Just like Peter, you don’t need to do anything to earn God’s forgiveness for your soul wounds.
The wounding of your soul is agonizing. Jeremiah asks: “Why is my pain perpetual and my wound incurable?” (Jer. 15;18a). Job laments: “My soul loathes my life.” (Job 10:1). In our own time, mental health practitioners speak of something similar—moral injury—a kind of “soul wound,” invisible yet searing, often marked by guilt and shame.
Here what moral injury might look like:
A police officer receives an order she believes is unethical. Though she obeys, she can’t shake the sense she’s violated her deepest values. She tells herself she was “just following orders,” yet guilt, shame, and anger take hold. The act, however small it seemed, becomes an unbearable burden.
Those who experience moral injury are rarely prepared for the emotional and spiritual fallout of decisions that, in the moment, seemed either unavoidable or inconsequential. But one need not be formally diagnosed to know what it’s like for the soul to ache. Scripture gives us a vivid example: Simon Peter—whose own moral injury led him to weep in despair after three painful denials.
The Mighty Fisherman
We are comforted by the impetuous Peter because he is so human: brave, impulsive, devoted, and flawed. When Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter boldly replied, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” (Matt. 16:16). Jesus called him blessed and named him “the rock” (Matt. 16:18).
Yet when Peter later stated with boldness that he was ready to die for Jesus, Jesus, in turn, revealed that before dawn, Peter would declare three times that he did not even know Jesus (John 13:36-38).
And that’s exactly what happened. Confronted by bystanders, Peter denied his Lord—not once but three times, even cursing to distance himself from Jesus (Matt. 26:69–74). Then the rooster crowed. “And the Lord turned and looked at Peter.” (Luke 22:61).
Peter remembered Jesus’ words, fled, and “wept bitterly.” (Matt. 26:75).
Not just weeping, but bitter weeping. Was this a moral injury? A wound to the soul? And did Peter weep for Jesus, or for himself?
Until the Rooster Crows
“What will become of me now? What will my family and the other disciples think?”
An integral aspect of moral injury is a moment of profound shock to the conscience: I’ve done something very bad that I had no intention of doing. At least not under normal circumstances.
The rooster was this moment for Peter; it alerts the disciple that he’s been “caught.”
We might experience similar moments: A volunteer treasurer of a congregation faithfully does his job for years, but then he realizes his daughter needs new shoes for basketball. “I’m underappreciated by the people of this church. I’ll just borrow a few bucks from the church’s coffers, pay it back in a couple weeks, cover my tracks,” he thinks. The small compromises add up until the truth finally comes out. The rooster crows. The sin that seemed minor is now unmistakable.
Despite the buried warnings of our conscience, we don’t always fully acknowledge that we’ve done something wrong, until the rooster crows. And then the guilt loops endlessly, like a broken tape recorder. Even when we know there is forgiveness in Christ, we tell ourselves it isn’t for us. We rationalize, hide, or spiral deeper into shame.
Did Peter’s guilt and shame morally disorient him? History calls Peter the denier. But did Peter’s own heart also call himself the coward? He certainly knew he was capable of sin. Didn’t Jesus once label him Satan? (Matt. 16:23). We can admit we are sinners, but still not really believe it. Then, the rooster crows.
Both Saint and Sinner?
Peter is called Saint Peter, but he was still also called a sinner.
When chosen by God in our baptisms, we too become saints, fully forgiven. Yet in this life we remain capable of sin—and do sin—even after we become Christians. We are great saints because of the greatness of God’s forgiveness and the fact that we have been declared righteous in God’s eyes for Christ’s sake. But in this life, we are simultaneously great sinners as well, still in need of forgiveness.
We are great saints because of the greatness of God’s forgiveness and the fact that we have been declared righteous in God’s eyes for Christ’s sake.
Every wounded soul longs for forgiveness. If we could behold God’s holiness with our own eyes, the depth of our sin would be unbearable (Exod. 33:17–23). Peter’s bitter tears may have been his glimpse of that truth, a flash of unbearable light exposing the wound within.
The Reunion
But Peter’s story doesn’t end there.
Peter did unite with Jesus again (John 21:1-19). But here, Jesus won’t call Peter a denier or a coward. Instead, he asked Peter if he loves him. Three times.
So much has happened since Peter’s denial: the Son has endured crucifixion, the world’s greatest tragedy transformed into its greatest mercy. Unspeakable horror becomes the doorway of reconciliation with our God. The very worst is used to bring about the very best. Jesus, once condemned, now stands alive—his own soul wounded for ours.
Peter’s “Yes”
Peter emphatically answered“yes” to Jesus’ three questions. But to each of Peter’s declarations of love, Jesus responded progressively with: “Feed My lambs. Tend My sheep. And feed My sheep.” The crowing of the rooster is silenced, not by Peter’s remorse, but by Jesus’ forgiveness.
Our soul wounds, too, are Christ’s to heal. He was wounded so that we might be made whole.
Jesus says again to Peter, as if Peter’s three denials never happened: “Follow Me” (John 21:19). Because of the Holy Spirit, Peter will follow Jesus, living a life for others. Jesus also hints at the future suffering that awaits the fisherman. Peter—like the Passover Lamb himself—-will one day be a lamb led to slaughter (John 21:18-19).
Just like Peter, you don’t need to do anything to earn God’s forgiveness for your soul wounds. All of your sins are forgiven. You don’t need to do anything to earn abundant and eternal life, either. Jesus has done it all for you on the cross.
This article was written by D.R. Groten. D.R. Groten is an author and writer active in ministry, and lives in rural Minnesota with his wife. Together, they have two children and six grandchildren.
