The Gospel of Luke 22.31-34
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It was about this time of year, the fall of my first semester at Bible college where I was training for pastoral service, and we were bracing ourselves to receive the results of our first set of midterm exams. The first result I got back was from a class called Spiritual Formation, and the marks were posted on a bulletin board in the lobby of our academic building. As you might expect, I was nervous, and more so because I had never had an easy time in school. I plucked up the courage and scanned for my student number on that very public bulletin board. I feared the worst, and my fears were confirmed – I had failed the exam. I had failed yet another exam, in yet another class, at yet another school. And I had failed by one mark. The teacher had told us to visit him if we had any questions, so I rushed to his office. I didn’t beg, but it was close: “It’s just one mark. Is there anything you can do?” The grade, he told me, was the grade. I had failed and had to face it. Failing that test was painful, embarrassing, and made me worry: Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for school. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this, either. From my dorm room that night I called home and got enough just encouragement to keep going, but safe to say it was a rough first semester.
Well, despite the fact you’re now a little concerned that one of your pastors failed a test on Spiritual Formation, you’re also probably empathizing a little. School, special interests, work, friendships, marriage, family, parenting – you name it – everyone, in some shape or form, has felt the embarrassment, fear, even shame of failure. Maybe we tried. Maybe we didn’t try. Maybe we did the best with what we had. Maybe we just plain messed up. Whatever our story, we’ve all tasted failure and we’re usually not very eager for a second helping. No one likes facing failure. We’d rather avoid it, deny it, try to squirm out from under its crushing weight. But we all fail, and we all will fail again. I will probably fail in some way in trying to share this sermon with you, because, as someone once put it: the sermon always begs the deeply important question – when’s lunch? Part of being a Christian is coming to grips with failure, even in the parts of us which feel most vulnerable and exposed.
The Drama of the Gospel
As we come toward the end of Luke’s gospel, in recent weeks we’ve been sitting with Jesus and his disciples the night before his death. They’re sharing the Passover meal which marked the Hebrew people’s freedom from slavery in Egypt, about fifteen hundred years prior to Jesus’ time, an event we call the Exodus. The Exodus, was and is a crucial origin point for Jewish people, including Jesus and his contemporaries in the first century. The Exodus defined their sense of cultural identity and self-understanding. God had saved them, and God had always come through to save again and again. And in Jesus’ time, under the thumb of brutal Roman rule, everyone agreed they needed God to save them once more. Thousands from the surrounding region would flood Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, and at this Passover festival, the one he was celebrating with his friends, Jesus was making a stir. The authorities were worried about Jesus’ words and actions in the city’s center, the Temple. If there was going to be an uprising, Passover season ticked all the boxes. The sheer number of people could overwhelm Roman forces, and the Exodus story itself might inspire attempts by the people to throw off their Roman oppressors. The air was charged with possibility of wide-spread rebellion. Jesus, we’re told in Luke’s gospel, was eager to share this Passover meal with his disciples, and it’s again the setting for our passage today. But, once they’d observed the meal, what would come next? Jesus’ disciples were chomping at the bit to find out.
During the meal Jesus throws more fuel on the fire. Audaciously, he wraps the Passover meal around himself. Maybe Jesus going to bring on another Exodus, thought his disciples. Navigating Roman occupation over the years had been taxing, and most wanted rid of the Romans as soon as possible. Would-be messiahs came along from time to time, revolts followed, but the Empire had always struck back, and when they did it was never pretty, the Empire always coming out on top. But Jesus, thought his disciples, in his strange authority, and otherworldly power, Jesus could really make the difference. The disciples felt they might be at the very tip of the spear in all this, but they had no idea about what would come next, nor any clue as to the role they were actually about to play.
It’s the middle of the Passover night and at every turn of the meal the disciples seem to get the wrong end of the stick. We left off last week with the disciples fighting among themselves about which one of them would be the all-star on Team Jesus. They think they’ll be right alongside Jesus in full heroic glory when things finally kick off in Jerusalem. But Jesus, yet again, halts and corrects them. Power, greatness, freedom, victory – it won’t be like what they expect.
