As a preacher’s kid, I remember thinking that I didn’t really fit in with anyone. It was as though I didn’t have the choice of being set apart or not like the rest of the world. I simply was whether I liked it or not. I remember very clearly on a Wednesday night at church – we had just finished dinner in the fellowship hall and were headed to our classes – and I responded to a weekend invitation with the sad news that I couldn’t because I was grounded. I’ll never forget what another kid said: How can you be grounded… you’re the pastor’s kid.
Those words planted a seed. It was a deadly seed that communicated to me that I needed to be different from what I was. Not different from the world the way the Bible teaches, but different from the expectations of the church and everyone in it. All of my friends assumed that I was as close to perfect as anyone could get (except for the actual pastor of course). For some reason, that seed grew into something that made me want to prove that I wasn’t so perfect after all.
The seed took a while to grow, and there were other seeds of deception that the enemy tossed my way that didn’t help, but there weren’t any real roots until I was in high school. Oh, there were several instances in junior high where I toed the line and even crossed it (my parents are probably nodding in agreement right now), but even then, I was still known as a preacher’s kid. To me it was a stigma – a weight I didn’t want to carry. In high school, though, there were new hurts that I didn’t know how to articulate. Then it was further fertilized with stolen innocence.
Bye, bye, good girl.
I remember being in my twenties and refusing to go to even the holiday church services. Nope! I didn’t want to be associated with church at all. I kept saying that I didn’t want to be a hypocrite, but I think I was afraid of being drawn back in to something that I could never measure up to. As a kid I wasn’t going to be perfect and as an adult, there was no way after getting used to a certain lifestyle. I was doing some heavy drinking every weekend, light drinking during the week, I was a smoker, and I could make soldiers blush with how I cussed.
I was not a good girl! I was the type of girl – young woman – that I warn my own kids to stay away from!
I watched a podcast at least a year ago that brought all of this to mind. It’s been stewing. With everything going on in our country right now, it seems that identifying who is on what side is all that matters. Who voted for who… who supports who… right to life or right to choose… if you’re a Christian, your side is obvious… how can you call yourself a Christian if you side with them… the list goes on and on. But this interview is something that I keep going back to. It quietly screams for us to be set apart.
In the podcast, the topic is cussing and the intent behind it. One host starts talking about how they have to change some of what they say because they’re a Christian and have a speaking platform, but some cussing is okay. One of the other hosts, however, brings up the story of Peter denying Jesus (Matthew 26:69-75, Mark 14:66-72, Luke 22:55-62, John 18:15-27).
Jesus has been arrested and Peter is lingering in the courtyard. He’s asked if he’s one of Jesus’ disciples. Peter denies it. A little later, he’s asked if he was with Jesus. Peter swears that he’s not. More time goes by and he’s asked a third time. This time – to include some evidence – Peter adds in some cursing with his denial of knowing Jesus, having been with Jesus, or ever having anything to do with Jesus.
Peter, while still trying to linger as close to Jesus as he could get (he wasn’t permitted to go further than the courtyard), every time he was asked if he was with Jesus, he denied it – and he moved closer to the exit. Then, in a final effort to prove that he was not with Jesus when asked the third time, he cursed! He wasn’t just denying Jesus – he was denying that his identity was tied to Jesus in any way. He was separating himself from the very character of Jesus.
First, he separates himself from Jesus verbally, then he separates himself by displaying a less-than-righteous character, and then he physically leaves the area.
Boy, do I feel that. Scripture tells us that after denying Jesus the third time, he heard the rooster crow and recalled what Jesus had told him would happen. When Peter left the courtyard, he went off and wept bitterly. That’s ugly tears. The kind that carries a crushing weight of hopelessness.
I’ve lingered in the courtyard, hoping to be near Jesus, but not feeling as though I was permitted to get closer. I’ve gone through the denials – more than three. And I’ve left the courtyard completely and have done quite a lot of ugly crying.
I bet you see yourself in some of that, too.
While I could make this a post about how cussing as a Christian is really an oxymoron, you may not have that conviction… and that’s okay. I do fully believe that cussing makes us look more like the world than someone who follows Christ, but this blog isn’t about wagging a finger. This blog is to expose the goodness of God.
After Peter denied Jesus, he essentially quit the life that he had been called to. Even after Jesus’ resurrection, Peter went back to fishing. Jesus was alive, but he went back to his former life. I can imagine that Peter felt as though he wasn’t someone Jesus would want to have on His team anymore. Disqualified. Damaged goods. An irresponsible failure. His going back to fishing tells us that he saw his failure as absolute. His future as the rock was no longer (Matthew 16:18). By going back to fishing, he was rewriting his future in his own mind.
Maybe you can relate – I know I can. I question my calling every time I sit down to write. Like Peter, I’ve failed both publicly and privately.
But Jesus is in the business of restoration.
When Jesus restored Peter, He didn’t rub his nose in the three denials. He didn’t ask for an apology, why he did it or say something like What were you thinking? Instead, Jesus went straight to Peter’s heart. (Peter’s restoration is found in John 21:15-17)
Jesus asked him, Do you love me?
I can imagine the impact of those words. I’ve felt those words dance across my heart. Yes, I love you! But I keep messing up! I keep missing the mark! Surely there’s someone more qualified!
Three times, Jesus asked Peter if he loved Him. Each time, Peter affirms that he does. Jesus never quips back with I forgive you. Instead, Jesus responds with the mission. Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.
The assignment didn’t change. It didn’t get pulled down a notch to match Peter’s failure. Jesus didn’t water it down or give Peter a smaller responsibility. But that’s where forgiveness is found – in the purpose that Jesus restored to Peter. It was a sign of trust, and it was spoken in the language of grace.
In that quiet moment, the gospel was revealed. Our worst moments can never exhaust God’s grace.
A pastor I listen to stated that our worst moments don’t have the authority to cancel God’s calling on our lives. Those failures, as bitter as they are (ugly tears, remember?), are never going to be more powerful than Christ’s finished work.
When I finally decided to seek out a relationship with God after years of running from Him, I was 27 years old. Not once did God brow-beat me with my failures, He didn’t wag His finger at my drinking or smoking habits, and He didn’t wash my mouth out with soap. In case you’re new here, Jesus broke all those chains of bondage without any withdrawal symptoms and without any lingering desires.
He doesn’t require perfection and our mistakes (like Peter’s denials) aren’t going to surprise Him. No, He deals with us in grace. I really appreciate that my identity and worth isn’t found in the title of preacher’s kid, and it’s not found in my performance. My identity – my very existence – cannot be separated from the love of God (Romans 8:31-39). And I wouldn’t have it any other way.