The Rockiest Disciple
A brother remembers
40 One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. 41 He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). 42 He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter). (John 1:40-42, NRSVue)
The moment I met Jesus, I went to find my brother, Simon. Though he is my younger brother, I’ve spent most of my life looking up to him. There is something about Simon, something magnetic, something brilliant and bold. The day I saw Jesus and knew he was the Messiah, I knew that Simon would want to meet him. Knowing Simon, he might even think that he could teach Jesus a thing or two. Not that this worked out for him – but that was Simon. I was always in his shadow, but I rarely minded. I couldn’t compete with him, so I usually joined him. Or invited him to join me.
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I didn’t meet Jesus until after I’d spent time following one of the great prophets of our day, John the Baptizer. I had gone to see John in the wilderness, and after meeting him, I joined the line of people that had gathered to submit to his baptism. I thought the day I went to be baptized would be a single day’s activity, and then I would head back to our boats and nets. However, after he plunged me beneath the cool waters of the Jordan, as I came up out of the darkness of the waters and into the bright light of the sun, John seemed to dazzle. He had the sense of the divine all around him. So, I just…never left. Instead, I sat at John’s feet and listened to his teaching. I was searching for something, I suppose – purpose or meaning, perhaps. And I heard that something when I listened to John. I hung on everything he said.
Which is also why I ended up leaving his side.
One day we saw another Rabbi, and John positively gushed over him. “Behold, the lamb of God!” (Jn 1:36) he said when Jesus walked by. So, I went and spoke to “the lamb of God” myself. And then my fate was sealed. “Come and see,”1 Jesus said to us. I went. And I never looked back.
The moment I found Jesus, however, my mind went to my brother, Simon. I knew I couldn’t keep Jesus to myself, and I decided to share my discovery with Simon. I knew that if Simon were to come and join us, he would outshine me at every turn – but I knew Simon needed to meet this man. So, I went and found him and brought him to Jesus.
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And Jesus took one look at my impetuous, impulsive brother Simon, and decided to give him a different name: “Peter.”2 Which means rock. Firm. Foundational. Solid. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from laughing out loud – I couldn’t think of a name that described him less. And yet, there was something about it. In the mouth of Jesus, it rang true. And, to my surprise, it caught on. Others around Jesus picked the name up. And before I knew it, I was calling him “Simon Peter” too. I liked to call him Simon, though. Because that’s who he once was. That’s who he was to me. Who better than a brother to see all your faults and all your strengths, and to love you anyway? Eventually, I conceded and called him Simon Peter – but I never dropped the first part of the name.
For three years, I followed in Jesus’s footsteps. And, as I predicted, Simon Peter surpassed me in every way. Most people forgot this, but I never let Simon Peter forget that I found Jesus first. But he was always the quickest with an answer when Jesus asked a question. Eventually the rest of us gave up and just looked to Simon Peter to speak for us. Every single one of us was devoted to Jesus. But Simon Peter… he was “all in.” Over time he became that firm foundation, that unshakable presence, the one you could count on.
Of the two of us, it was Simon Peter who was chosen (alongside our friends – another set of brothers, James and John… though I wouldn’t want to be the one to get in between those two “Sons of Thunder…”) to go to the top of a mountain with Jesus. I was with the rest of crew that day, down at the bottom of the mountain, trying my best to hold down the fort and look after the needs of people seeking Jesus. Simon Peter, James, and John returned from the mountain with nearly unbelievable stories about how Jesus’ face had shone like the sun, about how they’d heard a voice from heaven.
It was Simon Peter who told Jesus: “Lord to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. And we have believed and come to know that you are the holy one of God.”3
It was Simon Peter who made the bold declaration “I would lay down my life for you!”4
It was Simon Peter who drew a sword and managed to do actual damage to someone trying to lay a hand to Jesus the day they came to arrest him.5 I was always a little in awe of my brother, Simon Peter, who was “all in” with Jesus. I was always in his shadow, but I hoped I could serve Jesus as well as he did.
