𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙉𝙤𝙬 . . .
by Ryan M. Roberts
Where Jesus walked, the disciples followed;
But not all the way.
“Where I go now, you can’t. But later . . . ”
Was all that He would say.
After midday prayers, Peter’s words rang out,
“No matter what or where or who;
You are mine, and I am yours,
I will die with you!”
Amid friends, huddled ‘round the fire that night;
“Hosanna in the highest!” a bright memory.
With hopes high, resolve low,
The glow faded into Gethsemane.
Watching ends in darkness,
Prayers turn to sleep,
And Peter’s vow, though earnest,
Was more than he could keep.
He followed Jesus at a distance;
Keeping warm by the fire of his foe.
When asked, “You’re with Jesus, yes?”
Three times his response was, “No.”
Then came the loss, despair . . . the death.
A look, the whip, a crown, the hill,
A cross, the cry, a spear thrust forth;
The King of Kings to kill.
Three days passed, Peter sat alone;
With guilt and regret—his choice.
Now what? Now where? Now who?
Peter leapt at Mary’s voice.
He ran to the tomb, bent low, went inside,
Echoes, predictions, rags filled the space.
“Tear down this temple and in three days it will rise.”
Peter left, wonder full on his face.
There were sightings and sayings that, “He is alive!”
Stories no book could contain.
Yet ashamed, Peter watched the Christ from afar;
He should laud, but his failures remained.
Peter said to his friends, “Let’s fish,” and they went,
To row and to cast was no chore.
The fish, they were few, but the company good;
Then they heard a voice from the shore.
Jesus was there, by the fire, cooking fish.
He said, “Come my friends, let’s eat.”
Peter pledged all his love—heart, mind and soul,
Jesus smiled and said, “Feed my sheep.”
“Your own efforts and failures, left you lost and in chains,
But through my wounds and my death you are free.
Where I went, you could not go on your own,
But now . . . in my power, Follow Me.”