Good Friday Poem: Peter
My first thought was, “It’s not going to be me.”
Jesus, in a voice barely audible,
told us we would all become deserters.
When I protested, he looked at me,
singling me out,
and said that I would deny him too.
After everything we’d gone through together,
after all I’d left behind, these three years of ministry…
how could he doubt me?
Was I not the only one who stepped out of the boat,
waves raging, my one thought to be at his side?
With all my heart, I’d told him what I knew to be true,