From Confidence to Collapse—and Back Again

Peaks and Valleys: God in Every Season

We’ve been walking through a series I’ve called “Peaks and Valleys,” and here’s the heartbeat of it: no matter where we are—on the mountaintop, in the pit, or somewhere in between—God is with us. He promised never to leave or forsake us, and He keeps His promises. Today we step into Luke 22 and follow Peter down into the valley of denial. Next time, we’ll trace his climb back up to restoration. For now, linger with me in the valley, because it’s there that grace often becomes most visible.

A Short Distance from Spiritual Confidence to Collapse

That evening began like a mountaintop. Passover. The room thick with history and hope. Peter’s chest is out, his heart is full, and his words are strong: “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death.” I believe he meant it. I think he would’ve signed that vow in ink.

But Jesus answers with something Peter—and honestly, most of us—don’t want to hear: “Before the rooster crows today, you will deny three times that you know me.” It’s jarring. It feels like Jesus is saying, “You think you know your heart—but I know it better.”

Here’s the warning I carried into this text and want to plant in your heart: It’s a short distance from spiritual confidence to spiritual collapse if our faith rests on emotion instead of devotion. Emotion surges; devotion endures. Emotion rides the waves; devotion drops anchor. When our zeal isn’t tethered to a life of prayerful obedience, the gap between “I’ll die for you” and “I don’t even know him” can be crossed in a single night.

Gethsemane Exposes Our Center

Jesus takes the disciples to pray. He tells three of them—Peter included—to keep watch and seek strength. They sleep. He prays. He returns; they sleep again. Why did He ask them to pray? Because He knew Satan was coming for them. The battlefield was spiritual long before the soldiers showed up with clubs and torches.

Then the crowd arrives. Swords flash. In an instant, Peter goes from drowsy to dangerous. He swings. An ear falls. Jesus says, “No more of this,” and heals the man.

That moment unmasks us. When I trust my sword (my control, my quick fix, my temper) more than my Savior, I reveal where my center really is. I feel strong with steel in my hand, but Jesus calls me to be strong on my knees. Peter thought the enemy was the crowd; Jesus knew the real enemy was the accuser. Peter thought the right tool was the sword; Jesus says the weapon is prayer. Peter thought his purpose was to protect Jesus; Jesus knew His purpose was to obey the Father unto the cross. Wrong enemy. Wrong weapon. Wrong purpose. That’s a strategy straight from hell—and it still works when we buy it.  

“Following at a Distance”: When Disappointment Fuels Denial

After the arrest, Luke says Peter followed “at a distance.” Physically true, spiritually revealing. He’s close enough to see Jesus, far enough to feel safe. Distance is fertile soil for denial.

And then the questions come—first from a servant girl, then from others by the fire. Three denials, each one louder. The rooster crows. The sound slices the night, and the truth slices Peter’s heart.

I want you to notice something: I don’t believe Peter’s denial started in disbelief but in disappointment. He still knew who Jesus was—the water-walker, the storm-calmer, the dead-raiser. But in that courtyard, Jesus didn’t look like the Jesus Peter expected. The One who flipped tables and silenced storms is now silent, surrendered, and led away. To Peter, that looked like weakness. In heaven’s vocabulary, it was obedience. When Jesus doesn’t behave the way we expected, disappointment can become the on-ramp to denial—if our trust was in our expectations rather than in Him.

The Look That Broke Me—and Began My Healing

Luke records a small detail with enormous weight: “The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter.” To know Jesus looked at him, Peter had to be looking at Jesus. Even while unraveling, his eyes were still searching for the face he loved. And in that look, Peter remembers. He runs outside and weeps bitterly.

I believe those tears are the first springs of repentance. Not crocodile tears of getting caught, but bitter tears of being known. Jesus’ look didn’t crush Peter to condemn him; it crushed him to restore him. Sometimes the kindest thing God can give us is a holy heartbreak that refuses to let us make peace with our distance.

What To Do When You’re in the Valley

If you’re camped in a valley today—especially one carved by disappointment—let me offer a map:



A Glimpse of the Next Peak

Peter’s story doesn’t end in smoke and roosters. He’ll see an empty tomb. He’ll meet the risen Christ who will not only forgive him but commission him. The man who fell hard will stand strong. That’s what Jesus does with people who keep looking His way: He takes our collapse and rebuilds it on devotion.

So if you’re in a valley today, hear this: Jesus hasn’t moved. He is exactly where you left Him, ready for you to turn and come home. Lift your eyes. Meet His gaze. Let the look that broke you become the look that heals you. We’ll pick up next time with Peter’s restoration—and, I pray, with yours.  

Based on the sermon delivered October 19, 2025, in our “Peaks & Valleys” series.