Last week, as well as climbing the Mount of Olives and losing a game of chess, I also sat in a little nook inside the walls of Jerusalem. That is part of what I want to write about today.
Through the gap in this picture you can see a church. It’s called the Church of Saint Peter in Gallicantu. “Gallicantu” means “cock’s crow;” the church is built in commemoration of Peter’s denial of Jesus. This picture is the view that I could see from my little nook in Jerusalem’s walls.
I was a little apprehensive before I went to Jerusalem, you know. I had heard stories of what it was like there but wanted to experience it for myself, because the things that you hear are not always the things that are actually true. People can exaggerate, and sometimes their words are tinted by their perspectives on life.
I loved it there; really deeply loved it. I got to see some amulets that I had only ever read about; to see the archaeological evidence of King David’s name written in stone; to see an inscription to Pontious Pilate; to serve spoonfuls of food to people from all the corners of our world; to join in extended worship in my favourite church; to join in night time wanderings around Jerusalem with hushed silence as the siren blew for memorial; to see men with snakes on their arms and boys with birds on their shoulders; to join in games of chess and times of testimonies; to look up one day and unexpectedly see someone I know and love; to spend time with beautiful volunteers and people; to share my heart and receive the privilege of weeping with those weeping and rejoicing with those rejoicing; to go to the edges of the Judean desert; to join in with fireworks and Independance celebrations and wonderful moments of life…to step where my Father stepped before me, for me, for you.
As I sat in my little nook that day in Jerusalem, I began to think about how Peter’s triple denial of Jesus had the potential to define Peter’s life. You could look at him and write him off as a failure. But Jesus didn’t. For every time Peter denied Jesus, Jesus gave Peter an opportunity to confess that he loved Jesus. It’s a pretty simple story, but profound.
I sat there, looking at this church and thinking about this story of Peter and Jesus, and I heard the gentle voice I know so well. “Don’t let fear of failure keep you from pushing on the doors I place before you.” As I’m sure you have gathered by now, all my apprehensions about being in Jerusalem had melted away pretty quickly. And the fear I was thinking about in that moment, made up of deeper apprehensions inside me based on previous experiences, needed to be traded in for a sweet gulp of truth. Fear has no right to have a root in my life. So I took captive the thoughts of fear that were paralysing me, and I questioned them about where they came from. I chose to let go of the failed moment in my history that was at the core of all that fear, and I chose to believe truth.
Somehow, as I write about that little moment, I find words from Babe Ruth coming to mind, words that summarise the truth I chose to take hold of in that moment: “Don’t let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.”
So “play the game,” I will. It’s not our failures or our fears that define us, but the love of Jesus, which frees us to outrageously love Him back.
Joanne Philippa 