There is a story that I’ve read about a man named Jacob.
He ran away from home after he stole something very valuable from his twin brother. He had been gone for many years, guilt keeping him away, but one day he decided that it was time to come home.
He went camping the night before his homecoming, trying to fall asleep under the stars, heart racing as he prepared for the inevitable confrontation with the brother who he had wronged and then abandoned. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a wild man appears and begins to wrestle with Jacob. They end up wrestling all night, the dawn spilling light over them, as Jacob managed to get the wrestler in a headlock. He wouldn’t let the man go free until the man had blessed him. Instead of a blessing, the wrestler reached out, and touched the most sensitive part of Jacob’s thigh, essentially tearing it and causing Jacob great pain.
Then, the man tells him: your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel. Because you have wrestled with God and with your fellow man, and have overcome.
Jacob-now-Israel responds, “Please, tell me your name.”
The stranger laughs and says, “Why do you ask my name?” And he blesses Jacob right there.
I could tell you that this story is found in Genesis of our bibles, Chapter 32. I could tell you that I once read that the socket of the thigh where God touches Jacob is supposedly the hardest muscle and knot of ligaments in the entire body -- two horses wouldn’t be able to tear it in two. I could tell you that when we wrestle in the dark, and all hope seems lost, it’s really the fight that precedes the blessing. The darkness before the dawn. That sometimes, we have to be torn apart before we can allow ourselves to be put back together again by God. That pain precedes blessings.
But that’s not what I’m here to share with you. We’re here to talk about another kind of wrestling, a fight you and I have engaged in with our hearts many times. A fight that still happens in the night, and if we fail, can lead to great pain and even death. It’s the battle between grace and shame.
We’ve all lived it, haven’t we? Clinging to shame when we’re offered grace? Demanding God to bless us and asking us where He is when he’s been there the whole time? Extending grace to us, while we wrestle with shame instead? Asking God where He is and even WHO He is, when He’s been patiently trying to get our attention and heal us. The battle between shame and grace isn’t an easy one. Because we aren’t wrestling with God, we’re wrestling with ourselves and what we think we deserve and sometimes that’s even scarier.
Today, I want us to take a look at this battle and ask ourselves why we prioritize what we think we deserve over what Jesus has done for us. Why we have a tendency to hold on to shame, when Jesus is inviting us into grace. And we’re going to be looking at two of the disciples as we navigate this. Because you see, I’ve been wondering what made Peter and Judas so different. Yes, that Peter and that Judas. I think they have more in common with each other than we realize, yet somehow Judas always comes away the villain, and Peter is the one who bears the church on his back. So let’s look at our scripture. We’re first going to look at Peter’s denial, bearing in mind that Jesus warned Peter this would happen, and Peter didn’t believe him:
54 Then they seized him and led him away, bringing him into the high priest's house, and Peter was following at a distance. 55 And when they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat down among them. 56 Then a servant girl, seeing him as he sat in the light and looking closely at him, said, “This man also was with him.” 57 But he denied it, saying, “Woman, I do not know him.” 58 And a little later someone else saw him and said, “You also are one of them.” But Peter said, “Man, I am not.” 59 And after an interval of about an hour still another insisted, saying, “Certainly this man also was with him, for he too is a Galilean.” 60 But Peter said, “Man, I do not know what you are talking about.” And immediately, while he was still speaking, the rooster crowed. 61 And the Lord turned and looked at Peter. And Peter remembered the saying of the Lord, how he had said to him, “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.” 62 And he went out and wept bitterly. (Luke 22:54-62)
Now, let’s look at Judas and his reaction to denying Jesus:
Then when Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus[a] was condemned, he changed his mind and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders, 4 saying, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” They said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” 5 And throwing down the pieces of silver into the temple, he departed, and he went and hanged himself. (Matthew 27:1-5)
In both of these instances, Jesus knew and even told his betrayers that they would hurt Him. Jesus KNEW when He chose Peter and Judas to be His disciples that they were going to deny him -- and here’s the thing: Judas denied Jesus once, while Peter did it three times. Sure, Judas’s denial brought about Jesus’s death -- but isn’t that exactly the reason Jesus came to earth, in the first place? Isn’t that exactly why you and I are doing this crazy faith-thing together? Because Jesus, the Son of Man, died? I’m not suggesting that Judas’s betrayal was the right thing to do, but oh friends do you see the regret Judas had? Peter’s regret caused him to weep, Judas’s caused him to die. And how often do we deny Christ and he still manages to bring beauty from those ashes?
When I think about this, I start to think about all of the times I’ve denied Jesus. Way more than three times. Definitely more than once. And yet unlike Judas, I’ve been offered an abundance of grace, an overflow of grace, a miraculous startling amount of grace on top of grace. Peter got it too, this overflow of grace, as we’ll look at in a minute. But why didn’t Judas?
