Long before the sun rose, Peter walked along the fishermen’s wharf, bustling with the first boats returning and setting up their stands. He did this when he couldn’t sleep. The fishermen were too busy for him to preach, but he liked the noise and even the smell was somehow comforting.
He came to the end and kept on walking on a sudden impulse. He went around the edge of the harbor and the hubbub faded away. He was suddenly far away and alone. No not alone, for there was another figure walking towards him.
“Wait a minute”, he thought, “that guy must be in the water.” Then, “It’s the Lord!”
He quickly prayed and then stepped out onto the water, grinning. He ran a step but his old knees twinged, and he slowed to a stately walk
“Peter”, Jesus said after they embraced, “your time is coming. Have you kept the faith? Are you prepared for the next life?”
“Yea, lord”, he said. “I have done the work thou gavest me. I have kept myself clean through your name.”
“Well done”, Jesus said, “you will enter into my rest.”
But Peter continued, the words rushing out, “When you were alive you chastised me often for misunderstanding you, because I leaned on man’s understanding rather than looking to you. I have abased myself that you might exalt me. When I bore testimony of our time together, I made sure to include your rebukes, and my faults. I forebade people from worshipping me, insisting they recognize the wonders they saw me do were done in your name. Over the years I probably ended up doing more miracles than you did while you were here. But every good thing I did was all your doing. You are the petra that broke open the gates of death, I am merely the petros sent into the world to bear your message, and whom you gave a portion of your power.
I even coded my oration memory palace to link me to the devil, before you changed my heart. I never wrote scripture. It’s true John Mark has turned my gospel oration into scripture, but he did it when I was speaking in the most awful pidgin Greek, language of the eastern legionnaire. It’s seems appropriate that it has the worst language of all the writings about you when people used to praise me for my good, clear teachings and complain about your enigmatic utterances. You had wisdom, you had understanding, I merely was on the level of the people so they could understand me.”
Peter, Jesus said, do you not think I know who you are and what I was doing when I chose you to take my message to the world? A sent one speaks to people in their own language, with shared experiences and understanding. Here is the condescension of God that he sent me, and I sent you. The higher reaches after the lower. You have abased yourself, and I am pleased to exalt you in a coming day.
Tears of gratitude sprang to Peter’s eyes. But then a cloud seemed to pass in front of them, and the wrinkle between his eyebrows creased up.
Jesus, looking at him, said, “Yet I see your heart is still troubled. What more would you have me do for you?”
“Lord”, Peter said, “As you said, I have lacked for nothing. But there is one thing I have longed for since you went up on high, one regret. That instead of being arrested with you and dying with you I fled. I know that this had to be, and that was not the work you had for me. My hope is sure of the resurrection and coming to you in your kingdom, but can you do something about the regret that I feel? It has haunted me ever since. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak, and I can’t face that. Not a day goes by that I wished I had a chance to do it again, and to die with you. My cowardice is a stink that does not go away.”
“Peter”, Jesus said, “It’s not necessary, but if you want you shall indeed be arrested like I was and shall die the dishonourable death I died.”
“I want” Peter said.
Jesus smiled, “It shall be done.” This was a good gift. What can you give to him who gave you everything. To be with him, that is all.
It wasn’t long after that soldiers seized Peter as he was preaching to a congregation, who were perplexed by how he seemed to glow when he saw them. The soldiers spit on him, slapped him, and scourged him as part of the interrogation. He then went through a show trial, the verdict having already come down the chain of command.
Peter suffered, but it was all joy to him. What he had long desired was now his. Nothing could be sweeter than to finally suffer together with Christ, even if in part and belated. Not that he was on the same level as Christ. Just to make sure everyone understood he asked that he be crucified upside down. This day, the executioners were not acting of their own free will. They would have plenty of other chances to earn their own due rewards by acts of cruelty and kindness beyond what their jobs required. This day the fates made sure the special friend of the masters got what he wanted. And what he wanted was the one final act of devotion left to him, one final gift to give.