do with ourselves after we've done something we cannot undo? Peter can't go backward and unsay, I don't know him. And neither can we travel backward. We can't unsay the words. We can't undo the lie, the affair, the years, the abortion, the addiction, the decisions, undo the way we treated someone. We can't take any of that away. But we can take responsibility. We can repent. We can make amends where appropriate. We can change. But we can't erase history. So what happens next? Shame says, hide. Repentance says, return. And Peter returns. And now we come to John 21. Jesus has risen. The disciples are together, and Peter says, I'm going out to fish. I'm going to go out and do what I did before, and that's my lot in life. Everything is over. They fish through the night and catch nothing. Then morning comes, and Jesus is standing on the shore. At first, they don't recognize him, and Jesus tells them where to cast the net. Suddenly there are so many fish they can barely haul them in. And John realizes, it's the Lord. And Peter jumps into the water. I love that. The man who denied Jesus doesn't swim away, he moves toward him. And when they reach shore, John gives us this interesting detail. There is a charcoal fire. That's interesting because John uses that same description earlier. Peter had been warming himself beside a charcoal fire when he denied Jesus. And now he is beside another charcoal fire with the resurrected Jesus. Scripture doesn't tell us what Peter thought or felt when he saw or smelled that fire, so I don't want to put words into the text, but John gives us the detail, and the parallel is difficult to miss. The place associated with failure, and now a place of encounter with Jesus. After they eat, Jesus turns to Peter. Simon, son of John, do you love me? Peter answers, Yes, Lord, you know that I love you. Jesus says, feed my lambs. Again, do you love me? Yes, Lord, you know I love you. Take care of my sheep. And a third time, do you love me? Peter is hurt and he says, Lord, you know all things. You know that I love you. And Jesus says, feed my sheep. Three denials, three questions. And there's something here I don't want us to miss either. Jesus doesn't say, Peter, explain yourself. He doesn't demand Peter's grovel. He doesn't make Peter spend the rest of his life proving how sorry he is. Jesus brings him back to the center. Do you love me? And then he gives him responsibility. Feed my sheep. Jesus doesn't merely deal with Peter's past. He calls Peter into his future. And this may be the favorite part of Peter's story. Listen to Peter before the denial. I will never listen to Peter afterward. Lord, you know before, I know myself. And after, you know me. Before, I know what I'll do. After, Lord, you know all things. That's a different posture. And I don't think it's a weaker Peter. I think we're watching a more surrendered Peter emerge. His confidence is shifting from confidence in his own ability to remain strong toward dependence upon Jesus. Last week with Hannah, we said, You see what I cannot see. You know what I cannot know. Peter takes us somewhere else. You even know me better than I know myself. And there's freedom in that because a whole-hearted woman doesn't have to make grand declarations about how strong she is. She doesn't have to pretend vulnerability doesn't exist. She doesn't have to say, I'll never fail. She can say, Jesus knows me. You know what I sincerely mean today. You also know what pressure might reveal tomorrow. You know where I'm strong, you know where I'm afraid. You know where I'm vulnerable, you know what still needs healing. You know what I haven't even discovered about myself yet. So instead of making promises about how strong I will always be, we should say, teach me to remain close to you. And then here we are, right back at the vine. Maybe the answer isn't Jesus, I promise I'll never fail. Maybe it's Jesus, teach me to abide. And I want to make something clear. Grace doesn't mean consequences disappear. It doesn't mean trust with another person automatically returns. It doesn't mean relationships don't sometimes require repair. It doesn't mean repentance is simply saying, God forgives me, so it doesn't matter. It matters. Peter's denial mattered, but repentance isn't self-punishment. Repentance is turning, returning, changing directions, agreeing with God about what is true and allowing him to change what the failure revealed. And I wonder whether some of us have confused continuing to punish ourselves with repentance. As though staying ashamed proves we're really sorry, as though forgiving ourselves somehow minimizes what happened. But if Jesus paid for our sin, what exactly are we accomplishing by continuing to demand payment from ourselves? We repent, we receive forgiveness, we make amends where appropriate, we learn, we change, we allow Jesus to form us, and then we follow him. Because that's where Jesus brings Peter. After the denial, after the tears, the resurrection, the charcoal fire, the questions. Jesus says two words Peter had heard before. Follow me. At the beginning of Peter's journey, follow me. After Peter's greatest failure, follow me. Jesus doesn't tell Peter, spend the rest of your life staring backward. He calls him forward. And in our biggest failure, he doesn't say, You made your bed, now lie in it and walk away. No, he says, pick up your mat and walk. Jesus doesn't tell Peter, spend the rest of your life staring backward. He calls him forward and Peter goes. The frightened man who denied knowing Jesus would later stand publicly and proclaim him. Not because Peter made a stronger promise, not because Peter finally became invincible. Peter's life would become increasingly dependent upon something beyond Peter. And at Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came. The man who once said, I will never would learn what it meant to live not merely from his own determination, but empowered by the Spirit of God. That's