Our two Schnauzers woke us early on Easter morning. I rolled over in bed, hoping those pesky canines would quit barking, but no, they were relentless and, for some reason, anxious to get outside.
So, there Lori and I were: standing with our two dogs in the backyard at 5ish o’clock in the morning.
A rooster was crowing in the distance. “Maybe that’s what woke our dogs,” I said.
I immediately thought of Simon Peter since it was Easter morning.
“The women on the way to the tomb might have been leaving about now,” I said, as Lori and I stood there, shuffling our feet, gazing at the stars.
“I wonder if they were thinking of Simon Peter’s denial,” I pondered aloud.
Even though it was early, I felt wide-awake and ready for day to dawn. The night birds were singing, not with a full chorus like at sunrise but more like with a trio, and away from us, out there in the field somewhere, enveloped in the darkness. The chill of early morning, the rooster crowing, along with the plaintive cry of the birds’ night songs all gave me an eerie feeling of impending doom, sending a shiver down my back.
I visualized a tormented Simon Peter. Where was he at that early hour on the first Easter morning? Was he huddling in a fetal position, hiding in the corner of some room? What was he doing while the women were snaking their way through the narrow streets on their way to the tomb?
Several years ago, Chicago Cubs relief pitcher Bob Patterson described one of his pitches, which the Cincinnati Reds’ Barry Larkin hit for a game-winning home run: “It was a cross between a screwball and a change-up. It was a screw-up.”
I could only imagine the enormity of Peter’s pain, but I can identify with his failure, for I, too have been a “screw-up.”
I suppose Peter could have shaken it off, gotten up from his defeat, then doubled down and tried harder at religion. Like so many people, he could have thrown himself into more religious work, saying all the proper prayers at just the right time, striving for that squeaky-clean appearance before his peers and God, hoping somehow his performance would bring some relief, at least for a while. Those who have tried it know it doesn’t work, at least for very long, for we all get dirty again, some quicker than others, but we all find ourselves sprawling around in the same mud puddle.
Or Peter could have given up entirely, opting out on life, like his fellow disciple, Judas.
Instead, Peter found his way back to Jesus and to the fellowship of fellow strugglers, who together would follow Jesus.
“It’s cold; I think I’m going in,” Lori said as the dogs were now ready to get back in the house and to sleep, now that we were wide-awake.
“Yeah, me too,” I said, following her back inside.
And then the rooster crowed again, causing me to pause one more time.
I’ve found my way back more than once, back into the arms of Jesus, and into the fellowship of love that is the church.
If the rooster reminded me of Peter’s failure, the bird’s wake-up call also pointed me to Peter’s renewed life.
Later that Easter morning, the worship service was filled with excitement as we were refreshed by familiar faces, even though they were partially covered with masks.
After the service, I chatted with one of my friends who raises chickens and told her about the rooster awakening our dogs. Her daughter chimed in on the conversation, “I’m scared of our rooster.”
“Really?” I said quizzingly.
“Oh, yeah, I won’t go near him.”
I couldn’t help but smile, for it was the crowing of the rooster that started my Easter morning in such a splendid way, pointing me to the risen Savior, reminding me that God’s grace is greater than my sin.