"Peter" by Jessica Andrews (Meant to be spoken out loud)

I'm not really the type to listen to Jesus very well.  Don't get me wrong, I try, but I tend to misunderstand.  That's one reason I was really surprised one day when Jesus gave me a new name.  I know God used to do that for people, like Sarah and Abraham, but they were great leaders – always had the right thing to say, and it was obvious that God had called them to something great, something wonderful.  That's not me.  At all.  I never know what to say, and when I do say something, it just comes out sounding really dumb.  But...He told me that from then on, my name was Peter.  I don't really understand why, and it scares me...a lot.  He said something about my “being the Rock upon which he would build his Church,” but for a long time I didn't think that I heard him right.  I finally realized I had – so, strange as it seemed, “Peter” I became.  For the first while, I usually forgot and introduced myself as Simon...Jesus would just smile at me.  Sometimes he would correct me, sometimes He just whispered, “Peter,” in my ear to remind me, and sometimes he would just let it slide.  Once I got it through my head, though, it became who I was.  From then on, I never questioned that I was Peter – that is who Jesus said that I was.  I guess I get that way – it takes me a while to accept things, but once I do, I throw myself into them.

Jesus always seemed to teach in riddles.  Sometimes I understood, sometimes I didn't.  There were a couple things that he always seemed to be saying, though...one was that he was the Son of God, and another was we should always serve people...love people.  I guess I misunderstood what he meant by some of that too, though, because one night during Passover, Jesus tried to wash my feet...and, well, feet have always been a big deal for me.  I guess part of it is that we walk just about everywhere – but most of it is more than that.  I guess I just seem to notice God as I walk around with my feet.  I tend to take off my sandals a lot – pretending I'm Moses, I guess.  The other disciples thought I was really strange at first, but they are pretty used to me now.  Just seems like I notice God in the world around me more when I am barefoot.  Anyway, like I was saying, Jesus tried to wash them.  I thought I had this one all figured out.  I thought I was supposed to love Jesus enough to serve him and wash HIS feet, to acknowledge that He was the Lord...wasn't that what he had been teaching us for the past how many years?  I was wrong, though, and Jesus let me know it...apparently, I could only be his if he washed my feet.  So then I thought I really got it, and I told him to wash all of me...but that was wrong too.  Like I said, I don't understand God very well.  Later that night he did this thing with the bread and wine we were having – something about his Body and Blood.  I didn't understand it then, I just knew that something had changed me – that there was something mysterious in that that I didn't get.  I just knew that it was one of the most significant things that Jesus had ever taught us.

Then he started to talk really strangely – and more so than usual, which, with Jesus, definitely said something.  Lots about him dying, something about a betrayal, telling us to take a sword with us...and then...he told me that I would deny him 3 times.  That was probably the hardest thing he had ever told me.  I didn't get it.  He knew me, he knew that when I do something, I really do it.  That when I love someone, I really love them.  That when I know that something is true, like that He was the Son of God, that I don't just throw that away.  What would be left of me?  Something in me always cries out to be real.  When I try to be something that I am not, I just feel like I am dead inside.  If I can't be truly me, I can't be anyone. 

But Jesus couldn't be wrong, could he?  So why would he say that?  I had been wrong so many times that night already, I didn't know how I could get much worse.

We went to the garden, and Jesus asked us to pray with Him.  I still get so mad at myself when I think about it.  Why couldn't I stay awake??  Seriously.  Why did I keep falling asleep?  It was obvious something was wrong with Jesus, but I was too wrapped up in what I felt – what MY confusion was – to try to understand.  It was easier for me to just sleep it away.  So I did...till the guards came.  I remembered the sword then, and realized that, of course, that was why Jesus had us bring it!  So we would be able to fight the soldiers and free Him.  I had never used a sword before, but I went for it.  I would do anything to prove to Jesus again that I wasn't just a screw-up, that I loved him, that I wouldn't deny him.  Wrong again.  Jesus told me to put the sword away, and then he healed the man!  He healed him!  He healed the man who then took him away from me.  He was gone.  I tried to follow, but couldn't.  I kept getting trapped, I couldn't see, I was lost in the crowd, and I wondered if Jesus even wanted me to follow him.  It was like I didn't even know him anymore.  I obviously didn't – I couldn't understand the smallest, simplest things that Jesus said to me.  The other disciples seemed to get it – at least they didn't screw up like I did.  Was this Jesus' way of showing me that I wasn't cut out to be his follower?  That something in me was just wrong?  That maybe I was worth it before, but that I screwed up just one too many times?  I didn't understand why he would call me if all I was going to do was fail.  I suppose I could be quiet and just go through the motions, but that isn't who I am.  I couldn't do things that I didn't believe.  I didn't know who I was, and for the first time in a long time, when the girl at the gate asked my name, I introduced myself as “Simon.”  It seemed such a lie to call myself Peter when I knew I was no Rock.  She asked me if I was Jesus' disciple, and I didn't know what to say.  I finally muttered, “no,” because I didn't see how I could claim to follow Jesus when I didn't understand where he was going, what he was doing, or who I was.  Two more people asked me the same question, so I answered them the same way.  In a way I believed it more as I repeated it – that I wasn't good enough, that I couldn't really be his disciple...and in another way I felt more lost and more empty than I had since before I met Jesus.  I understood that Jesus was the Son of God, but I didn't understand who I was, and I was really angry that Jesus didn't explain it to me more before he left.  He knew that he was going to be arrested...couldn't he have helped me understand before he went?  Maybe I was just too dumb to get it.

They crucified him.  They killed my best friend, my Lord, the one thing that gave my life meaning.  He was put in a tomb, and I just...didn't get it.  I tried to go on with life, but when Mary came running back and said that he was gone, that someone had taken his body, I couldn't help myself.  I just ran.  I didn't look back, and I rushed in to look for him.  I still didn't understand, but I felt more alive than I had since before Passover started. 

I've seen him a few times since then.  But tonight – I am sitting here and I just don't know what to say.  He showed up while we were fishing, gave us a great catch of fish, and made us breakfast.  I ran to him at first – or swam, rather, but I'm sitting here with him now, and I just don't know what to say.  “Do you love me,” he asks.  I'm not sure I know what love is, and I certainly don't know how to answer him.  Does a person who loves God screw up like I do?  Doubt like I do?  Misunderstand like I do?  Perhaps Jesus means a different kind of love – but he just keeps asking me: “Do you love me?  Do you love me”  Really, truly, deeply, unselfishly, love me?  Then feed my lambs.  Tend my sheep.  Be Peter.  Be who I made you to be.  I called you once, I am calling you again, and I will keep calling you.  I love you - deeply, madly...do you love me?”