“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift each of you like wheat. But I have pleaded in prayer for you, Simon, that your faith should not fail.”
“So when you have repented and turned to me again, strengthen your brothers.”
Luke 22:31-32
I’ve been thinking about failure; it is something that I am really, really good at. In my over 40 years of walking with Jesus, I realized that I’ve experienced more weak moments then strong. I have easily failed more than I have succeeded. I am embarrassed by this. I’ve sinned, and failed more as a Christian, than I ever did as a pagan sinner. And things sometimes show little sign of improving.
Simon Peter is about to undergo a trial so intense and difficult, that unless Jesus intervenes it will probably destroy Peter.
(The only other blatant attack where Satan seeks permission is in the life of Job. It is reasonable to believe that the forces of hell are concentrated on Peter.)
You and I undergo some of this onslaught ourselves. We go through periods of intense trial. Everything just falls apart, and we lose hope. I’ve had several periods like that, it’s like a tornado from hell bears down upon my life.
But there is something remarkably good in all of this.
First, Jesus is praying for me to endure. He is the faithful intercessor for my soul.
Second, He gives us a modicum of understanding by warning us of the approaching storm. Peter is told ahead of time of what was going to happen.
Third, the wheat will be sifted. Sifting or winnowing of the grain is necessary, it’s a good and godly work of the Holy Spirit. It is a good thing, as it builds your faith.
Four, you will survive to strengthen your brothers and sisters.
All pain and failure gives us a mandate to serve others. Our weakness gives us a spiritual license to become a shepherd of mercy and hope. (You could say that you are now a licensed minister.)
We can ask for nothing more; it is a good and profound work to serve others.
In love’s work, only sifted people can truly serve.
Inspector Clouseau, (Upon discovering stolen artifacts) in The Pink Panther 2
“Ah yes, the Shroud of Turin! We will have to dry clean it before we return it.”
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I honestly think that our bumbling attempts to follow Jesus are entertaining angels who watch our efforts and shake their heads in astonishment. “Did you see what Bryan just did?”
I’m the “Inspector Clouseau” of the spiritual realm. 😁
Maybe you can relate?
Clumsy and very much oblivious, I bungle my way down the path of discipleship, without a clue. It seems when something right happens, I still end up butchering it. The Holy Spirit has His hands full. Scripture tells me He has no regrets.
We have experienced so much, and been given so much light.
And yet we consistently choose to trade it for a lie. For the most part, I don’t sin automatically, I sometimes choose it deliberately. People don’t sin because they feel they have to. We sin because we like the pleasure it brings. We sin because it feels nice. It’s often a mask to cover the pain.
It’s a patch for the pain of my twisted up life.
We sin because it brings a thrill to our bodies, and excitement to the boredom of our everyday lives. We sin because we believe the lie that the pleasure it brings, though passing (Heb. 11:25).
Sin happens when I look at anything or anyone other than God.
The issues I have are both spiritual and medical. I survived a brain tumor and I need to walk with a cane. I have constant vertigo. My right arm is paralyzed. I struggle hard sometimes. I have some struggles with social anxiety. But God gives me buckets of His grace. I know first-hand his agape love for me.
But He will not bless my disobedience and rebellion.
When we announce to the world that “Jesus is Lord” we can expect God will hold our feet to the fire over this. The Holy Spirit will not negotiate when we suddenly decide we are hungry for sin. Apprehended by grace, we must fully surrender all claims we have to sample sin’s delights.
Who do we find joy in? It really does matter.
In the middle of my battles to be a believer, I must remember joy. I cannot imagine being without it. I’ve been clinically depressed pushed to the point of suicide. But God gives me joy in my darkness.
“The joy of the Lord is your strength.”
Nehemiah 8:10
“For the Lord takes pleasure in his people; he adorns the humble with salvation.”
“For the kind of sorrow God wants us to experience leads us away from sin and results in salvation. There’s no regret for that kind of sorrow. But worldly sorrow, which lacks repentance, results in spiritual death.”
2 Corinthians 7:10, NLT
“You will have mercy on us again; You will conquer our sins. You will throw away all our sins into the deepest part of the sea.”
Micah 7:19, NCV
I’ve done many evil things in my life that I am ashamed of. Regret and sorrow over my sins frequently trouble me. But I always come back to see my sins covered by His blood.
I’d probably go insane if all I could do is see my sin without a Savior.
“Properly remembering our past sins with shame will deter us from repeating them and help us receive God’s saving grace. When we recall our failures through the lens of Christ’s mercy, God produces in us ongoing repentance and deepening humility.”
–Robert D. Jones
I have walked in self-hatred for many years. I know all about loathing, fear, and paranoia over my many sins. These things have handicapped me spiritually, and hating yourself is a terrible way to live. My struggles with guilt and regret have deepened my sense of despair and depression.