We’re taking our time in this stretch of the gospel for a couple of reasons. One, Jesus is trying to get across to his friends the stuff that matters most, so we as his followers today had better listen up too. Second, we want to let the wine on the table breathe a little. By this I mean, there is something being poured out at this table which needs some air. It’s the new wine, the new way. And still, two millennia later, we must confess that none of us can claim to fully understand Jesus and his way.
The last two weeks we’ve considered the matter of “greatness” among the disciples and our reflections on Jesus “as one who serves”. We heard about what following Jesus means – which means to be a people serving. Of course, this will take some getting used to. I enjoyed Kirsten’s picture last week that as Christians we’re a little like a middle school band. We didn’t compose the music, nor do we know how to conduct ourselves. We’re learning to play the central melody Jesus has given us, the melody of service. We’re often out of tune and out of time with him, not to mention each other, and we need Jesus to unify and harmonize us. So, as we learn to follow the one who serves, it’s all eyes on Jesus at the front of the class.
Jesus has been very clear with his disciples about what power and greatness will mean if they want to go his way. He’ll go first, and his disciples are to follow, which won’t be easy– they are to be a people serving. His next words to the group, and to Simon Peter particularly, a sort of team captain, are chilling words. But they’re also profoundly encouraging and hopeful. Today, we’ll look at the first half of this passage (22.31-34), and next week we’ll cover Jesus’ curious and poetic language about what his disciples should expect next (22.35-38).
The Gospel of Luke 22.31-34
31 “Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat. 32 But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”
33 But he replied, “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.”
34 Jesus answered, “I tell you, Peter, before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.”
Shaken to the core
Some of what we just read are quite well-known words from Jesus, about Simon Peter and rosters and denials. Other parts are less well known but are no less important for us to hear. “Simon, Simon,” says Jesus “Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat”. As mentioned these are some of Jesus’ most chilling words to his disciples. Simon, hey Simon, listen up. Tonight, Satan has asked to shake you to the core. It’ll be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. Can you pass the bread? Imagine the intensity of this meal. Jesus is trying to get across the gravity of this moment, his disciples are bickering among themselves about which one of them will look the more glorious standing on a pile of dead Roman forces, and then Jesus tells it to them straight: listen, you’re going to face a bigger test then you think; and Simon, you especially are on the brink of severe failure.
Simon, of course, always full of passion, probably the best of them, can’t believe what he’s hearing. No way has he come this far to bail on Jesus now. Doesn’t Jesus know what Simon’s sacrificed, how far they’ve come together? Hasn’t Simon proven himself to Jesus enough already? He’s not just in the twelve, he’s in the inner circle of three with James and John, they’ve seen and done it all with Jesus. Simon’s witnessed almost all the signs. He’s literally walked on water with Jesus. “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” Even if they crush us, I’m in. And yet, at this pivotal moment, Jesus breaks the news. Satan is prowling, and Jesus tells them that Simon especially is going to fail miserably when it counts most. Before the sun’s up all of Simon’s bravado and self-assurance will be a wash of tears. In a few short hours Simon will be cowering in a shadowy corner of the city, scared spitless, riddled with shame. And Jesus will be in chains.
Scholars have noted that part of what we’re reading in the gospel narrative is a growing separation.[i] There’s an obvious separation between Jesus and the Temple higher-ups, between Jesus and the Roman authorities, soon between Jesus and the people. But there’s also a growing separation between Jesus’ and his closest followers. As we edge closer to the cross, Jesus will become increasingly isolated, as he alone takes on what only he can. As Jesus’ steps up into faithfulness and victory, everyone around him will slide into betrayal, denial and failure. In other words, there are no good guys and bad guys in this story. There is Jesus, and then there is everyone else. You’re either in line with Jesus, or you’re not. And when folks see what being in line with Jesus really means, what service really means, they turn and run. Because what Jesus is stepping into, what he calls faithfulness and victory, is not at all aligned with their ideas of winning at all. And so, at the table, and in the garden, and so on through the narrative, Jesus becomes increasingly separated from every group because of who he is, the way he chooses to go, and what he alone has been born to do.
