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"I'M NOT A MUTINEER!"

For months Lieutenant Keefer had been saying it: "The captain of this ship is nuts." And true, Commander Queeg did seem to be eccentric, strange, if not unbalanced. But Keefer lost no opportunities to tell the executive officer, Stephen Maryk, that Queeg was just plain off his rocker. Keefer, a novelist on board this minesweeper, the U.S.S. Caine, seemed to know a lot about psychology; he tossed around words like "paranoid," "schizophrenia." "A guy crawling with Freudian clues." And finally he was able to persuade Maryk that the captain was indeed a candidate for the loony bin.

If you've ever read this fascinating war story by Herman Wouk, The Caine Mutiny, you're familiar with how, at the height of a typhoon, the captain did finally slip over the edge and go crazy. He was incapacitated during the storm, and finally, executive officer Stephen Maryk had to take over the ship, citing Navy Article 184. Of course, when the fleet finally limped through the storm and back to the safety of Pearl Harbor, Maryk and others with him faced a court martial, accused of conspiring to make a mutiny.

Well, the questions came hard and fast, and finally it was time for Lieutenant Keefer to take the stand. And the prosecutors really bore in hard. Had he supported Maryk in this mutiny? Had he given him advice? And finally they came down to the big question: Had he concurred with Maryk that Captain Queeg was insane?

There was a long pause. Keefer licked his lips, swallowed the lump in his throat. Of course, if he agreed with Maryk, if he stood with the exec, they could both be nailed for this crime. They could both end up hanging for this.

So the prosecutor asked him: "Did you agree with Maryk that Queeg was mentally ill?" And Keefer finally answered. "I'm afraid I'm not competent to answer that question, not being trained in psychiatry." Which was a blatant lie, of course; it was Keefer all along who had prodded Maryk with all his talk about paranoid tendencies and emotional instability and all the rest. But with that carefully shaded answer, he pushed himself away from danger, from his friend — or, he said, his FORMER friend; he hardly knew the guy — Stephen Maryk.

Well, that was World War II. But is it much different today when you're on the hot seat and a Johnny Cochran is leaning right in your face with hard questions about a friend? Or was it much different back on a Thursday night in the year A.D. 31? Three times in a row people poked a finger at this fisherman, Simon Peter, and said: "You were with Him. This Nazarene, Jesus . . . you're one of His followers."

This is one of the most wrenching stories in the Bible, of course. Especially so because Jesus Christ Himself, ahead of time, told Peter he was going to do this thing. Here's John 13:37 and 38:

"Peter asked, ‘Lord, why can't I follow You now? I will lay down my life for You.' Then Jesus answered, ‘Will you really lay down your life for Me? I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown [or deny] Me three times!'"

Then over in chapter 18 you can count them: one, two, three. A girl at the door hit Peter with the accusation. Then another man standing by the fire. And then finally, one of the servants of the high priest. In fact, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had chopped off earlier in the evening. And all three times, when they accused him, Peter did like Lieutenant Keefer: "I don't know Him; never heard of Him. I wasn't anywhere near the place. I was home in bed. I was out of town. I had a flat tire. I was having supper with Mom. If the glove doesn't fit, you must acquit." And so on. Finally, with cursing and swearing, it says in Matthew's account, Peter denies any connection with Christ. "I don't know the man!" he shrieks out, adding a few expletives to nail down the severing of this connection.

An old rusty line from the Broadway opera about this tragic Bible story rings so true as we look back at this "must-see" Thursday evening. The Mary in the story sings to Peter:

"Peter, don't you know what you have said? You've gone and cut Him dead." And he answers, almost helplessly: "I had to do it; don't you see? Or else they'd go for me." And she replies: "It's what He told us you would do. I wonder how He knew."

