When I read John 21:20-25, I can relate strongly to Peter. I know the “what about him” instinct intimately; I have a brother. And as the firstborn, I grew up half convinced that my parents were experimenting with me so that they could get it right the second time around. Any perceived differences in treatment were “unfair” (unless they were in my favor, of course). When I was a toddler, it wasn’t fair that my newborn brother got to go to bed later than me (the complexities of a newborn’s sleep schedule escaped me at the time). When I started school, it wasn’t fair that he got to play games while I was practicing my letters. This instinct hasn’t gone away, although it’s more focused on career matters now. Why do I have to do that task? I did it last time. What about her? Why didn’t I get the promotion? My accomplishments were more significant. What about him? 

These attitudes also creep into my spiritual life. (Although it’s only fair to point out that sibling or career rivalry do have spiritual implications of their own - just look at Cain and Abel or Jacob and Esau.) When I look at great Christian leaders or historical heroes of the faith, it’s easy to romanticize their stories of evangelism or martyrdom, and to think that I must be a failure if my life doesn’t follow that pattern. Is my calling inferior if I’m designing satellites instead of preaching? What if my spiritual gift isn’t tongues or healing but just having a really good memory? I like the idea of following Jesus when it looks like marching into a glorious battle, but what about when it looks like slogging through a swamp, muddy and tired, with no apparent end in sight and no one to cheer my accomplishments? At such times the temptation is to try to write my own more exciting and heroic story, rather than trust Jesus as the author

Sunday’s sermon reminded me strongly of the book “The Horse and His Boy” by C.S. Lewis. At one point in that book, the main character Shasta is lamenting all the “unlucky” events that have made his life miserable and messed up his plans. The great lion Aslan responds by revealing that all the seeming misfortunes of Shasta’s life were orchestrated by Aslan himself. While unpleasant at the time, all these events were pushing and prodding him to a place where he could be instrumental (more or less accidentally) in saving a kingdom. The story he was part of was much bigger than his own, but all he needed to concern himself with was his own part in it

The lesson of Jesus’ command “You Follow Me” isn’t just about not comparing yourself to others around you. It’s also about not comparing your own life to the one you want to have, or comparing yourself to the person you want to be, or the events in your life to what you wish had happened. It’s about trusting God that the both the worst and the most mundane things in your life are part of his bigger picture, even and especially if you can’t see that picture at the time (or even years later). Scripture teaches that as Christians we are identified so closely with Christ that we can be said to have been buried with him in baptism and been resurrected through faith (Colossians 2:12). In the same way, my failures are deaths of my own effort and ambition, and by the power of the Resurrected Lord those same failures have become a living part of the story He is enacting in the world.

~ Joanna Hinks