So I wasn’t there in the courtyard to hear the words that my brother, Simon Peter, he who stands as firm as a rock, spoke the night that Jesus was arrested. I watched in horror as one of our closest friends – one of Jesus’s closest friends – Judas, planted a kiss on Jesus’s cheek to indicate to the soldiers that they should arrest Jesus. And I’m ashamed to admit that in the melee of the soldiers laying their hands on Jesus, while my brother was drawing a sword, I was fading into background. When they finally managed to take Jesus, I ran away, terrified of what would become of us – what would become of me – if the authorities decided that Jesus alone wasn’t enough and turned the points of their swords to the rest of us.
The truth is that Simon made it farther than most of the rest of us – he had the courage to follow after Jesus, to see what would happen, even when I had turned tail and run. Though I wasn’t there to hear the words Simon spoke myself, I can tell you that the cry of the rooster echoed loudly.
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It didn’t take long before the rumours reached our ears. Those of us who had fled gathered again. Where could we go but where we’d last been with Jesus? I secretly hoped that Jesus would be OK, that the authorities would discover that they truly had no reason to hold him, and that they would let him go. And, if so, we would be there (sheepishly, perhaps, but there all the same) to welcome him back. After some time, we began to get the sense that everything would not be all right. We heard what was happening to Jesus – they were taking him to Pilate. And Pilate caved and handed Jesus over to those who were calling for his crucifixion. We had to rely on the breathless, tear-filled testimony of our friends who were women (who were much braver than I was) to tell us everything that happened to Jesus after we had run away.
And we also heard something disturbing about Simon. Simon had not managed to stay by Jesus’s side after all. Instead, he denied that he was ever that man’s disciple.6 We were shocked. I am his brother, and never in all the time that I knew him did he back down from a challenge. He was “all in” with Jesus. He stayed when the rest of us fled. I could hardly believe my ears.
The moment I heard what Simon had done, I went looking for my brother. Though he is my younger brother, I’ve spent most of my life looking up to him. It didn’t take me too long to find him, I knew where he might be. And the moment I laid eyes on him, I could see the tears still trailing down his cheeks, the despair in his eyes. I think he was surprised to see me there, and I when I opened my arms, he fell into them and wept yet more bitter tears. When he finally found his words, Simon told me that, in addition to losing Jesus, he thought he’d lost me too, had lost all of the rest of us. And knew he had only himself to blame.
But what could I say? Had I behaved any differently? I didn’t, perhaps, publicly declare “I am not that man’s disciple,” as Simon had. But the echo of my footsteps when I fled the garden where he was arrested testified against me. I didn’t need a rooster to crow my betrayal, for I had abandoned Jesus. I had turned away from following him at the eleventh hour. I did not need words for my action spoke loudly enough.
We cried together until our tears had dried out. I suggested to Simon that we make our way, together, to the room where we had last gathered with Jesus, the place where we’d laughed, eaten, enjoyed his company. The place where he’d washed our feet. Simon was hesitant – he feared the reaction of the others to what he’d done. But there was enough blame, enough loss, enough hurt, enough sin, enough betrayal to go around. Aside from the women who accompanied Jesus until the end, and the one of us who did not leave his side, we shared the shame of our failure.
But something else happened that day. The day that my brother had the courage to show his face once again, in the midst of (former?) followers of Jesus, and we cried together for our Rabbi, friend, our Lord that every single one of us had failed, I dropped the name “Simon,” and began to call my brother, for the first time, simply “Peter.” For, on that day, I saw in him what Jesus had seen. Even with the tears of his failure fresh on his cheeks, he was a rock. Despite his sorrow and his shame, he returned.
If that’s not solid, I don’t know what is. Though he is younger than me, I have spent most of my life looking up to my brother Peter. He who stands on the rock.
John 1:39.
John 1:42.
John 6:68-69.
John 13:37.
John 18:10.
John 18:17, 25.