When the Vessel Leaks, When the Pedestals Fall

What do you do when a pedestal cracks and then crumbles? What happens when a mushroom cloud of dust and debris rises from the place of your erstwhile respect, and you sort of fold inward from the pain?

This morning, I heard for the first time about a scandal involving an erstwhile highly respected leader in the Christian faith. This is nothing new -- how many times has scandal rocked the church before? But this one felt personal, as I had followed this man for several years, coming back often to the teachings he'd given, using them to shore up places where I'd felt weak in my own faith.

Lord, where do I go from here? I asked. If this person could mess up so, SO badly, while still whole-heartedly pursuing You... where does that leave me, someone with a whole lot fewer brains and a much, much smaller platform?

"Remember David?" He asked. "Go read Psalm 51." 

So I did. David's heartbreak over his sin is evident. It haunts him. "For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me" (Psalm 51:3). Like a bloodstain, he can't get rid of it. Like Macbeth's wife, he can't wash it off. It's there to stay... except -- 

"Create in me a pure heart, oh God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from Your presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me!" (Psalm 51:11)

I can't imagine anything worse. How David must have wrestled with this thought -- wondering if the Spirit of God no longer lived in him, no longer used him as a cracked and broken vessel in which to place His treasure and use him for His glory. 

"Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me" (Psalm 51:12). That word: willing. Look at it. Think about it. All the implications.

Willing means a choice. Willing means a purpose. Earlier, in Psalm 19:13, David writes: "Keep your servant also from willful sins. May they not rule over me!" 

Here in Psalm 51, David flips his attitude over to look at it from the other side: "Give me a willing spirit to sustain me." May I will my actions toward You, Jesus. My heart wills to serve You.

This is a story as old as time. Sin, Repentance, Grace, Forgiveness, Renewal... Repeat.

Even a king. Even a loved and popular king. David was Israel's greatest king, and yet, that pedestal gets rocked the day he intentionally (willful sin, here!) sent for Bathsheba, planning out his encounter, calling her husband Uriah back to the palace, trying to get him to sleep with his wife, so he could intentionally misplace the blame for the pregnancy resulting from his intentional adultery. 

None of this was accidental. It wasn't like David woke up the next morning and looked over at the pillow next to his and thought: "Oops, bummer, who did that?" He planned it. He orchestrated it. He -- a Biblically described man after God's own heart (1 Samuel 13:14; Acts 13:22) -- fell flat on his face. Intentionally.

How many times did this person I read about this morning -- in my eyes, a hero of the faith -- read Psalm 51 in the quiet of his prayer closet, and cry out for help, repentance, forgiveness... and then walk out of his closet to fall flat on his face... again. And perhaps again. And again.

How many times have I done the exact. same. thing? Different sin, same story?

I was excited to write about this last section of the Gospel of John. Peter's last recorded walk with Jesus has always been one of my favorite parts of Scripture, because I love the significance of a thrice-repeated request. It seems like a great way to wrap up the intentionality of John's Gospel.

This morning, the Lord took me into a whole different study of it (par for the course. God never works in the way I expect).

John 21:15-25 finishes up the fish fry on the beach among Jesus and His disciples. Getting up and walking with Peter along the shoreline, Jesus asks Peter: "Simon, son of John, do you truly love Me?"

Peter's answer is immediate. "Yes, Lord," he said, "You know that I love You." Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Easy question, easy answer. Next.

Jesus nods. Okay, then. Hey, Peter, "Feed My lambs."

Got it. He can do that. Peter has pretty well figured out that Jesus isn't talking about a sheep herd He's running back in Capernaum. After all the parables about how Jesus is the Shepherd for the sheep and the Gate for the sheep, and "My sheep hear My voice," Peter can pretty well assume Jesus means people.

But Jesus doesn't leave it sit. "Simon, son of John, do you truly love Me?" He asks again.

Uhhh. We've been over this. "Yes, Lord, You know that I love You." Maybe he's a little louder this time, in case Jesus somehow missed it the first time.

Jesus reiterates. "Take care of My sheep."

They keep walking. One last time, Jesus asks, "Simon, son of John, do you love Me?"

This time, Peter knows. It's not a mistake; Jesus isn't hard of hearing. Whatever changes His new body has as a result of, you know, rising from the dead, they haven't affected His ears' ability to receive and process sound waves. 

But now that Peter understands the intentionality of Jesus' question, he's a little hurt. Is Jesus doubting him? Well... he did just cave under the fear of arrest, deny that he even knew his Lord, not so many days ago. He's been the one disciple to declare fearlessly, "Even if all fall away on account of You, I never will" (Matthew 26:33). 

Ouch. 

This morning, as I pictured this scene and heard the first echo of Jesus' words to Peter, I saw myself in that place, too. "Tamara, do you love Me?"

And I hold out my right hand, full of righteous gifts. "Look, Lord, of course I love you. See the things I've been doing for You? Here's where I've participated in Bible studies, and here's where I've been a committed member of the worship team at church. Here's where I've kept my mouth from speaking ill of someone else -- aren't you proud of me?"

And then Jesus asks me a second time, "Tamara... do you love Me?"

More hesitantly, I hold out my left hand, this, too, full of righteous gifts. "Lord, I've rescheduled my time, prioritized You. I've stripped away the things in my life that have led me down other paths. I've given up things that mean a lot to me because I've heard Your call elsewhere. Here are my hands. They're both full of proof of my love for You."

By the third time Jesus asks: "Tamara... do you love Me?" my entire heart echoes Peter's response: "Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You."

Here, Jesus looks past my right hand and my left hand, piled high with my actions, and He looks directly into my heart. He strips it bare. He sees the sins that lie down in there, that make their bed in the dark, that hide behind the best intentions. He pulls back the covers and He exposes the willful, gross, dark, and slimy things.

He gets right on my level, His eyes trained on me. "Feed My sheep."

I used to think Jesus was calling Peter to his apostleship here. And He is, to a point. But I also believe Jesus was reminding Peter: I do know all things. I do know that you love Me. I see your denials. I see the love you still have in your heart even as you utter the words that say you never knew Me.

I came for you, Peter, while you were still a sinner. I came for you, Tamara, while you were still a sinner. 

He said to me, "Pedestals will come and pedestals will go, but I will never fail you. I will never not be your Savior. I will never un-shed My blood for you. I will never take back My free gift of salvation. You're a broken vessel, Tamara, but you know what's so magnificent about your flaws? 

"Every time you turn around, the treasure that I've stored inside of you spills out onto the ones around you. That's how you feed My sheep. Not with your own food. 

With the food I give you, you beloved sinner saved by grace."