The Passion of Peter

A few months ago, my confessor pointed out to me that perhaps I am a bit like the apostle Peter. His observation took me by surprise and knocked me on the floor for a minute, but in my tears, I realized he was telling me something important about myself.
I am passionate for God. I suppose I always have been. Looking back with these eyes now, I see God's hand in everything, even in the darkest moments of my life. Teresa of Avila, yes, I bind to; Mother Mary, I hold in my own blood...but Peter...

And it made so much sense, once I could hear it. Peter claimed Yes Lord, more loudly and more often (perhaps) than the rest...and Peter fell from grace...often. But Peter had a tender heart and Jesus knew that heart could do His work well after he was gone, because Peter knew better than anyone else what it feels like to fall from grace and what it feels like to picked up and received in His arms again.

Peter was impulsive, capricious, passionate. He knew the truth about Jesus before the other apostles connected the dots. He professed his faith and then ran and hid. For a few moments Peter walked on water...until he took his eyes off of Jesus, perhaps because he was so excited or maybe for only a second began to question "How...?" and began to sink...and then Jesus quickly went to him and raised him up again.

He knew what it was like to believe...and then to doubt...and to believe again.

Yes, Lord, I will die with you.

I don't know him.

"Lord, you know everything, you know that I love you."
And Jesus says, "Feed my sheep."

Let the one who falls and fails lead my church.
And that is true. We are broken people, but we are still called to serve. Even in our brokenness...and maybe especially in our brokenness. For only one who has fallen can compassionately love those who have fallen, too.

So I suppose, for me, who has fallen so far from grace and still been received and blessed by grace...well, maybe I have something to give.

During an Ignatian Exercise experience about two years ago, I wept at the crucifix at Montserrat while on a private retreat. It was the first time I pulled the tears off my face and placed them on his feet and head. The crucifix was lower down behind the altar there. I poured my sadness onto Him who loved me anyway. It felt like the right thing to do. Mixing my DNA with his, in this moment of time, which is also eternity.

I have to post or I'll be bumped off...more soon.

Love, Cindy