John 21:15-19

All of us make tracks through the valley of failure. Then the key question is, What we will do next? Sadly, many believers who stumble give up a vibrant kingdom-serving life for a defeated existence. But failure can also be a chance for a new beginning of living in Christ’s strength.

In pride, Peter thought his faith was the strongest of all the disciples’ and swore that even if the others left Jesus, he never would (Mark 14:29). Yet when the time of testing came, he denied even knowing Christ–and did so three times (Matt. 26:69-75). Satan hoped the disciple would be so wounded by his own disloyalty that his faith would be undermined by shame, condemnation, and despair.

Likewise, when the Enemy sifts believers today, his goal is for us to become shelved and ineffective for God’s kingdom. That’s why he goes after our strengths, especially the areas in which we proudly consider ourselves invincible. But if we’re willing, the Lord can use our failures to do spiritual housecleaning, as He did in Peter’s life. After the resurrection, Jesus met with the disciple personally and restored him, preparing him to become a great leader in the early church. He made it clear that Peter’s potential to serve was defined, not by failure, but by his unwavering love for Christ.

Peter laid down his pride, received the healing Jesus offered, and put on courage with the Holy Spirit’s help. He then risked his life fearlessly to further the gospel, and many came to Christ through his example. Failure was the catalyst that grew in him a stronger, more authentic faith.

 Someone asked me recently to describe how I see God, what I envision, whom I perceive, and how I imagine God reacts when I think I’ve failed or succeeded. As I tried to put these mammoth ideas into words, I found it was helpful to speak aloud the attributes of God’s character. It was also helpful to see again the places where my own experiences of people or authorities have shaped the words I heard myself using, as well as the places where I might unjustly project upon God things that do not belong there. For instance, things that might seem incredibly real to me—my sense of failure or success, a sense of fear or offense—somehow seem, not unimportant, but less tall, less real, if I imagine really trying to describe them to the man who claimed to be God.

 The Gospel of John recounts the story of a man confronted with the responsibility to grapple with his perception of Jesus and the looming worry on his mind. John 4:43-54 tells of a certain royal official whose son was ill and hours away from death. This man had heard that Jesus had arrived in a town nearby, so with a desperate hope he left his son’s side and went to the place where Jesus was teaching. There, he hurriedly begged Jesus to come back with him to Capernaum and heal his son.

 We are not told much about the official’s perspective of the rabbi from Nazareth. Had he heard that Jesus was a miracle worker? Was he certain that God was with him and not Beelzebub as others speculated? Or was it merely a last feeble attempt to change the outcome that seemed likely on his son’s deathbed? This man’s perception of Jesus likely existed hazily within his perception of the things he knew were real—and pressingly real at that moment. His son lay at home dying. As we can imagine, his sense of time and space was incredibly heightened. His son was sick, death moments around the corner. Hearing of Christ’s arrival, the official left quickly hoping there was still time. If Jesus agreed to return with him, they would have to move quickly. 

 At the very least, the official held the hope that Jesus was a powerful healer, a man who might well make a difference in the outcome of his son’s illness. Perhaps he had seen or heard what others were noting: “The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor” (Luke 7:22). Whatever his perception, the official believed there was something real enough about Jesus to possibly mend the peril of the moment. 

 Yet, as in many of the moments we face with tears or anger or excitement, factors other than God’s provision or Christ’s power often seem more real to us. For this desperate father, Jesus was more of a “last hope” in a race against death, than he was hope and life itself. Consumed by the weight of time, the man begged the face of eternity, “Sir, come down before my child dies!” The text is full of anxious awareness that time is of the essence. Like countless others of his day and ours, within his perception of Christ, he had not fully come to terms with the profundity of Christ’s unique claims as they might affect this and every moment. He may have believed him to be real; did he believe him to be God? The greatest tragedy in our thinking about Christ is often that it stops far short from really considering the outrageous claims he has given us to consider.

 Yet here, in a providential test of perception, Jesus responds to the anguished father’s desperation. But he simply says, “You may go. Your son will live” (4:50). In this defining moment, the man had to decide whether Christ was who he said he was or not. He had to decide what and who was more real. Could the hand of Jesus really touch his son across these cities? Could this word really mean something for his son from such a span? Were time and distance the greatest factors in his child’s life or was this rabbi one who could really overturn everything that loomed so real before him?    

