We have now to follow our beloved apostle into the darkest and most humbling scene in his entire history — a scene which we could hardly understand or account for, if we did not know something of the infinite depths of divine grace, on the one hand; and, on the other hand, of the terrible depths into which even a saint of God, or an apostle of Christ, is capable of plunging, if not kept by divine power.
It seems very wonderful to find on the page of inspiration the record of the fall of such an eminent servant of Christ as Simon Peter. We in our wisdom would judge it best to draw the curtain of silence over such an event. Not so the Holy Spirit. He knows better, and is infinitely wiser than we. He has seen fit to tell us plainly of the errors, and failures, and sins of such men as Abraham, Moses, David, Peter, and Paul, in order that we may learn holy lessons from such records — lessons of human frailty, lessons of divine grace, lessons full of solemn warning, and yet of most precious consolation and encouragement. We learn what we are, and we learn what God is. We learn that we cannot trust ourselves for a single moment; for, if not kept by grace, there is no depth of sin into which we are not capable of falling; but we learn to trust the eternal stability of that grace which has dealt with the erring ones and sinning ones of other days, and to lean with ever-growing confidence on the One who is “the same yesterday, today, and forever.”
But let us turn to our subject.
Not one of the four evangelists omits the fall of Peter. Let us open at Matthew 26: “And when they had sung an hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives. Then saith Jesus unto them, All ye shall be offended because of Me this night: for it is written, I will smite the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be scattered abroad. But after I am risen again, I will go before you into Galilee. Peter answered and said unto Him, Though all shall be offended because of Thee, yet will I never be offended.”
In these few words Peter lets out the real root of the whole matter. That root was self-confidence — alas! alas! no uncommon root amongst us. We do not in the least question Peter’s sincerity. We feel perfectly sure he meant all he said; and, further, that he had not the most remote idea of what he was about to do. He was ignorant of himself, and we generally find that ignorance and self-confidence go together. Self-knowledge destroys self-confidence. The more fully self is known, the more it must be distrusted. If Peter had known himself, known his tendencies and capabilities, he never would have uttered the words which we have just penned. But so full was he of self-confidence, that when his Lord told him expressly what he was about to do, he replied, “Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee.”
This is peculiarly solemn. It is full of instruction for us all. We are all so ignorant of our own hearts, that we deem ourselves incapable of falling into certain gross sins. But we should, everyone of us, bear in mind that, if not kept each moment by the grace of God, we are capable of anything. We have materials in us for any amount or character of evil; and whenever we hear anyone saying, “Well, I certainly am a poor, failing, stumbling creature, but I am not capable of doing the like of that,” we may feel assured he does not know his own heart; and, not only so, but he is in imminent danger of falling into some grievous sin. It is well to walk humbly before our God, distrusting self, and leaning on Him. This is the true secret of moral safety, at all times. Had Peter realized this, it would have saved him his terrible downfall.
But Peter was self-confident, and, as a consequence, he failed to watch and pray. This was another stage in his downward journey. Had he only felt his utter weakness, he would have sought for strength divine. He would have cast himself on God for grace to help in time of need. Look at the blessed Master! He, though God over all blessed forever, yet being a Man, having taken the place of the creature, and fully entering into His position, was agonizing in prayer, while Peter was fast asleep. Yes, Peter slept in the garden of Gethsemane, while his Lord was passing through the deepest anguish He had yet tasted, though deeper still lay before Him. “Then cometh Jesus with them unto a place called Gethsemane, and saith unto the disciples, Sit ye here, while I go and pray yonder. And He took with him Peter and the sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy. Then saith He unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death; tarry ye here, and watch with Me. And He went a little further, and fell on His face, and prayed, saying, Ο My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt. And He cometh unto the disciples, and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, What! could ye not watch with Me one hour? Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”
What tender grace! What readiness to make allowance! What moral elevation! And yet He felt the sad want of sympathy, the cold indifference to His sore agony. “I looked for some to take pity, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none.” How much is involved in these words! They tell a double tale. He looked for comforters. That perfect human heart craved sympathy; but, alas! there was none for Him. There was no one to minister a single drop of consolation to that loving heart in the hour of deepest anguish. He was left absolutely alone. Even Peter, who declared himself ready to die with Him, fell asleep in view of the agonies of Gethsemane.
Such is man — yea, the very best of men! Self-confident when he ought to be self-distrusting — sleeping when he ought to be watching; and, we may add, fighting when he ought to be submitting. “Then Simon Peter, having a sword, drew it, and smote the high priest’s servant, and cut off his right ear. The servant’s name was Malchus.” How incongruous, how utterly out of place, was a sword in company with the meek and lowly Sufferer! “Then said Jesus unto Peter, Put up thy sword into the sheath: the cup which My Father hath given Me, shall I not drink it?” Peter was entirely out of the current of his Master’s spirit. He had not a thought in common with Him in reference to His path of suffering. He would fain defend Him with carnal weapons, forgetting that His kingdom was not of this world.
