There is something much greater than Peter’s sin: few of us grasp the wonder of his repentance.
By Henry Drummond
“The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter … and Peter went outside and wept bitterly. ”
Every person at some time in his life has fallen. Many have fallen many times; few, few times. And who of us can fail to shudder at the tale of Peter’s guilt?
We are well aware of how the plot thickens round him. When we read the story for ourselves we feel an almost unconscious sympathy with Peter, as if his story has happened in our own lives. And we know, as we follow the dreary stages of his fall, these same well-worn steps have been traced ever since then by every human foot. Anyone who possesses an inner history can surely understand how Peter could have slept in the garden, when he should have watched and prayed. Who of us would dare to look down upon the faithlessness that made him follow Christ far off, instead of keeping at his Master’s side? For we know too well what it means to get out of step with Christ. Wouldn’t we, like the worldly company who warmed themselves by the fire and to our shame, be quick to question Peter?
Those of us who know the heart’s deceit would surely find it difficult to judge this man – this man who had lived so long in the inner circle of fellowship with Christ, whose eyes were used to seeing miracles, who witnessed the glory of the transfiguration; this man whose ears were yet full of the most solemn words the world had ever heard, whose heart was warm still with Communion-table thoughts. We understand how he could have turned his back upon his Lord, and, almost ere the sacramental wine was dry upon his lips, curse him to his face. Such things, alas, are not strange to those of us who know the appalling tragedy of sin.
But there is something in Peter’s life that is much greater than his sin. It is his repentance. We all too easily relate to Peter in his sin, but few of us grasp the wonder of his repentance. Sinful Peter is one man, and repentant Peter is another; and many of us who kept his company along these worn steps to sin have left him to trace the tear-washed path of repentance alone. But the real lesson in Peter’s life is one of repentance. His fall is a lesson in sin that requires no teacher, but his repentance is a great lesson in salvation. And it is this great lesson that contains the only true spiritual meaning to those who have personally made Peter’s discovery – that they have betrayed our God.
What then can we learn from Peter’s turning around? First, it was not Peter who turned. It was the Lord who turned and looked at Peter. When the cock crew, that might have kept Peter from falling further. But he was just in the very act of sin. And when a person is in the thick of his sin his last thought is to throw down his arms and repent. So Peter never thought of turning, but the Lord turned. And when Peter would rather have looked anywhere else than at the Lord, the Lord looked at Peter. This scarce-noticed fact is the only sermon needed to anyone who sins – that the Lord turns first.
There are two kinds of sorrow for sin. One is a mere regret for wrongdoing, a wounded self-love, a disappointment in one’s own weakness. This is not true repentance but wounded pride. It is like Peter turning to look at Peter, grieving not because he sinned against God, but because he failed himself. This sorrow bears no lasting fruit. It is merely self-reproach, much like the prodigal son when he “came to himself.” But self-awareness alone does not save. True repentance occurs when, like the prodigal, we turn not just to ourselves but to our Father.
Divine sorrow, in contrast, comes when God turns and looks upon us. True contrition is not just recognizing our failure but realizing our helplessness and God’s mercy. It is the difference between being ashamed of sin and being broken before God. The publican in the temple prayed, “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner!” He did not dwell on his loss of self-respect—his only concern was the weight of his sin before God. True repentance is not about preserving dignity but about surrendering completely.
Peter’s turning was not the result of a grand revelation or a thunderous divine command. It was a single look from Christ. No words, no condemnation—just a gaze that pierced his soul. This moment changed Peter more profoundly than any miracle or teaching. God does not deal with our souls through force or spectacle but through quiet, soul-piercing moments. Elijah’s lesson in the wilderness reinforces this truth: God was not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but in the still, small voice.
He speaks so loudly that all the voices of the world seem dumb. And yet when God speaks he speaks so softly that no one hears the whisper but yourself. Today, perhaps, the Lord is turning and looking at you. Right where you are, your spirit is far away just now, dealing with some sin, some unbearable weight; and God is teaching you the lesson himself – the bitterest, yet the sweetest lesson of your life, in heartfelt repentance. Stay right where you are. Don’t return into the hustle and bustle of life until the Lord has also turned and looked on you again, as he looked at the thief upon the cross, and until you have beheld the “glory of the love of God in the face of Jesus.”
Henry Drummond (1851–1897) was a Scottish scientist and writer.
This piece is condensed from an article published by Plough, which is an excerpt from Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter.