What Is Your Splinter?

I hereby declare splinters to be the worst thing in all the world.

I managed to "get" splinters on a fairly regular basis as a kid, and the experience and resulting trauma was never pleasant. I remember one particular time, I was at a Bible School picnic at our church. I walked around the picnic table, dragging my hand along the wood grain as I did so.

Whereupon, following this intelligent action, I felt a sharp poke in the heel of my palm, and I jerked my arm back. Lifting my hand to inspect my injury, I found a half-inch wooden splinter poking out of it. It was razor thin, so when I tried to grasp the end of it and pull, the part above the skin broke off and left the part below the skin... intact.

And it hurt. 

Since I was of the mature and ancient age of ten, I naturally acted like a two year old.

Tears sprouted and dread descended, because now... I'd have to tell my mom. And I knew what would happen as soon as I told her. She'd insist on getting that thing out of my skin, and usually, the getting out involved needles, and occasionally, a knife or sharp scissors to cut the top layers of skin

I didn't want to tell her. I wanted to keep it a secret. Maybe, just maybe, if I ignored the problem, it would go away.

I kept quiet about it for the rest of the picnic, though I couldn't do much with my hand. The pain radiated outward from it, and it had started to turn red. I kept quiet about it on the drive home, so much so that my mom noticed I wasn't my usual chatterbox self.

By the time I got home, it hurt so much that I was in tears. And the truth came tumbling out.

And of course, the needle came out, too.

It took both my dad and my mom to hold me down. Perhaps it's because there was the dresser mirror next to my parents' bed, but I have a vivid mental picture of the three of us clustered on that bed. My mom knelt next to the mattress while she bent over my hand. I sobbed loudly and continually in my dad's lap as he held me firmly and told me a story he'd made up on the spot to distract me. 

I made things rather difficult for my mom; anytime she approached my hand with the needle, I'd reflexively jerk it back and try to hide it under my other arm. It took my dad every ounce of his strength to keep my arm in place, absolutely still, without hurting or bruising my arm in the process.

Sometimes, a gentle hold is even more difficult to maintain than a harsh one. That's my spiritual lesson for the day. ;)

Just kidding. But seriously, it applies.

Let's look at John 13:31-14:4. Judas Iscariot has just left the building. There's a significant silence that settles over the disciples. Jesus glances around at them and tells them what's about to go down. "Now is the Son of Man glorified and God is glorified in Him. If God is glorified in Him, God will glorify the Son in Himself, and will glorify Him at once."

Say what, Jesus?

Jesus is repeating what He's spent the last three years teaching. John 10:30: "I and the Father are one." John 12:44: "Whoever believes in Me does not believe in Me only, but in the One Who sent Me." 

Then, having established once again the fact that He is God, He continues with a rather dire prediction: "My children, I will be with you only a little longer. You will look for Me, and just as I told the Jews, so I tell you now: Where I am going, you cannot come."

Peter latches onto this. Jesus continues talking, something about loving each other as He has loved them, which seems important, but Peter can't move past the "Where I am going, you cannot come."

Peter has spent three years of his life going with Jesus by choice. Who is Jesus to tell him he can't come wherever Jesus is going? So as soon as Jesus says: "By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another," Peter interrupts.

"Lord, where are You going?" They're in Jerusalem; perhaps Jesus will travel back home to Galilee as they've done so often before. But if that's the case, why wouldn't Peter and the others go with Him? Maybe He's going into Samaria? But they've been there before, too. They wouldn't be prevented by any political law or creed, though, of course the Samaritans are... well... Samaritans.

Jesus, per normal, gives the enigmatic answer: "Where I am going, you cannot follow now, but you will follow later." 

Peter asks, "Lord, why can't I follow you now? I will lay down my life for you!"

Bless the man. He's got such a passionate, though sometimes misguided, heart. He exuberantly lifts high his battle standard, glances around at his brothers-in-arms, and strides confidently onto the battlefield. "Look!" he says as he plants his banner pole. "Look at the battle I'm getting ready to fight!"

And Jesus, in His compassion, cuts through the fat straight to the meat. "Will you really lay down your life for me?" He asks. "I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times."

Not once.
Not twice.
Three times.

Anyone can make a mistake, a fumble of the tongue. Some might even make the same mistake twice. The third time, the mistake is intentional. I have no idea who said: "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me." I'll add: "Fool me three times, and I chose to go there."

In all four Gospels, we have the account of Peter's three-time denial of knowing Jesus. And the synoptic Gospel writers, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, each record that when the rooster crows, Peter breaks down and weeps.

One thing more: As soon as Jesus predicts Peter's denial, he follows up with: "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in Me."

Trust is the antidote for fear. It's the armor that shields us from doubts. When Satan attacks us with his fiery darts, we hold up the shield of faith to catch the onslaught. 

See, Peter is getting ready to be injured, and Jesus calls it. He calls it accurately and in detail. But Peter is passionately rallying his battle cry: "I will lay down my life for you!" He lays out his armor, draws his sword, straightens his helmet, cinches his belt tight. He's ready to fight for his cause.

Jesus sees past the armor his disciple straps on straight to the vulnerability behind it. Peter will be scared. Peter will be terrified. Peter will be in so much pain as a result of the evening's events, that he will deny the very Person he so boldly claims to love. And in the end, all the armor Peter has gathered around to protect his weak points, will be destroyed by the worst enemy: himself.

In Jesus' compassion, He reminds Peter (and the rest of the disciples, and us): "Trust in God; trust also in Me." 

When things are the most black, when the whole world seems against you, when the storm is so intense that you don't know how you'll survive it, when the center of your life collapses...

"Trust in God; trust also in Me."

Jesus is making a way through the pain. He does what He has to do (die in our place) so that we can live forever with Him.

Luke 22:61 records the moment when, after Peter's third denial of Jesus, "The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter."

When we lose focus on the cure, when we live only in the pain of the treatment, we forget the bigger picture. I think when Jesus catches Peter's eye, Peter sees that big picture. He sees his own sordid failure, his own screaming tantrum in his struggle to avoid the pain, his own fear and lack of trust.

Maybe Jesus' words ring through his mind again: "Trust in God; trust also in Me." I'm doing this for you, Peter. For you and a whole world of people. For you and centuries' worth of ones I already love. 

"Trust in God; trust also in Me. In My Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would not have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with Me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going."

Peter had to come to the place where Jesus broke through the pain with the healing message. Before that happened, before Luke 22:61 and that stripped-down, refining look of fire that Jesus exchanges with Peter, Peter can't hear that message. After that look, after Jesus is led away to be taken to the Sanhedrin...

Peter breaks down and weeps. 

One of my favorite verses is this: "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book" (Psalm 56:8). Somewhere, there is a book of Peter's tears, the moment where he realizes what Jesus is in the act of doing... for him.

Somewhere, there is a book of our pain, our sorrow, and there, recorded for all eternity, is the moment where Jesus kneels over our open wounds, touches them gently with His healing hands, and removes forever the pain of them.

What is your splinter? What sharp piece of wood do you have embedded right now? Where is your Luke 22:61 moment? Will you look at Jesus? Or will you avoid His refining gaze?

This is heavy, I get it. But there's so much hope in it, too. Without the pain, there is no healing. Without the splinter, there is no removal. 

Jesus goes ahead of us and makes a way. He prepares a place for us. He will come again to take us to be with Him. "Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes with the morning" (Psalm 30:5).

Are you excited for the morning, the eternal morning? It's coming, and I can hardly wait!