Do You Love Me? Living the Call of Christ

​It was early morning on the Sea of Galilee. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and the water was still. Seven disciples, led by Peter, had gone out to fish. It wasn’t a spiritual mission — it was a return to what was familiar. After all the trauma of the crucifixion, after the confusion of the resurrection, they went back to what they knew. Peter said, “I’m going fishing,” and the others followed. But that night — the best time for fishing — they caught nothing. The nets came up empty, over and over again. And then, as the first light of dawn broke over the hills, they saw someone standing on the shore. A man, barely visible in the haze, called out, “Friends, have you caught anything?” “No,” they shouted back. Just one syllable, but heavy with fatigue and failure. “Throw the net on the right side of the boat,” he said, “and you will find some.”
 
It must have sounded strange. They were fishermen — professionals. Who was this voice from the shore to tell them what to do? But something in his tone stirred something in their hearts, and they obeyed. And suddenly — the net was full. Overflowing. So many fish that they couldn’t even haul it in. At that moment, John — the disciple Jesus loved — whispered, “It’s the Lord.” Peter didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wait for the boat. He didn’t wait for explanations. He threw on his outer garment, dove into the water, and swam the hundred meters to shore. That’s Peter. Impulsive. Bold. Ready to act. And on the shore? There was Jesus. Waiting. Not with a lecture, but with breakfast. A fire, some bread, and fish already on the coals. He didn’t need more fish. He already had enough. But He told them to bring theirs anyway. A sign, perhaps, that even though He is sufficient, He wants to include our efforts — our work, our faith, our obedience — in what He’s doing. And then they sat and ate together. In silence. No questions. No defenses. Just presence.
 
It’s such a human moment. Quiet. Simple. Holy. And after breakfast, Jesus turned to Peter. “Simon, son of John,” He said, “do you love me more than these?” Peter, already wounded by his past, replied, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Feed my lambs.” A second time: “Do you love me?” “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” “Tend my sheep.” And a third time — cutting deep now — Jesus asked, “Simon, do you love me?”  Peter, hurt by the repetition, answered, “Lord, you know everything. You know that I love you.” And again, Jesus said, “Feed my sheep.” Three questions for the three denials. Not to shame Peter, but to restore him. Not to remind him of his guilt, but to renew his calling. This isn’t just forgiveness — it’s reinstatement. And at the end, the same words Jesus said when He first called Peter by the lake three years before: “Follow me.”
 
I imagine Peter in that moment. Dripping wet. Still catching his breath. Still carrying the weight of shame. But Jesus doesn’t push him away. He calls him in. This is grace. This is Jesus. We may walk away, we may fail, we may go back to the boats and the nets. But the Risen Lord waits for us on the shore — not with a finger pointing, but with a fire burning and bread breaking. And He asks us again: “Do you love me?” In many ways, this scene is a picture of the Church. Peter represents leadership — bold, flawed, willing.
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John represents the loving witness — discerning, present. The fish represent the world. The net is the mission. The breakfast is the table of fellowship. And Christ is the center of it all.
 
Charles Wesley once wrote in a hymn: “Depth of mercy! Can there be, Mercy still reserved for me?” Yes, there is. Because Jesus does not come to leave us in our shame. He comes to meet us in it, to cook breakfast for us, and to call us again. When John Wesley had his “Aldersgate” moment — when his heart was “strangely warmed” — he too had returned from failure, from striving and spiritual emptiness. And it was in a quiet gathering, hearing someone read from Luther’s preface to Romans, that he encountered the risen Christ again. Like Peter, Wesley was called — again — into mission. And like Peter, we too are called — again — not because we’re perfect, but because we’re loved.
 
So, I ask you: Have you returned to your old nets lately? Are you feeling like you’ve failed, like your efforts come up empty? Do you hear the voice of Jesus from the shore, asking: “Do you love me?” Then come to the fire, receive His grace, and follow Him once more because every morning with Jesus is a new beginning.