The Look

Senses heightened, heart hammering. The charcoal fire burning in his nose. Hands clammy, tingling, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Even as the words left his lips, the cry ripped through the air, breaking through the silence and crackle of the fire – the rooster, heralding the quickening of dawn.

The others did not notice. The sound caused no disturbance, did not draw them out of conversation. But he heard it. It was all he heard. His chest tightened, as if he had forgotten what it was to breathe. The words came rushing back now:

“Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times…”

Had he not sworn this could never happen? That he would stand beside Him no matter what, even if all others fled?

He look up as the realization of what he had done washed over him. And then he saw Him – the Rabbi, Master, Lord. This Teacher, hands bound, turned and looked at him. Their eyes met.

It was more than he could bear. He turned and stumbled out of the courtyard, legs weak. He staggered as one drunk, collapsing into an alley as the cries broke free, no longer able to contain his wails as he wept bitterly.

Those eyes.

Those eyes that had locked with his. He could not forget them.

When had he first seen those eyes? Wasn’t it the day his brother had told him “We have found the Messiah!” He had met this man they called the Messiah. The Rabbi looked at him then and gave him a new name. He had called him a rock – so why did he now feel so weak?

And then he had met the Rabbi again – fishing with his father and brother. He knew then he was in the presence of someone special. He could not bear to look into those eyes that day, those eyes that seemed to see the depths of his soul. He begged the Rabbi to leave, told Him he was not worthy.

Yet with a smile the Rabbi said: “Do not be afraid.”

Do not be afraid.

Yet now he was filled with fear, fear that somehow paralyzed him and made him want to run all at once. Had the Rabbi known then that it would come to this? Would He have asked this fisherman to follow Him – to become a fisher of men – if He had known?

He left everything that day – left the life he knew to follow this Teacher into adventures unknown. He had watched the crowds flock to this man – the sick, the outcasts, the rich, the poor, the powerful, the weak – even children. All were drawn to Him. He seemed so unassuming and yet His words enraptured the hearts of thousands. They clung to His words.

And He saw them. This Teacher – it was as if He knew each one. That look, gentle, yet piercing, exposing them and nevertheless drawing them in.

He had seen the laughter that danced in those eyes, the joy, the delight. He had seen the compassion, the love, the times they had been filled with tears.

He had been so ready to follow this Teacher anywhere – yet had the Rabbi not seen how ill-equipped he was for the journey? Had he not realized that He ought to have chosen someone else?

Surely that day on the waves would have been enough to show the Master that he was not ready, that he did not deserve to be among The Twelve. He had been the only one to join the Teacher on the waves that day. He had looked to that Teacher and seen once again the strength, the commanding presence in His eyes. And he had looked away, sinking, panicking. He had walked on water, yes. But he had fallen, only saved from drowning by the Teacher’s hand reaching out to grasp his own.

Even as the rain blinded him, he could see the shadow of a smile pulling at the Teacher’s mouth as he asked:

“O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

Why did you doubt?

There, He had seen it then, hadn’t He? Didn’t He know then this disciple was not up to the task? Still He had drawn him closer, inviting him into the Twelve, the Three.

Surely this was a mistake. He did not belong among them. And the closer the Rabbi drew him, the more he burst to prove himself, to show the Teacher that he would be worthy of such a place of honor.

Is that why he was the first to speak when the Teacher asked: “Who do you say that I am?”

Or was it something deeper that caused him to declare that day: “You are the Christ, the son of the living God!”

Hadn’t this been what he’d waited for his whole life? For as deeply as he loved the Teacher, he hated the Oppressors. If it was possible – if it could be true – could their Teacher be the one foretold, the one who would overthrow the Oppressors and establish His rule forever to make them a great nation?

But the words that followed next caught him like a blow and he felt his passion rising as he heard what the Teacher said – that He would die.

Die.

He hardly heard the words that followed. He was fixed on that one. This could not be - the Teacher was mistaken. Overtired and Overworked. They had left everything to follow Him. It would not end in death. He was sure of this. Incensed, he pulled the Teacher aside, told Him He was wrong – that this would not happen.

And the Teacher’s words cut to his heart:

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me, for you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”

A hindrance. He had not been able to look into the Teacher’s eyes that day.

He remembered those words now as he wept in that alley. They echoed as he recalled the Teacher’s words come true – He was going to die. And this disciple – this rock – was crumbling.

Shame washed over him. Hadn’t the Teacher seen this all along? Hadn’t he known this would happen? Of course He had – He had told him this very thing.

Why?

Why did the Teacher include him? He should have left him to fish. He should never have invited him to come.

And yet…

Yet those words, two simple words…

“Follow me.”

They had changed everything. He had seen miracles. The Teacher’s words changed lives even as they were changing his own. The Teacher had looked to the crowds and saw their deepest needs.

He saw that look now, burned into his consciousness.

What had seen in those eyes – that moment the roosters cry had shattered the silence?

Betrayal? Pain?

Yes.

But something deeper, something more, something this weeping disciple could not yet make sense of or see.

Compassion.

Love.

A promise.

The remembering of a thousand moments past and the knowing of a thousand more to come.

“You are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church and the gates of hell will not prevail against it…”

When Peter looked into his Savior’s eyes, he would one day see what he did not now – that those eyes that looked upon him were the eyes that had seen the earth take form, the eyes that had watched the waters separate from the land, the eyes that had led their forefathers through flood, wilderness, and exile. These were the eyes that saw him in all his strengths and failures, and chose him.

He did not know it now but one day, he would not run. One day, he would find a courage he did not know was possible. One day, the lips that three times cursed his Lord would three times declare his love. There, on a shore like the day he had first done so, the smell charcoal once again filling the air, his Teacher, Lord, Master, Friend, would once again utter those simple words:

“Follow me.”