All this is peculiarly solemn. To find a dear and honored servant of Christ failing so grievously is surely sufficient to teach us to walk very softly. But, alas! we have not yet reached the lowest point in Peter’s downward course. Having used his sword in defense of his Master, we next find him “following afar off.” “Then took they Jesus, and led Him, and brought Him to the high priest’s house. And Peter followed afar off. And when they had kindled a fire in the midst of the hall, and were set down together, Peter sat down among them.”
What company for an apostle of Christ! “Can a man touch pitch, and not be defiled by it? Can one walk on burning coals, and his feet not be burned?” It is terribly dangerous for the Christian to sit down among the enemies of Christ. The very fact of his doing so proves that decline has set in, and made serious progress. In Peter’s case, the stages of decline are strongly marked. First, boasting in his own strength; secondly, sleeping when he ought to have been praying; thirdly, drawing his sword when he ought to have been meekly bowing his head; fourthly, following afar off; fifthly, making himself comfortable in the midst of the open enemies of Christ.
Then comes the last sad scene in this terrible drama. “And as Peter was beneath in the palace, there cometh one of the maids of the high priest; and when she saw Peter warming himself, she looked upon him, and said, And thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth. But he denied, saying, I know not, neither understand I, what thou sayest. And he went out into the porch; and the cock crew. And a maid saw him again, and began to say to them that stood by, This is one of them. And he denied it again. And a little after, they that stood by said again to Peter, Surely thou art one of them, for thou art a Galilean, and thy speech agreeth thereto. But he began to curse and to swear, I know not this man of whom ye speak. And the second time the cock crew. And Peter called to mind the word that Jesus said unto him, Before the cock crow twice thou shalt deny Me thrice. And when he thought thereon he wept” (Mark 14:66-72).
Luke adds a most touching clause: “And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter. And Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how He had said unto him, Before the cock crow thou shalt deny Me thrice. And Peter went out, and wept bitterly.”
How deeply affecting is all this! Only think of a saint of God, and an apostle of Christ, cursing and swearing that he did not know his Lord! Does the reader feel disposed to question the fact that Peter was, spite of all this, a genuine saint of God? Some do question it; but their questioning is a gross mistake. They find it hard to conceive such a thing as a true child of God falling so terribly. But they have not yet thoroughly learned what flesh is. Peter was as really a saint of God in the palace of the high priest, as he was on the mount of transfiguration. But he had to learn himself, and that too by as humiliating and painful a process as any soul could well be called to pass through. Doubtless, if anyone had told Peter a few days before that he would before long curse and swear that he did not know his Lord, he would have shrunk with horror from the thought. He might have said, like one of old, “Is thy servant a dog that he should do this thing?” Yet so it was. We know not what we may do until we are in the circumstances. The great thing for us all is to walk humbly with our God day by day, deeply sensible of our own utter weakness, and clinging to Him who is able to keep us from falling. We are only safe in the shelter of His presence. Left to ourselves we are capable of anything, as our apostle found to his deep sorrow.
But the Lord was watching over His poor erring servant. He never lost sight of him for a single moment. He had His eye upon the whole process. The devil would have smashed the vessel in hopeless fragments if he could. But he could not. He was but an instrument in the divine hand to do a work for Peter, which Peter had failed to do for himself. “Simon, Simon, behold Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat; but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not; and when thou art converted [or restored], strengthen thy brethren.”
Here we are permitted to see the root of the matter. Peter needed to be sifted, and Satan was employed to do the work. Just as in the case of Job, and the man in 1 Corinthians 5. It seems very wonderful, very mysterious, very solemn, that Satan should be so used. Yet so it is. God uses him “for the destruction of the flesh.” He cannot touch the spirit. That is eternally safe. But it is terrible work to get into Satan’s sieve. Peter found it so, and so did Job, and so did that erring Corinthian.
But oh, the grace of those words! “I have prayed for Thee” — not that he might not fall, but, having fallen, that his faith might not fail, his confidence might not give way. Nothing can surpass the grace that shines out here. The blessed One knew all that was to happen — the shameful denial — the cursing and swearing; and yet, “I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not” — that thy confidence in the eternal stability of My grace may not give way.
Perfectly marvelous! And then the power of that look! “The Lord turned and looked upon Peter.” It was this that broke Peter’s heart, and drew forth a flood of bitter penitential tears.
Lord! Who would not trust Him, and praise Him, love Him, and serve Him?