I don’t typically cry when I read Scripture. Once, when I read this passage in Luke, I did—so personal is its meaning to me.

First of all, I love this passage for its institution of the Christian talent ethic. In a putative democracy, really a meritocracy, like America, this seems the hidden wisdom we need. The ultimate purpose of talent is to serve, especially the worst off; it’s only the incidental purpose of talent to bring bread to the table. Christ, the greatest being, came to earth to serve. By human standards, the Incarnation is actually insane.

But I also love this passage because of its theodicean subtlety and for its Providential glory. Jesus tells Peter that Satan demanded permission to sift him like wheat. The only other moment like this, when Satan tries to deal with God (and God lets him!) regarding human beings, is in the book of Job. What does it say about God’s sovereignty that He, for a time at least, tolerates demands from Satan (the adversary’s name is capitalized in the Gospel, so I’m going to do it too)? It seems to show that God allows us to be tempted—knowing that we will fall. Whether we like it or not, that logic runs throughout the whole Redemption narrative.

We have an adversary—and an adversary that has agency, and, apparently, some potential for claim on our lives. Jesus testifies to that. But in the same breath, He tells Peter, “but I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.” We have an adversary, but our Advocate is greater.

In our walks, we are going to fail Christ. But He will not fail us. This passage ends with Jesus telling Peter that He’s going to deny Him. Imagine the last thing you would ever want to do, the ultimate act of betrayal of all that you love and value—you’re going to do it, Jesus tells Peter. And for us, whether that is our lot our not—essentially—we have already done the same. You’re going to cheat on your wife. You’re going to abandon your family. You’re going to bankrupt your business. You’re going become a prostitute. You’re going to betray your nation. You’re going to lose your faith. That’s what Peter heard from Christ.

“Lord, with you I am ready to go both to prison and to death!”

“I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow today until you have denied three times that you know me.”

I included, “You’re going to lose your faith,” up there because, for me—after the most heinous deeds of my life—that would be the final failure. But notice what Jesus already said to Peter: “But I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail.” What a comfort! In saying that, Jesus warned Peter that the greatest temptation after succumbing to the greatest temptation is—to lose the faith.

And what happens when someone does the unimaginable and loses their faith? Is that why people lose their faith—because they betray the Lord? I know a man who had an affair and who is now given to doubting God’s existence. How could there be a God who would make someone who could do something so horrible, he reasons. Surely a person’s betraying the faith—denying Christ when it counts—is a common cause, if not the only, of this thing—deconversion, as one friend of mine calls it. Given the pandemic of this spiritual phenomenon in the West, I propose a new field of theological study—desoteriology (apologies to Barry Barlow).

But back to my question—what happens when someone loses the faith (my friend says he “rid” himself of it)? Their sin causes them to doubt, but in the state of doubt—and, especially, final unbelief—where is their sin? What is sin if there is no Gospel, no God? From what did they need saving? They perhaps lacked the integrity to stay committed to their worldview, but who says you have to stay committed to your worldview—especially if it’s false? Sure, they’ve lost grace, but it turns out they never needed it in the first place—at least not in the way they thought. For them, the problem is solved. But if they are wrong—if it is otherwise—“the last deception is worse than the first.”

So then—what about the believer who does the unimaginable, who still believes after betraying? Why does the Lord let them stay on the hook and let the others go? Is it a matter of His sovereign choice? Or is it some quality of doggedness in the believer? In my case, at least, from the angle of experience, it looked for all the world like choice.

But what good is choice against the sifting power of Satan? And why did Jesus need to pray for Peter to keep the faith?

Does anyone have the faith to take Jesus seriously when he tells Peter what to do after he turns again? (And what comfort for Peter that Jesus told him in no uncertain terms that he would turn again!) He said, “Strengthen your brothers.” After that? With what strength am I to strengthen my brothers? Are they even my brothers after what I’ve done?

Appropriately, the Blue Book authors talk about brokenness this week. The encouragement they give is to embrace brokenness and to be vulnerable about it. What hope do we have of helping anyone with their difficulties if we are not honest, with others and ourselves, about our own? We don’t have to advertise our darkest secrets to every one—but maybe we do need to with some people. In the very state of being honest with ourselves about our brokenness, we will be the type of people to whom it is possible to listen. We will come nearer authenticity, and people will recognize it, whether they can express it or not, whether they register it consciously or not. Moreover, how can He bind our wounds if we refuse to own that we are wounded? How can we receive treatment if we deny that for which we need healing?

Just after Peter denied Jesus, Jesus died on a cross, forgiving His enemies, to unleash the grace Peter—and every single one of us—needed to be whole. Peter did end up turning again (nothing is more important than repentance!) and strengthening his brethren. What’s more, he did eventually follow Jesus, not only to prison, but also to death. Legend has it he refused to be crucified in the manner of Christ and so was crucified upside down.

We are weak but He is strong; strength is perfected in weakness; in brokenness is wholeness found. For, though we have and adversary, our Advocate is greater.