formation. And this brings me to something I've been thinking about. You are not your history. Your history matters. What happened to you matters. What you did matters because consequences matter. And sometimes our history explains patterns that developed in us. But your history does not have to be the authority to define who you become. The question isn't only what happened. The wholehearted question is, what am I allowing Jesus to form in me now? Peter's history included, I denied Jesus three times. That's true. But it wasn't the final sentence over his life. His failure became part of his history. It did not become his permanent identity. And maybe that's where some of us need freedom, because we've been introducing ourselves by our history for years. I'm the woman who had the affair. I'm the woman who had the abortion. I'm the woman whose marriage failed, who lost control, who walked away, who hurt her children, who should have known better. That may be something you did, but is that what Jesus calls you? So let's get honest. What have you done that still changes the way you see yourself? What memory still makes you cringe? What failure do you replay? What have you repented of? But never really stopping punishing yourself for? What did pressure reveal about you that you didn't want to see? And maybe there's another question we need to ask. Where have I been certain about myself in a place I've never actually been tested? Where have I said, I would never? Where have I looked at someone else's failure and thought, I would never do that? Peter invites us into humility. Maybe I don't know everything I'm capable of. Maybe you don't either. And maybe knowing that doesn't have to make us afraid. Maybe it makes us more dependent. Jesus, you know me. And when failure speaks, what does it call you? Failure? Fraud? Hypocrite? Unworthy? Disqualified? Too damaged? Too late? But now ask, what does Jesus call you there? Not what shame says he must think. What does his word reveal about the heart of Jesus toward the person who turns back? Peter failed and wept, but he returned. Jesus restored. And then Jesus said, Follow me. This week, bring one thing to Jesus. Maybe it's a failure. Maybe it's a place where you're afraid you could fail. Maybe it's something pressure has revealed in you. Maybe it's simply one of those declarations you've made, I would never. Bring it honestly. And instead of promising Jesus how strong you're going to be, try something different. Pray, Jesus, you know me better than I know myself. And finally, teach me to remain close to you. Because maybe wholehearted living isn't becoming so strong that we never fail. Maybe it's becoming so connected to Jesus that whether we're standing confidently at the table or trembling in the courtyard or weeping after the rooster crows, we know where to return. So I'd like to end in prayer. Jesus, you know us completely. You know the things we're proud of and the things we wish nobody knew. You know what we mean when we tell you we love you. You know the sincerity of our hearts, and you also know what we don't know yet about ourselves. You know how we respond under pressure, what frightens us. You know where we're vulnerable, you know what still needs healing. You know the places where we have said I will never, and you know the places we've discovered that we are not as strong as we thought. Lord, give us the humility to let you know us completely. Where conviction is needed, convict us. Where repentance is needed, lead us to repentance, where amends need to be made, give us wisdom and courage, where something in us needs to change, form us, and where shame has continued speaking long after we've repented, teach us to recognize its voice, where we've been punishing ourselves for something you have already forgiven, teach us to receive your grace, where we've allowed our worst moment to become our identity, remind us who we are in you. Make us afresh in you again. Thank you that Peter's failure did not surprise you. Before Peter even stood in the courtyard, you were already praying for him. Before he ever denied you, you were already speaking about the man who would turn back. And before Peter knew what Peter was capable of, you knew him completely and you loved him. Lord, you know us that way too. So move our confidence away from our own strength and deeper in you, let us abide deeper in you. Search us, know us, reveal what needs healing, what needs to surrender, what needs changing. Teach us to abide so that instead of spending our lives saying, I will never, we increasingly learn to say, Lord, you know. And when we fall, teach us to return. When we repent, teach us to receive your grace. And when you say, Follow me, give us the courage to get up and follow in Jesus' name. Amen. So, friend, maybe Peter's story isn't simply the story of a man who failed Jesus. Maybe it's also the story of a man who discovered that Jesus knew him before he even knew himself and loved him anyway. Peter began with, I will never, and he ended up at the charcoal fire saying, Lord, you know. And somewhere between those two statements, Peter was being formed. Your failure may reveal something within you. Your history may explain some things about you, but neither gets the final word about who you become. Jesus Christ. So this week, don't make another grand promise about how strong you're going to be. Stay close to the body. Listen for his voice. And when he says, follow me, take the next step. This is the wholehearted life. Real life heart scripture. Jesus practice. And we're learning together what it means to be. So next time we're going to meet the woman. And we're going to ask another wholehearted question. What do you keep returning to when your heart is thirsty? So until then we keep bringing Jesus in your actual heart, keep allowing his word to have the final say. And remember, you are seen, you are deeply loved, and the shepherd is still speaking. I'll see you next week.