"And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter." That disciple but recently met the fierce and searching gaze of the Roman soldiers. The keen eye of the malignant Jew had disturbed him. He was troubled also by the penetrating look of the maid who said, "Thou also wast with Jesus of Galilee." But there was one present who had forborne, it seems, till now, to notice the fallen disciple. But when he did, one glance was enough. When Peter's eye met that of his Lord, what emotions were awakened?
It was the look of a friend. And such a friend! Whose kind and sweet voice was it that summoned him from his nets to be a fisher of men? What mortal had ever been more favored, as for three years he had dwelt under the radiance of the Light of the world?
Who gave him a vision of the heavenly glory on the Mount of Transfiguration; admitting him into the secret places of the Most High, and under the shadow of the Almighty? Who was he that pitied him in his moral darkness and guilt, had assuaged his domestic sorrow, had honored him with a chief place among the founders of his glorious kingdom, and was now about to die for him, that earthly good might be crowned with everlasting life? There stood such a benefactor bound, buffeted, despised, denied, and his ears now ringing with the language of that denial, and the awful profanity that gave what was already crimson a more deadly hue. There stood he, an injured friend—how kind a friend, how deeply injured!
That glance! Peter understood it. Words were not necessary. Mingled with a rebuke, it was a look of kindness still. A glance from such a being, at such an hour, and on such a man. Could Peter withstand it? Could he brave that glance, and in spite of it, carry out in hardness of heart, the denial that oath had just confirmed? No! the unhappy man cannot endure it. That gaze of the injured friend caused all that friend's kindness to rush upon his mind, while the consciousness of his own ill-treatment of him overwhelmed him with the deepest remorse and misery.
"And he went out." How could he remain in the presence of one so deeply injured? The glance of that eye had kindled a flame in his soul. He must retire. He must seek a place to weep. The deep fountains of his heart are broken up. His fear of man had bewildered his mind—drew a rash denial from his lips and cursing with it. But that glance has reclaimed him. He is a man, a disciple again. He was fallen; how deeply fallen! But that anguish, and those tears—they speak for him. He is not a lost man. He was overpowered by the sudden shock of temptation. A powerful onset of Satan bore him away; but those tears dashed Satan's hopes. The broken heart is the fallen man's recovery. Shout, enemy of all righteousness, as you sift him as wheat, and malignantly triumph over his fall! You'll have other work soon. The prostrate disciple rises, and standing now on firmer ground than ever, your dark empire will find in him an assailant that shall shake many of its walls, and burn many of its gates with fire.
Reader, the Lord looketh upon you. His eye is not the flaming fire of a righteous judge. 'Tis that of mercy and good will. But is there nothing of rebuke in it? As it called before Peter his own character, is there nothing in yours for it to fix your eyes upon? Have you no occasion for tears?
That glance! Beware of what it shall be when the Redeemer shall come in the clouds of heaven, and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him, and all the kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.