If you ever find yourself in Rome, wander about a half mile northeast from the Colosseum along the Via De Fori Imperiali, and you will find yourself about a stone’s throw from the Mammertine Prison. One of Rome’s most infamous dungeons, it was originally carved into the bedrock 700 years before Christ as a subterranean water cistern. It’s a cold, damp, circular room just over 20 feet in diameter and no more than 6-7 feet from floor to ceiling.
Prisoners were lowered in by ropes through a hole in the ceiling and left there to shiver through the cold Roman winters. Some Christian traditions suggest that both Peter and Paul were eventually held here awaiting their executions. It is unlikely that Peter was in Mammertine when he wrote his first epistle, but he was in Rome, and he would have been well aware of the horror stories of those who had dared to stand against the Roman imperial machine.
Against this backdrop, Peter writes his letter, knowing that every word could become evidence against him in Rome’s quest to stamp out the new “Christian” movement. We should not take Peter’s words lightly,
“Do not fear their threats; do not be frightened. But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” (1 Peter 3:14b-15a, NIV)
“Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.”
It is ironic, though. Peter, of all people, is telling us not to be afraid and to be prepared to answer for our hope in Jesus. Wasn’t it Peter who was famously unprepared to answer when he stood at the door of the high priest as Jesus was being questioned in John 18? When the servant girl came back to the door to fetch him, she asked, “You aren’t one of this man’s disciples too, are you?” Perhaps catching a note of accusation in her voice, Peter quickly replied, “I am not.” Later, Peter warmed himself by the fire with a crowd of the high priest’s servants and officials while, just yards away, Jesus was being slapped across the face by the High Priest.
One of the others at the fire must have become suspicious because he repeated the servant girl’s question: “You aren’t one of his disciples, too, are you?” The first time John recorded Peter’s reply, he noted that he spoke the words “I am not.” The second time, John elevates his descriptive language by explicitly stating that Peter denies being a disciple.
Finally, according to John, an eyewitness who had been in the garden and watched as Peter committed a criminal act by attacking his relative, the High Priest’s servant, with a sword, jumps in. You can almost feel the tension rise as he challenged Peter’s denial, “Didn’t I see you with him in the Garden?” A third time, Peter denied having been there or that he was his disciple. Luke’s account of the third denial has Peter exclaiming, “Man, I don’t know what you are talking about” (Luke 22:60, NIV).
“Wasn’t it Peter who was famously unprepared to answer?”
Luke goes on to describe how, at this very moment, the rooster crowed, and Jesus turned from across the courtyard to lock eyes with Peter. The full weight of what he had done crashing down upon him, Peter immediately rushed out into the night and wept bitterly (Luke 22:61). It is probably safe to say, Peter was afraid and unprepared to give an answer.
The 20th-century psychologist Erik Erikson may be best remembered for his 8 stages of psychosocial development. His work describes how humans emotionally mature across their lifespan. His final stage, which corresponds with late adulthood, is known as “Integrity vs. Despair.” In this stage, mature adults look back at their life and ask, “Did my life have meaning?”
If Erikson was successful in describing an emotional life stage that God designed, this might help us to understand how Peter could charge his readers to give an answer for their hope, without hypocrisy. Perhaps Peter, now likely in his mid-60s, is looking back on his well-known denial of Christ not as a failure, but as a lesson for all of us. Maybe he sees the value in showing us all that we can come back from our worst mistakes and grow to become something better.
That certainly seemed to be the point of Jesus’ final lesson to Peter over breakfast on the beach. Jesus had risen, and Peter had seen him several times. Yet, this morning, he was not in Jerusalem or encouraging the young group of believers. Instead, Peter had gone home, back to Galilee, back to what he knew best, fishing. We can only speculate that Peter must have been carrying the overwhelming burden of guilt and its ever-present companion, self-loathing. What place in this kingdom would Jesus have for one who had denied him?
“What place in this kingdom would Jesus have for one who had denied him?”
Jesus orchestrates a miraculous catch of fish in John 21, remarkably similar to the catch of fish that accompanied Peter’s first call to follow him in Luke 5. It’s almost as if Jesus is saying, “Peter, let’s start over.” Jesus feeds Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, James, John, and two unnamed disciples breakfast, but in the conversation to follow, he will lock in on Peter alone.
“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”
“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”
Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”
Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”
Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”
The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”
Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”
Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.” (John 21:15b-17, NIV)
Over the years, many people have noted that some interesting wordplay is at work here that doesn’t translate well into English. Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him, once for each of his denials.
If you recall, each of Peter’s denials had escalated in force. Yet here, Jesus seems to do the opposite. Using specific Greek vocabulary, he moves from asking Peter for his highest commitment downward to a lower commitment. The first time Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me more than these?” Greek has several words that can be translated as “love” in English; Jesus chooses agapē, the word which best describes the unconditional love that God shows us.
“Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves him, once for each of his denials.”
Even worse, Jesus asks if Peter loves him (agapē) more than the other six disciples present, men who had not denied Jesus. One of whom was John, who had the courage to stand at the cross comforting Jesus’ mother. 
How could Peter possibly say yes to that question? But he does love Jesus, so he can’t say no. Peter finds a middle ground. He replies that he loves Jesus with a different kind of love. Using the word philéō, Peter’s reply seems to imply, “Jesus, we all know I can’t say that I love you unconditionally, but I do love you like a brother.”
Jesus asks a shorter question the second time: “Peter, do you love me?” Jesus seems to drop the idea that Peter should love him more than the others did. But Peter still can’t offer Jesus unconditional love. Again, he replies in essence, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you like a brother.”
This technique of carefully phrasing your answer to shift away from the question’s intent is sometimes called equivocation. We have all done it. When a question requires an uncomfortable level of transparency, it is human nature to dodge the intent of the question. It is not hard to imagine how awful Peter must have felt at this moment. Jesus, the very one whom he had denied to save his own skin, has him on the hot seat in front of the very men who had witnessed his bold commitments to go to his death for their Lord.
“Jesus, the very one whom he had denied to save his own skin, has him on the hot seat in front of the very men who had witnessed his bold commitments to go to his death for their Lord.”
Jesus, having already lowered the bar once, comes in for a third attempt. But this time, it is Jesus who shifts the question’s intent. This time he asks, “Do you philéō me?” It’s as if Jesus, who realizes that the weight of Peter’s denial renders him emotionally unable to commit to unconditional love, meets Peter where he is, with brotherly love.
Jesus is letting Peter know that he is not judged by his worst moment. He restores Peter by essentially telling him, “Peter, if all you have for me today is brotherly love, I can work with that. We can start from there. You can still be a shepherd of my sheep. There is still a place for you in my kingdom.” In fact, what Jesus actually says is, “Follow me,” a full circle moment back to Peter’s initial call. Jesus is asking Peter to still come and be his disciple. What grace! What forgiveness! What Love!
Now Peter is older, wiser, more experienced, and more mature. He has watched many beloved friends die for their Lord. Here he is in Rome, in the shadow of Emperor Nero himself, a man with no tolerance for any human, movement, or message which might deny his sovereignty. Peter knows the price he and others will pay for giving their answer without fear. Jesus had indicated that morning on the beach many years before that Peter would die for his faith (John 21:18-19). But Peter also knows something else. That he would not even be here today had it not been for grace. So Peter includes these words in his letter as well,
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:8, NIV)
“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”
As you might have guessed, the word he used for love there was agapē. Even when Peter was only capable of brotherly love toward Jesus, Jesus covered all of Peter’s sin and shame with the unconditional, immeasurable, and unstoppable love of God. And he does the same for each one of us.
