The question by the fire

Peter had said he would never fall away, but within hours he denied Jesus three times. A few chapters later in John, the risen Jesus makes breakfast on a beach and turns to him with a question: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” (Mike drop)

John tells us there was a charcoal fire. The only other charcoal fire in his Gospel is the one Peter stood beside in the courtyard while he denied he knew Jesus. Peter had to know exactly what this moment was.

So what would you expect Jesus to say next? Most of us would expect a reckoning.

What Jesus didn’t do

He didn’t rehash it. There was no list of what Peter did wrong, no demand for an explanation, no probation period. Jesus asked a question about love, and Peter answered. Then Jesus gave him something to do: feed my lambs, take care of my sheep, feed my sheep.

Peter answered three times, and three times he received an assignment. The third time it hurt him, John says, and that matters. Moving forward wasn’t painless for Peter. But the pain didn’t get the last word, because Jesus kept pointing him away from himself and toward the people he was being sent to.

That’s the pattern. Peter doesn’t get past his failure by analyzing it. He gets past it by answering Jesus honestly and then doing the next thing Jesus gives him.

Surrendering who we think we are

Recently, the men of our church gathered for our group, Bridge City Men. We discussed questions Jesus asked. ON the last question of the night, our pastor Sean wanted to add a point to our discussion.

Pastor Sean said, “When Jesus says we must deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Him, that involves more than laying aside our sin. It also means surrendering our version of who we are—the limitations we’ve accepted, the labels we’ve worn, and the belief that our fears, doubts, or faults disqualify us from being used by Him.”

That’s the part most of us skip. We’re willing to hand Jesus our sin. We’re far less willing to hand him our identity: the story we tell about who we are and what we’re too broken, too afraid, or too far gone to do.

Peter was carrying a label that morning on the beach. The one who denied him. Jesus didn’t ask him to keep wearing it, and he didn’t ask him to act it out.

Worship, doubt, and a commission

He pointed me to another scene. In Matthew 28, the disciples meet the risen Jesus on a mountain. Matthew says they worshiped him, “but some doubted.”

Notice what Jesus does with that. He doesn’t stop the commission until everyone has resolved every question. He declares his authority, tells them to go, and promises to be with them.

As our pastor put it: “The point wasn’t that their doubts didn’t matter. It was that their doubts didn’t have to keep them from obeying.”

Move past yourself

Here is the challenge. What label have you been wearing, and what has it told you you can’t do?

Maybe it’s I failed at this once, so I’m done. Maybe it’s I still have too many questions to lead anyone. Maybe it’s I’m too afraid, too inadequate, too late. Our pastor’s answer is that those things may describe where we are or were, but they don’t get to decide whether we follow Jesus. We can follow him while we still have questions. We can obey while we still feel afraid.

“Jesus isn’t asking us to become flawless before we take the next step. He’s calling us to trust Him enough to obey.”

Peter said, “I love you,” and Jesus gave him work. You don’t have to have yourself figured out first. Answer honestly, then take the next step he has already put in front of you.

Take the next step… Name the label out loud to a friend, or even to God himself. Then do one thing Jesus has clearly asked of you that the label has been telling you to skip.