TD Jakes - How to Handle Our Ideals vs. Realities
Jesus has declared, «Peter, thou art the rock.» Now, when Jesus calls you a rock, baby, you’re a rock. Jesus said, «Peter, thou art the rock, and upon this rock, I will build my church.» But it can get heavy when people build on you. I want to talk to some people who have been built upon. They built on you because you were stable; they built on you because they could count on you; they built on you because you would always come through. They just put block after block, after block, after block. Have you ever had anybody just build on you? They knew you would handle it. You’re just strong like that; you’re just wired like that. And they don’t know that weight is still weight, and tide is still tide, and time is still time.
After a while, the erosion of taking other people’s weight on you begins to corrode your youthful vitality. It is not so much the calendar that has weakened you; it is the weight of all the people who have been built on you. «Peter, thou art the rock, and upon this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.» And now the rock is tired. I wish I had some people this morning who were tired rocks. Any tired rocks in the building? Any tired rocks? Always there for everybody, fixing every problem, handling every situation—everybody counts on you, everybody calls on you, everybody leans on you, everybody pulls from you. You’re a rock, but you’re a tired rock. You’re a strong Black woman, but you’re a tired Black woman. You’re a strong White woman, but you’re a tired White woman. You’re a strong Black man, but you’re a tired Black man.
I want to talk to some tired rocks. I’m tired—tired of you putting all that weight on me. I’m tired of you always counting on me. I’m tired of having to stand up against all the opposition. I’m tired of traveling, going, doing, reaching, serving, and fighting as if I were not human. Peter is tired. I, for one, am amazed that he is asleep in the story—the guy who walked on water and cut off ears—the rock of the church is asleep in the story.
How in the world do you go to sleep on the eve of possibly being beheaded? Maybe it’s that way because, when I’m stressed out, the first thing that goes is my sleep. The more worried I am about something, the less sleep I get. I could not go to sleep knowing that in the morning I could be beheaded. That would be a long night of tossing and turning. I wouldn’t get any sleep; the chains wouldn’t get any rest; the guards beside me wouldn’t get anywhere. Peter is asleep between two soldiers, and there are fourteen more scattered out there, and Peter is just tired.
Can we be honest for a minute? Aren’t you tired of fighting things, surviving things, enduring things, standing up to things, fighting off obstacles, walking on water, doing your miracles, and taking a bad situation and going on anyway? Aren’t you tired of surviving divorces, neglects, crises, dilemmas, and tragedies? I want to talk to somebody who’s tired. I want to talk to somebody who has been awesome, fierce, mighty, and has been an attack dog, but even attack dogs get sleepy. Now I’m just tired, and not only am I tired, I’m alone.
You see, this text is really—if it were Windows, if we were in Microsoft—we would have two windows open because the people that he loved, that supported him, that gave him energy and strength, are in one window. They’re back in the house, and he is in another window—he’s in a prison. This text pulls up both windows at both times, but they are two different stories. The people on one side, who are praying for his escape, represent his ideals, and Peter sleeping between two soldiers represents his reality. How do we get our ideals and our realities to come together? The ideals—we preach our ideals, we talk our ideals, we teach our children our ideals, we tell our friends our ideals, but we go home to wrestle with our realities.
Sometimes, I must confess that our realities don’t line up with our ideals. I know you call it hypocritical, but if it’s hypocritical, we have a lot of company because there is a vast difference between what I intended and what happened, between what I believe and what I am experiencing, and between what I teach and what my emotions are mandating. On one hand, the church is over here in one indoor window, functioning like believers, rebuking the devil, pleading the blood and doing spiritual warfare, and on the other window, their leader is tired.
I want to talk to some tired mamas. It isn’t that you don’t love your children; you love them, God knows you do, but you’re tired. You’re tired of arguing, tired of standing up to their moods, temperaments, attitudes, and arguments, and you’re tired of not being appreciated. You’re tired of them pointing out the one thing you didn’t do right and ignoring the twelve things you did do right. You’re just tired. I want to talk to some mamas who are tired of trying to make it work by yourself—coming in, going to the grocery store, getting off work, cooking, getting food done, studying, laying out clothes, washing, and getting ready for tomorrow.
I want to talk to some tired mamas. You’re strong, but you’re tired. I want to talk to some tired men who have done everything you could to make it work, and still it’s not working like you wanted it to. Your ideals are over here, but your realities are over there, and people are judging you by your realities, paying no attention to your ideals. They don’t know that if they had caught you in another season, you had a sword, but they’ve taken your sword away. How can I fight when you took my sword away?
I have spoken in the storm and walked out on the water, but now he’s speechless in this text. Peter doesn’t say a word. Peter, who preached on the day of Pentecost, is speechless in this text. There are no quotes from Peter in this text. He is silent. Peter, who said, «Hey, if this is you, bid me to come,» is saying nothing in this text. Peter is just tired.