and the rooster crowed

I hope that your Easter weekend allowed you some time to reflect on the claims of a man. I believe him. I have waivered and wandered and always returned to the one I could not believe spread arms wide in welcome.

When I was in junior high, I was small. Until 9th grade came around- that fateful year that I finally grew underarm hair (a phenomenon that caught me up with every other boy my age); until then, I was the second smallest kid in my class. You make think that under this set of circumstances second place would be welcomed; you’d be wrong. I jealously watched as Justin, the shortest, received all the accolades and applause for being THE shortest. No one cared about the 2nd shortest- try as I may to swing them otherwise. Whatever Justin did was a feat because well he was overcoming shortness. But me, I couldn’t even win the race to the bottom nor frame my feats as overcoming anything…..whatever I faced, Justin faced more.

But I had a mouth on me. No, I don’t think I cussed much- though I do vividly remember my father hearing my first f-bomb and his gentle reaction to what I was sure warranted a death blow.

I fancied myself bold. I wielded my mouth as the muscle my arms lacked. I thought of myself as one who stood up to others. I was small, but proud and had a mouth that didn’t count the cost.

That is until a certain day in 8th grade. I was busily eating lunch in the cafeteria with the rest of the awkwards when a ruckus arose one table over. It happened fast and I had never seen anything like it. My head rose from the Twix just in time to see a mammoth 9th grader named Corey throwing a gangly 9th grader named Chad over the table. I do not mean thrown figuratively, I mean thrown as from a t-boned jeep….thrown.

And once the teachers shuffled over to pick up what was left of Chad and haul off Corey to the principal’s office, I was left confronted with a new reality.

I was not who I thought I was. I was actually not what I had believed myself to be.

When Chad flew, my mouth was quiet- open in gaping manner, but silent. I cowered at the show of power. I didn’t move. Didn’t offer to help up the hurting one. I froze and watched, then played dumb with the rest of the weaklings, head down as to make no eye contact with the angry one.

I’ve since come to be thankful for the times when I am confronted with the reality that I am not who I thought; not who I want to be.

Everyone needs a rooster.

We all need occasions in time that snap us from the movie we’ve scripted our best self into. You most likely are not your facebook posts. Not even your Sunday self. If you are anything like me, I am often exposed as a poser, a fake. Try as I may I have not been able to will myself to be who I want to be nor even who I have fooled myself into thinking I am.

And here’s the kicker, Jesus builds his church on just such losers. I, for one, am so thankful he does.

In the book of Mark, we find Peter adamantly opposing the forecast of Jesus- we’ve got clouds of crucifixion coming in with a 100% chance of Peter’s denying he even knows me.

Peter counters with a forecast of his own: Even though they all fall away, I will not.

But when things hit the fan, Peter’s left not just frozen in fear but actively denying that he knows the root of the upheaval.

But he denied it, saying, “I neither know nor understand what you mean.” And he went out into the gateway and the rooster crowed. -Mark 14:68

I too hear roosters. Too often I am confronted with the real me. The one I try to hide- even from myself. I am not who I think I am.

God says He uses this weakness to show Himself strong. Man, that’s not the script I want to try out for.  I want my strength to point to him. Hide my weaknesses. Fix me. Fool them.

He does not kick us out when the cock crows. He knew our true selves all along and loved us anyway.