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Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

John 21:22

Uh, uh! There I go again! Simon son of Jonah! Why can’t I zip it once for once? I have been a loose cannon by His side for far too long; and the Lord has been gracious and tolerant all along. But not after the freshness of this morning. Our walk had been invigorating until the bombshell about my way to glory for His honor. I had mixed feelings at first.

If I failed three times to stand with Him in His death, how would I face my persecutors? Can I stand the insult and abuse my Lord suffered at their hands? Can I tolerate the slander and malicious talk He endured so gracefully? Can I stand against a vengeful Marcus? Can I bear the sting of the Roman soldiers’ whip, tearing through my body? How would I feel in blood-soaked garments like my Lord’s? The sound of the hammer driving the planks though my hands and feet, filled my ears, and my screams of agony echoed across the Sea of Galilee. My feet felt like lead, and my smile faded in the cool breeze of the morning.  

“Bargain for a softer exit to heaven, Peter! You are on the Lord’s better side now, and He will be gracious to you,” a voice said. But suddenly, the prospect of redeeming myself after denying Him glory in the courtyard of the high priest displaced the fear with joy. I felt honored to suffer in death like Him.

Solomon was right. When you walk with the Lord, you should, “Let your eyes look straight ahead; [and] fix your gaze directly before you” (Prov. 4:25). I should have learned this lesson when I walked on this same body of water with Him on that faithful night at His command. Obviously, I didn’t. I am just like you. We never learn the first time. So, when my eye caught John behind us, I couldn’t control my curiosity to know his plight too.

 “Lord, what about him?” I said (Jn. 21:21).

He stopped! His eyes burned deep into mine. I could have vanished into a hole right there. My chest pounded, and my fist clinched tightly for support. The cool morning sea breeze suddenly felt warm, and I began to sweat. His voice cut sharply through my heart:

“If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

The Akans of Ghana call it, “Akate.” Maybe you have experienced such humiliation before – the day you went to your parents on your sibling, or to your boss on your co-worker, expecting something worse for them, but rather got scolded. I feel your pain as I relive this moment, and I sympathize with you. I only hope you’ve learned your lesson as I have.

Let’s face it, my friend. We are all guilty of this sin. We specialize in probing other people’s lives rather than our own. What about him? What about her? Have you heard what she has done this time?

For some of us, if another person’s life doesn’t turn out worse than ours, we can’t survive a day, until we suffer a slap in the face. May the Lord heal us!

The command of the Lord to me was very simple, and I am sure it is for you too.

“You must follow me!”

“Lord forgive me,” I mumbled.

For, I was ashamed!