I don’t think Judas missed out on this spectacular grace because Jesus withheld it -- he missed it because he never gave Jesus a chance to offer it to him in the first place. And boy oh boy -- that’s been me, too. That’s been me. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve ignored Jesus’s teachings, ignored His requests of me, thought only of myself. Betrayed him. Denied him. Then marched towards a metaphorical field where I could berate, abuse, condemn myself for my ugliness and my shame. I marched away from community, from forgiveness and from grace, and allowed shame to determine my worth more than grace ever could.
You see, shame is the exact opposite of grace. Where grace welcomes you home, shame exiles you. And as shame is the opposite of grace, it’s often the place where so many of us land, and stay. Shame for what we’ve done and who we are. Shame for the hurt we’ve caused ourselves or others. Shame for our weaknesses. We land on shame, friends, because shame is what we think we deserve. It’s really easy to accept what we think we deserve. And the truth is that grace is freely, given but can be really hard to receive. Beause none of us deserve grace. That’s actually the definition of grace for me: getting what we don’t deserve. But that’s also the beauty of grace -- there’s nothing we could do to ever earn it. It’s a gift.
Grace is an invitation to restoration -- Shame is an invitation to regret. Grace is open arms -- Shame is a closed fist. Grace says, “It’s taken care of.” Shame says, “You can never get over this.” Grace is freedom, warm yellow light, Christmas-lights sparkling. Shame is a prison, a black hole that causes us to twist into ourselves, turning inward to the point where no light can get in. Grace is an abundance, a river of forgiveness. Shame is a barren land.
We go to the hill of shame when we’re caught in a shame-spiral -- and we won’t let Jesus get near enough to offer us the healing grace that we desperately need because we tell ourselves we don’t deserve restoration. But the truth is that grace is the only antidote to shame, and the kicker is that you have to actually be willing to accept it. When you go to the hill to let shame fester, you’re saying that Jesus’s sacrifice -- that Jesus’s love -- isn’t good enough to save you. You’re not giving Jesus the opportunity to invite you into grace! You reject the very thing that could save you. How many of you are trapped on that lonely hill of shame? Feeding a hurt or a habit, refusing Jesus’s invitation back into restoration?
We think of restoration as a formal act. We go to church, confess our sins, kneel at the altar, partake in communion. It’s a series of steps we have to check-off in order to “get right.” But you know what’s funny? Jesus didn’t restore Peter by giving him a to-do list -- he restored him by taking him camping. See for yourself:
15 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Feed my lambs.” 16 He said to him a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Tend my sheep.” 17 He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. (John 21:15-17 ESV)
The steps to get right with Jesus? Remembering that you love and are loved by the Lamb of Judah. Does Jesus berate Peter? Does he condemn him? No! He gives Peter the opportunity to confess his love for Jesus over and over again -- he wipes away the past of shame by encouraging Peter to take care of himself and other people. Do you see it? Do you see how as many times as Peter denied Jesus, Jesus lets him reaffirm his love for the King? The erasure of sin is repentance and then love.
Believer. Do you love me?
Do you love me? If you do, feed my people. Care for each other. Tend to each other’s wounds. Give grace the way I’ve given grace to you. Live in grace. Shame has no room here on this beach. There is no room for shame in this kingdom. Do you love me? Do you love me? If you do, take care of your fragile and wild heart, and take care of others too.
When we sit on the beach of grace with Jesus instead of defaulting and running to the hill of shame, we experience not just restoration, but an overflow of love for other people, too. Shame is an isolating beast, keeping you trapped in your mistake and replaying your sins over and over again. Grace says, “Do you love me? Then get out of yourself and take care of other people because it’s not all about you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it?
Shame feeds the lie that we’re more important than we are. When we wrestle with shame, we’re really wrestling with this need to think and prioritize the self above all else. It’s my world and everyone else is just passing through it. Shame makes you look internally, grace commands you to look externally.
Do you love me? Then stop making your one and only life all about you. Love me and love others.
Shame gets the final word if you let it. Shame keeps us from seeing God for who He is, and for seeing those outside of ourselves. Shame craves the blessing of grace but won’t receive it.
But if you accept grace, forgive yourself, allow Jesus’s forgiveness to wash over you, then you are able to actually look outside of yourself. When we look outward, we realize that shame can’t get to us -- we’re too busy loving other people because we love Jesus to let shame have a seat at our table!
So no matter where you are today -- whether you're on the beach of grace or the hill of shame, there’s hope. Grace is always, always offered even though we’ll never be worthy of it. Jesus would’ve offered Judas grace if Judas had let him. Jesus would have hugged Judas and told him that He forgave him, that He saw his guilt and his shame, and that He Himself was bigger than them both.
Jesus will do that for you, too.
Let’s walk into the light of grace. Shame has no room here.
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