“And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock
                I will build my church, and the gates of Hades
                will not overcome it.”
                                                        — Matthew 16:18

The rippling water is green abalone at the pier;
wild geese float without effort and fish break
the waves—as if it were not solid, as if it was
insubstantial, as if the Son of God did not walk
on its surface like the land.

I sit here, cross-legged and broken.  I think of you, Simon
Peter—the first to be called, the first to be given
the mystery of Christ, yet you sank
                                                                 and I, too,
                                                                                    am sinking. 
                                                                                                          I think of who you were
before that day when He came:  Simon, He has heard.  History holds
that you, James, and John, were all bold.  Simon, also meaning flat-nosed,
like a fighter, like a warrior, like the one carried by a storm
in your soul.
                        
                        Gifted with a voice that boomed, you led
with your heart—and with a tongue that surely matched.
First to proclaim the Messiah; first to deny him at the cross.
First to pray down promised Spirit.  First to raise a sword
at his betrayal.

                             When he named you Rock (or pebble, or gemstone),
He showed us His Grace.  He revealed the rock on which He’d build
the church—and it wasn’t you, it was never you.  It was
                                                                                                      that Faith
with which you heard His name.  What a high! but then the low
when your words gained you rebuke:  You do not have in mind
the concerns of God, but merely human.  I can imagine the pain
you felt, your first love comparing you to the enemy. 

                                                                                                 Or when your brother,
once Saul (a name singing dignity), now Paul (meaning humility), called you
out breaking unity—called your actions the actions of a hypocrite.

Prized fighter, warrior, fisherman; well-intentioned, passionate—
yet fallen—man.  You knew your Lord yet you fought Him
washing your feet; but when taught, asked for more:
Head and hands.

                                Nothing halfway.  Nothing in part.  You’d be

the bridge between Gentile and Jew.  And when they came
to put you to death, you bid them more—you bid them
do it upside down.                              

                                 Nothing halfway.  Nothing in part.

Ye of such determination; ye of so little faith.

Would you walk this green abalone
with me now, you Gemstone,
you Rock?

Would you drift with the geese?
Or would you bid me fly
in fear, in my doubt
from the wind?

We are speaking.
                                           We are action.
We are wanting
                                   to be seen by Love. 

We are both
                        broken
                                      and seeking
a true
            name.