I’ve come to a point where I find that I am ashamed of my shame.
I have included the lyrics to Bob Bennett’s song “Lord of the Past” in this post. He is a gifted songwriter and an exceptional guitar player. (I can’t find it on Youtube.com.) If you’re like me, you will find that you resonate with those who have been assaulted in the past.
We now speak a common language, and we understand each other.
Every harsh word spoken Every promise ever broken to me Total recall of data in the memory Every tear that has washed my face Every moment of disgrace that I have known Every time I’ve ever felt alone
Lord of the here and now Lord of the come what may I want to believe somehow That you can heal these wounds of yesterday (You can redeem these things so far away) So now I’m asking you To do what you want to do Be the Lord of the Past (Be the Lord of my Past) Oh how I want you to Be the Lord of the Past
All the chances I let slip by All the dreams that I let die in vain Afraid of failure and afraid of pain Every tear that has washed my face Every moment of disgrace that I have known Every time I’ve ever felt alone
Well I picked up all these pieces And I built a strong deception And I locked myself inside of it For my own protection And I sit alone inside myself And curse my company For this thing that has kept me alive for so long Is now killing me. And as sure as the sin rose this morning, The man in the moon hides his face tonight. And I lay myself down on my bed And I pray this prayer inside my head
Lord of the here and now Lord of the come what may I want to believe somehow That you can heal these wounds of yesterday So now I’m asking you To do what you want to do Be the Lord of my Past You can do anything Be the Lord of the Past I know that you can find a way To heal every yesterday of my life Be the Lord of the Past.
Rembrandt, “The Return of the Prodigal Son,” c. 1661
17 “But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! 18 I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. 19 I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”’ 20 And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. 21 And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ 22 But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. 23 And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. 24 For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.
Luke 15:17-24, ESV
Two hundred and eighty-nine words– these describe the life of every man, woman, and child who has ever lived. These 289 words reveal to us a God who loves far too much, way too easy. Perhaps we sort of expect that he will ‘appropriately’ punish his son– at least put him on probation at least. It only makes sense. But we find that is legalism talking.
“Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.”
Many of us have lived as prodigals, and we have spent our inheritance like ‘drunken sailors.’ We really have nothing at all to show for it. The prodigal, completely destitute, takes the only work he can find. (Imagine a good Jewish boy feeding hogs.)
He is so far gone that he starts inspecting the filthy slop buckets for something to eat.
Many of us will understand his despair. Often there comes to us a crystalline moment of simple awareness. The prodigal, sin-crusted and impoverished, still has a lingering memory of the Father’s house.
The servants there had far more than him right now. Sometimes I wonder if in our captivity, we instinctively want to go home, if only in our minds, to be a servant there.
The Father has dreamed of this precise moment.
The parable says, “He saw him–felt compassion–ran out to him–embraced him–and kissed him.” The Father is a whirlwind of agape love. I’ve read the Parable of the Prodigal Son a hundred times or more. It never loses its punch. I simply want to bring some observations:
We see that his father receives him with a tender gesture. His hands seem to suggest mothering and fathering at once; the left appears larger and more masculine, set on the son’s shoulder, while the right is softer and more receptive in gesture.
The son’s head is downy, almost like a newborn’s. We must enter the kingdom like little children.
The Prodigal Son seems to be protected by his father. He snuggles near the Father’s breast. It’s love that holds him there.
Consider his sandals. It has taken a long time for him to come home.
Standing at the right is the prodigal son’s older brother, who crosses his hands in stoic judgment; we read in the parable that he objects to the father’s compassion for his brother.
We see his mother in the background in the painting, and a seated steward or counselor. One stands in profound joy, the other in sits in stunned perplexity.
But Rembrandt had painted the Prodigal once before, when he was considerably younger. And it is a very good painting. The prodigal is happy and gay; there is absolutely no indication of the consequences of sin.
The Prodigal Son in the Brothel, 1635
He’s a charming young man at the height of his popularity, and we see him at a happy party. He is spending the inheritance of his father.
But Rembrandt chooses at the very end of his life to re-paint it to reflect reality.
This is one of the last paintings he will do, and it is the Prodigal Son–destitute and repenting. I can only imagine; the years have taken a toll and he doesn’t really feel his first painting is enough. He wants to paint what is true.
He now is painting our spiritual condition.
We are given a work that some critics call as the greatest painting ever completed. The painting is now in St. Petersburg, Russia. It is seldom seen by visitors. It is a clear echo of the grace of God for fallen men and women. Like the father in the painting, He’s ready to forgive every sin saturated son and daughter.
Broken Believers 
