christo-pagan explorer

Translation of the scroll: "Behold our God in whom we hope and rejoice in our salvation, he will give rest to this house."

The concept of marriage in American society is a legal construct, not a religious one.

What if the quick dismissal and disgust at Judas came from hurt and betrayal and pain but also came from him wanting to appear strong to a community that now turned to him for leadership—especially since by that point Christ has ascended

Pentecost hadn’t happened yet. No Christ, no Holy Spirit. The void between manifestations of the Trinity. A great mantle already placed upon Peter and the others that was only magnified in the days between the resurrection and the ascension.

Judas betrayed us, and he is dead, and he is cursed. Maybe those words weren’t spoken with disgust as much as with solemn gravity. As someone who, like many of us, could not or would not see the scope of God’s mercy because of pain and betrayal. Someone who now had to lead a group of political and religious dissidents who were very much under fire from the local governing authorities, especially given the whole disappeared body of Christ and proclaiming him resurrected situation. The joy of Pentacost hasn’t come yet. The ache of Christ’s death and then losing him again via the ascension hasn’t eased. The rock stands, not alone, but certainly battered. Looking ahead at an impossible task.

Maybe it wasn’t complete disgust at Judas, but pain and ache warped by responsibility and the need to survive and keep moving. With the responsibility of the kingdom placed upon him and the others by Christ.

Of course they needed another person. They were so little as is. They were probably so used to dividing up tasks and responsibilities in 12. So many looked to them, and to Peter in particular, for everything now that Christ was gone.

Maybe Peter’s words and actions were also grief. Human, messy, imperfect grief. Maybe he, too, was at Judas’ tomb. A person he likely couldn’t even grieve publicly because of the betrayal and the controversy and the various feelings of hurt and anger and disgust and grief and loss caused by the betrayal and crucifixion.

He was Peter’s friend too. Even if Peter was angry and bitter, it wasn’t cold dismissal. It was the best response a man with so much responsibility and stress could give in his situation regarding the need to be practical and find someone to share the workload. We don’t know what else Peter may have said before after or during that speech. We don’t know how he may have felt or grieved privately. How the disciples grieved together.

We just know there was work to be done, and Peter had to be the one to step up and do it, all while carrying the weight of everything

Maybe it’s not “yay” as much as a deep breath, a proclamation, and a quiet filing away of his own grief for another time and place

Or maybe he was angry and disgusted, and was reacting accordingly. Grief manifests that way too.

Let’s not forget that it was Peter, too, who also betrayed Jesus in the narrative; it was Peter who denied being associated with that man they were taking to be crucified, and repeatedly at that, even after he vehemently assured Jesus he Would Never, Master. Nuh uh.

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Peter stayed alive, Peter talked to Jesus, Peter was forgiven by Him. Judas, the story goes, committed suicide. Now one could go and say that Peter was forgiven because he did the right thing, which was being strong and facing the consequences of what he did, instead of despairing. In fact, many have drawn this exact comparison before.

However, OP, I’d like to call you attention to the following:

1) Peter was the very disciple that initially refused to allow Jesus to wash his feet, claiming that he was not worthy of his Master acting like his servant—absurd thing! To which Jesus, of course, implied Peter was refusing his ticket to Heaven, causing our guy to backtrack and overcompensate. May I have a full bath, then, Master?

2) Peter, or at least Catholic tradition goes (and I’m Catholic, so I ask non-Catholics to bear with me here), was also the disciple that ended up crucified upside down, because—yet again!—he didn’t believe himself worthy of dying in the same manner as Jesus had died, and was lucky enough to have his peculiar request granted by his executioners.

And then I ask you: did Peter believe himself worthy of being forgiven by Jesus after his own betrayal? I doubt that. I very much doubt that, with this man’s track record. The beautiful thing is that Jesus didn’t seem to care if he was worthy or not, and very clearly forgave him after asking him if Peter loved Him (Peter did, and was increasingly hurt by the fact Jesus would go so far as to even ask that repeatedly, not realizing that Jesus’ repeated questions were clearly referencing Peter’s repeated denials). Peter was the Perfect Choice to be the leader of the apostles and the first Pope (at least according to the Catholic Church), not because he wasn’t flawed but because, by God, he was so very flawed! Even after he became the rock on which the Church stands, even after Jesus bid them farewell, he was preaching wrong things, imposing limits to people’s conversion into Christianity and attracting the ire of Paul (not that it is very difficult to make Paul mad) as far as Acts of the Apostles in the Bible. That’s our Peter.

The passion and crucifixion of Jesus starts with Peter drawing his sword and cutting off the ear of a man who asked for Jesus, to the vehement disapproval of Jesus Himself (how frustratingly merciful!), and ends with all the apostles having fled, to the point that at the foot of the cross, in the time of His death, there were only women (#feminism). Women, such as the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, and... John, which of course John reminds us of in his Gospel. Again, we have Peter, uh—to borrow a saying we have in my country—promising much and delivering nothing. (I don’t write this in a judging tone. God knows we’re all sinners here on this hellsite.) I think it’s telling, too, that before that, in the last supper, when Jesus announced that one of them would betray Him, the disciples didn’t accuse one another, but themselves. Because deep down, they believed themselves capable of such a thing.

In the last Mass I attended, the priest surprised me by saying that, in his opinion, the hardest part of the Confession for a person wasn’t the embarrassment of having to list your sins out loud, but the fact that one has to accept that God forgives you just like that, no comments about how you certainly should have known better, no questions asked; that’s almost too simple, too easy, and therein comes the temptation to start ruminating. To reject God’s forgiveness through not forgiving yourself.

I wonder if Peter wasn’t exactly the kind of person who would struggle to forgive himself.