When failing meets majesty.

Failure is Peter. Leaning over the edge of the boat; squinting at the shadow.
No. The man… The Lord! 
It's Jesus, walking towards the boat. Walking on the water as if it was solid ground. His clothes flapping in the evening breeze. 
‘Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you!’ 
And Peter leans. His faith is new. It’s untested. High and heady in this adventure of following Jesus, who could be the Christ. And what if he is?
​That would change everything. Absolutely every-
‘Come!’ ​

It’s that familiar voice. That familiar calling. ‘Come.’ 

So, Peter hikes his clothes, and tucks them up high. He hesitates barely a second. Ignoring the comments from others, he steps over the edge of the boat, eyes on his Lord.
That man. That... God?
Curiosity. Obedience. Wonder. All mingled under the night sky.
Peter walks towards his new friend.
If anyone could call him out of the old and into the new, it’s this guy. He’s been blowing Peter’s mind since the day they met, since…
But right at that moment, the moonlight catches on the ripple of a wave. A wave that grows out of the pitch black of the sea. Peter’s eyes drop. He remembers how far they are from the shore. He remembers the time he got caught underwater; the cold of the sea squeezing air from his lungs and suddenly his feet are sinking.
Faster than he can imagine, before his thoughts catch up with what has happened, he’s going down. The grip of the cold grows tighter. His legs are like lead. He panics, ‘Lord, save me!’ Flailing, falling. He goes under again.
 
And so, Peter fails. 
He takes his eyes of Jesus, his Lord. He flounders and sinks.
But notice what Jesus does next, or more importantly, what he doesn’t do.
Jesus doesn’t leave Peter drowning. He doesn't wrench Peter from the water with a scolding and then go looking for a replacement disciple.  
But neither does he act like Peter’s failing had no significance.
You see, honesty with our failures means we see them as God sees them. Not as we might define failing, but as Jesus chooses to. And this is hugely important.

We humans like to define our failures in our own way. Whether we make a bigger deal of them than they are, or minimise stuff-ups and sweep them out of sight to maintain a public appearance, we define our failures the way we want to.
We may do this because of our upbringing or culture, or it may be because of a precarious ego balancing act. But whatever the reason and whatever the cause, our Heavenly Father wants us to view our failures as Jesus does: with utter honesty. 

As Peter floundered and failed, spluttered and choked, Jesus reached down into Peter’s failure and held him tight. He held him up - from drowning to life - and as the waves continued to rock and toss them, he looked straight at Peter, and I imagine, sighed.
‘You have so little faith. Why did you doubt me?’ 
I’m guessing Peter spluttered some reply here.
I know when I’m faced with my failures I’m a spluttering expert. ‘Oh, I know I have so little faith. It’s because of…’ And out pour my excuses. 
But don’t you see?
It’s not excuses Jesus is asking for when he asks that question of Peter and of us. It’s honesty. 
And the real, true, absolute reason why Peter sunk - why he failed - was because he doubted his new friend, Lord and Christ.
Jesus knew the failing for what it was. He pinned the truth where it hurt. 
But even then, he didn’t leave Peter.

The Bible doesn’t say it in as many words, but I'm imagining they walked back to the boat together. Peter dripping, ashamed, humiliated, and yet gripping Jesus arm with trembling awe.
And as they climbed over the side of the boat the wind stops, and the glory of Christ stirs them all speechless.
Because Peter hasn’t been discarded. His calling hasn’t been reneged.
He sits in a puddle of saltwater; his failure settling but somehow not so important anymore. Because when our failings meet the majesty of God, they pale into insignificance. 
And we are drawn to worship. 

(For the full story see Matthew 14:22-32.)