Not to get ahead of ourselves, but as we know, Jesus’ prediction about Simon Peter’s denial comes true. When the moment comes for Simon to put his money where his mouth is, he’ll crack under the pressure. Jesus wasn’t being dramatic when he told his friends that Satan had asked to shake them to the core, which is part of the gospel writer’s point. Simon Peter will be no rock. Only Jesus, when shaken, doesn’t crumble. Only Jesus, facing the ultimate test, passes with flying colours – and the colours flying are black and blue and blood-red, and the flagpole is a cross. Jesus knows that only he can on what’s set before him. And Jesus knows that the only way his friends stand a chance of helping to build something new once he’s laid the foundation is by trusting him only.
But Simon, at this point, hasn’t yet been shaken to the core. He’s trusting a little in Jesus, but probably also a good deal in his own passion. All well intended. Who can fault him? Who can fault the others for wanting to help, for wanting freedom for their people? Who can fault them for struggling to understand Jesus and his way at the very turning point in history? If we read these passages and think to ourselves, “well, I’d have done better”, we’re kidding ourselves. How much do we really trust in our own wisdom or goodness? It reminds me of that famous scene in Chris Nolan’s The Dark Knight where the Joker says to Batman, “You see, their morals, their code, it’s a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They’re only as good as the world allows them to be. I’ll show you. When the chips are down…these civilized people, they’ll eat each other.”[ii] What’s really frightening about that scene in the film, is that on some level we know the Joker isn’t entirely wrong. It’s only delusional bravado that tells us we’re different or better than others. We all fail. We will all fail again. Especially when it comes to going Jesus’ way. We see this in Judas, whose ending is a little unclear, and like many stories we must trust to God’s grace. We see this in Simon Peter. We see it in everyone around Jesus. Failure. Along with the disciples, that’s the bad news we too must face.
But, and here’s the really good news we must also face: when it comes to Jesus, our failure isn’t final. Jesus tells his friends they’re going to be shaken to bits. He tells Simon that he will fail him bitterly when the going gets tough. But what else does Jesus say?
Failure and Trust
“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift all of you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”
As chilling as that first sentence is, it’s important to hear that Satan and the action of evil can’t hold a candle to what Jesus has up his sleeve. What does Jesus tell Simon? First, “…I have prayed for you”. Well, that’s game, set, match, isn’t it? Evil might be after you, Simon, but don’t forget who took all those legions of demons to task. Don’t forget who fed thousands with a couple of fish and loaves of bread. Who hushed the storm, who healed all the sick, who raised the dead? Satan might try and shake you to pieces, Simon, but I’m your foundation, even if you don’t fully know it yet. And I have prayed for you. You’re not Satan’s, Simon. You’re mine.
What else does Jesus say? “That your faith may not fail”. That’s a little odd. Because isn’t it clear that Simon will fail? True, Simon will fail in his own strength and delusions of greatness, but Jesus prays that Simon’s faith may not fail. What does that mean? Faith is a tricky word in our time, and people take it to mean all kinds of things. If we have enough faith something will or won’t happen. That our faith is strong or weak. But biblically, especially in the gospels, one of the best ways of thinking about the word faith is to equate it to the word trust. Read trust into that statement from Jesus” “I have prayed for you, Simon, that your trust may not fail.” Trust in what? It’s not Simon’s trust in himself. It’s not his trust in the others in the group, because they’re all in the same boat. So, trust in what? When we look at the bigger picture of the whole gospel story we see more clearly. Jesus tells Simon, as he faces his biggest test and failure, that when all is said and done, Simon’s trust in Jesus won’t fail. Because Jesus is the only one in this story who himself won’t fail.
When Simon is a sobbing mess, hiding in some forgotten shadow of the city like a frightened boy, Jesus prays that his trust won’t fail. Simon has come this far, to some degree under his own steam, and he’s learned to trust a little. He trusted Jesus with the sick, with the Temple leaders, with the demons, even on the waves. He trusted Jesus with things he never thought possible. But will he trust Jesus with his absolute and bitter failure? Will he trust Jesus, not just with the external, but the internal too?
Simon, I’ve prayed that you will trust, – says Jesus – I have prayed that even through the failure of the biggest test of your life, you’ll learn to trust me even over yourself. I won’t fail you, Simon. And when you turn back – and you can always turn to me Simon – I still have a job for you. Strengthen the others. But then you’ll have learned where the strength really comes from. Watch me, Simon. Trust.
In the dimly lit room, Jesus lays it all out for Simon and the others. He lays it all out for us. Our failure is inevitable, all kinds of failure, especially our failure in trying to follow. But our failure isn’t final, if we learn to trust. We don’t trust in our performances. We don’t trust in our wisdom or way or resolve. Failure isn’t final if we trust Jesus alone – his action, his wisdom, his way.
Tea Lights & Trust
I’d like us to hear a few things in all this today. First, if we want to follow Jesus, we’ll need to learn to face failure. Part of why so many of us are so spiritually unhealthy is because we’re so afraid of failure that we’re unwilling to even admit its existence in our lives. So we pretend. We pretend it’s all okay, when it isn’t. But if we want to follow Jesus, we must learn to face failure, so that Jesus can bring us through it by his strength and grace, as individuals, as families, as communities. We have wounds and we need Jesus to attend to them. This is part of the reason why the cross is so terrifying and ugly. It had to be. Jesus climbed the cross and took on cosmic failure, including every one of your failures. Jesus faced our failure, and trusting him means we must learn to face our failure too. It might be painful or embarrassing, and that’s only nature, because our failure is bad news.
But we face failure in the power of the good news. We face our failure in the shadow of the cross, because it’s only there we learn that our failure is comparatively minuscule, infinitely dwarfed, completely overshadowed by the immensity of the cross. You think your blazing failure stands a chance in the shadow of the cross? The cross can snuff out every fire we’ve set in ourselves and in our worlds. The cross is not a helicopter carrying water, dropping its contents into the forest fire of our lives. The cross is an ocean into which we drop the burning tealights of our failure, the flames extinguished in the unfathomable depths of grace. There’s simply no competition between our failure and God’s love. So we trust Jesus and his cross, even in our deepest, darkest moments of failure.
Here’s one of my favourite sayings: “A Christian is not a person who puts up their hand as if to say, ‘I’ve got it right’. First and foremost a Christian is someone who puts up their hand and says, ‘I’ve got it wrong, and I’m trusting someone else has got it right.’”[iii] Let us be a people who puts up our hands and admits we’re wrong. That’s the first step. Today we have the chance to take that step by literally stepping towards the communion table together. Just as Jesus was at the Passover table with his friends then, so he is with us at this table now by his Spirit. And there is room for you and me at this table, room in the depths of the cross. There is room for your failure along with Simon’s failure and my failure.
Maybe something is coming to light in your heart right now that you need to bring to Jesus by way of this table. Maybe you’ve been afraid to bring failure up because its admittance is too frightening, too painful. Or maybe on some level you’ve always only ever trusted in yourself, and today is the day you need turn and trust Jesus. Or maybe today you just need another reminder that last week’s failures and this week’s likely failures are always covered under Jesus.
Let us face our failure. It doesn’t have to be final. Jesus has prayed for us too, that we will learn to trust him.
[i] Tom Wright, Luke for Everyone, p.267
[ii] Christopher Nolan, Jonathan Nolan, David S. Goyer, The Dark Knight
[iii] Rowan Williams
Luke Knight 