But friend, let's focus on that line by Peter: "I had to do it. Don't you see? Or else they'd go for me." And that pitiful excuse says it all, doesn't it? We give up someone else in order to save ourselves. Whenever there's a political scandal, the question is always asked: "Who can we sacrifice? Who can we force to ‘walk the plank'?" And time after time, people testify on Capitol Hill: "I hardly knew the man. That name doesn't ring a bell. No, I wasn't there when that meeting took place." "Gennifer Flowers? Paula Jones? Monica Lewinsky? Those names . . . maybe I met them in a crowded ballroom, but I just don't remember."

Let me talk for a few moments right here to radio listeners who are fellow Christians with me. Twenty-first century disciples. We're followers of Jesus Christ; we confess a connection with Him. We carry His name and we let people know it. We admit it. But now, along with these two men of the sea, Lieutenant Keefer and Mr. Simon Peter, we have to search our hearts and ask this question: What would cause us to deny that connection? Why would we say to someone with our mouths, or perhaps just with a shake of the head, or with the most subtle of lifestyle changes: "No, I don't know Him"?
I'm sure with Peter it was many things. There were deep fissures in his soul, cracks in his spiritual armor, and Jesus wanted to lovingly confront and expose his weaknesses. He was a man filled with pride, a man too sleepy to pray. Peter didn't want to be ridiculed; he shrank away from any situation where he didn't have the upper hand. After all, the last three-and-a-half years were one long power climb for Peter and his 11 friends. He would much rather accuse than be accused.

But you know, I think it all boils down to just plain old fear. On Thursday night Simon Peter was afraid. It was dark and there were lots of swords and spears out there. And crowns of thorns and whips and the 39 lashes and crosses to follow. And all at once, after talking so big, and after swinging a musketeer's blade himself and cutting off one ear, Peter suddenly was hit with raw fear. The other disciples were running away into the shadows and, you know, fear is contagious. And just like Lieutenant Keefer was afraid of a court martial, afraid of losing his pension, afraid of jail, maybe even afraid of a hangman's noose, Peter was scared. And so he separated himself from Christ. He pulled away from the other Man who was in danger, hoping that a clean break would get him out of being in danger with Him.

And here's the sad thing — which is just as sad right here today as we think about it. Peter had more faith in this sorry little lie than in Jesus Himself! Could Jesus protect him here? Could he feel himself safe in the care of the Master? This was the miracle Worker who had fed 5,000 people and walked on water and healed the sick and raised up Lazarus from death itself! And yet Peter had no confidence that Jesus could protect him on this dark Thursday. After all, at this very moment, Jesus looked rather helpless, rather beat up, with His hands all tied up like that. It was better to lie, better to pull away, than to keep your fate in the hands of Christ.

Well, it's not much different now. You and I get into a mess, maybe a political crisis at work, where we've made a grave mistake. Can we trust in Jesus to see us through the pain, maybe the embarrassment? Or the threat of getting fired even? Or should we lie to save ourselves? And when we tell that falsehood, we're denying Christ, aren't we? We're saying to the Savior, "I'm sorry . . . but it just doesn't look like You can care for me anymore. I've got to perjure myself to save the day."

Or we're in a place where there could be that little sliver of scorn if it's known that we're religious. You're on the road, at that convention. It's a very secular night. Everyone's out to eat and the jokes are coming thick and fast. Some of the one-liners aren't right for a Christian. Do you identify openly with Jesus, or do you pull away from Him a bit? Friend, I've faced moments like those and so have you. And we choose the lie, the denial, instead of the protection we're not quite sure gentle Jesus, meek and mild, can give us.

Thank God for forgiveness, and thank God that He and His Son love us the way they loved Peter, but let's not ever forget this "must-see" Thursday night.

And let's never forget that Thursday shows us both forgiveness and love. And second chances! Even Peter, writing many years later, regained his courage with these words:

"If you suffer as a Christian, do not be ashamed but praise God that you bear that name." And then he admits his mistake, adding this: "Cast all your anxiety [or cares] on Him because He cares for you."