 The gospel simply reports that the man “took Jesus at his word and departed” (4:50). At Christ’s word, the man’s perception of reality was sharpened. Jesus became more than a good man, more than a miracle worker; time and distance became lesser gods. Moving beyond fear and hurriedness, trusting beyond time and space, beyond his own eyes, the man took Jesus at his word, and went home to find his son well.

 Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.

 Morning “And when he thought thereon, he wept.” / Mark 14:72

 It has been thought by some that as long as Peter lived, the fountain of his

tears began to flow whenever he remembered his denying his Lord. It is not

unlikely that it was so, for his sin was very great, and grace in him had

afterwards a perfect work. This same experience is common to all the redeemed

family according to the degree in which the Spirit of God has removed the

natural heart of stone. We, like Peter, remember our boastful promise: “Though

all men shall forsake thee, yet will not I.” We eat our own words with the

bitter herbs of repentance. When we think of what we vowed we would be, and of

what we have been, we may weep whole showers of grief. He thought on his

denying his Lord. The place in which he did it, the little cause which led him

into such heinous sin, the oaths and blasphemies with which he sought to

confirm his falsehood, and the dreadful hardness of heart which drove him to

do so again and yet again. Can we, when we are reminded of our sins, and their

exceeding sinfulness, remain stolid and stubborn? Will we not make our house a

Bochim, and cry unto the Lord for renewed assurances of pardoning love? May we

never take a dry-eyed look at sin, lest ere long we have a tongue parched in

the flames of hell. Peter also thought upon his Master’s look of love. The

Lord followed up the cock’s warning voice with an admonitory look of sorrow,

pity, and love. That glance was never out of Peter’s mind so long as he lived.

It was far more effectual than ten thousand sermons would have been without

the Spirit. The penitent apostle would be sure to weep when he recollected the

Saviour’s full forgiveness, which restored him to his former place. To think

that we have offended so kind and good a Lord is more than sufficient reason

for being constant weepers. Lord, smite our rocky hearts, and make the waters

flow.

 

Evening “Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out.” / John 6:37

 No limit is set to the duration of this promise. It does not merely say, “I

will not cast out a sinner at his first coming,” but, “I will in no wise cast

out.” The original reads, “I will not, not cast out,” or “I will never, never

cast out.” The text means, that Christ will not at first reject a believer;

and that as he will not do it at first, so he will not to the last.

 But suppose the believer sins after coming? “If any man sin we have an

advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.” But suppose that

believers backslide? “I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely:

for mine anger is turned away from him.” But believers may fall under

temptation! “God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that

ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye

may be able to bear it.” But the believer may fall into sin as David did! Yes,

but he will “Purge them with hyssop, and they shall be clean; he will wash

them and they shall be whiter than snow”; “From all their iniquities will I

cleanse them.”

 “Once in Christ, in Christ forever,

 Nothing from his love can sever.”

 “I give unto my sheep,” saith he, “eternal life; and they shall never perish,

neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.” What sayest thou to this, O

trembling feeble mind? Is not this a precious mercy, that coming to Christ,

thou dost not come to One who will treat thee well for a little while, and

then send thee about thy business, but he will receive thee and make thee his

bride, and thou shalt be his forever? Receive no longer the spirit of bondage

again to fear, but the spirit of adoption whereby thou shalt cry, Abba,

Father! Oh! the grace of these words: “I will in no wise cast out.”

Whoever comes to me I will never cast out.  John 6:37

 

There is no expiration date on this promise. It does not merely say, “I will not cast out a sinner at his first coming,” but “I will never cast him out.” The original reads, “I will not, not cast out,” or “I will never, never cast out.” The text means that Christ will not at first reject a believer, and that as He will not do it at first, so He will not to the last.

 

But suppose the believer sins after coming? “If anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.”1 But suppose that believers backslide? “I will heal their apostasy; I will love them freely, for my anger has turned from them.”2 But believers may fall under temptation! “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.”3 But the believer may fall into sin as David did! Yes, but He will “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”4

 

Once in Christ, in Christ forever,

 

Nothing from His love can sever.

 

Jesus said, “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.”5 What do you say to this, O trembling, feeble mind? This is a precious mercy. Coming to Christ, you do not come to One who will treat you well for a little while and then send you about your business, but He will receive you and make you His bride, and you shall be His forever! Live no longer in the spirit of bondage to fear, but in the spirit of adoption, which cries, “Abba, Father!” Oh, the grace of these words: “I will never cast out.”

 

11 John 2:1 2Hosea 14:4 31 Corinthians 10:13 4Psalm 51:7

 

5John 10:28

 

Family Reading Plan Jeremiah 26  Mark 12