Read: John 21:1-19
He asked him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved that he asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” “Feed my sheep,” Jesus said.
John 21:17
There’s something deeply painful about being asked, “Do you love me?”
Once feels uncomfortable.
Three times feels exposing.
John takes us to a charcoal fire at dawn. And if you’ve been with us through the last few days, you can feel the echo straight away. The last time Peter stood by a charcoal fire, he denied Jesus. Now the risen Lord sits with him again by that fire and says, “Simon, son of John, do you love Me?”
John wants us to feel the parallel: three denials, three questions. Not to shame Peter, but to face what happened, so that healing and restoration can happen. Jesus doesn’t sweep Peter’s failure under the carpet. He brings Peter back to the place that hurt, and He does it with purpose.
Jesus begins with the question that touches Peter’s old confidence: “Do you love Me… more than these?” Peter had once said, in effect, “Even if all fall away, I won’t.” He meant it. But he couldn’t carry it. Now Jesus is not letting Peter go back to big claims and brave talk. He’s drawing him into honesty.
A brief note on the love words. In Greek, John uses two love verbs: agapaō and phileō. They overlap in meaning, and John can use both for the same relationships elsewhere in his Gospel. So, it is not that one word is “real love” and the other is not. Jesus asks with agapaō (agape love), the language of self-giving love, almost sacrificial. Peter answers each time with phileō (phileo love); he is being honest and humbled. It is still deep affection, a brotherly love, not yet sacrificial.
Languages help us feel why this can matter. My wife is Peruvian, and Spanish makes it obvious that “love” can be said in more than one way. If I told her I only quiero (light/warm affection - more for friends) her and never said amor (deep/serious - romantic), she would feel that something had shifted. And in real life, both kinds of love can be true at the same time. I can love my children with deep, committed love and also with warm affection and delight. Both are true.
That’s why John 21 lands so sharply. Jesus asks Peter twice with agape love. Peter answers with phileo love. And then Jesus switches on the third question and asks phileo as well. Peter is grieved, and it’s not only because it’s the third time. The question is pressing right into the place of his failure, almost as if Jesus is saying, “Peter, do you even love Me like a brother, with deep affection?” Jesus knows Peter’s heart, but He is drawing Peter into self-examination. Peter can’t hide behind brave words now. He won’t pretend he’s stronger than he is. He places himself in Jesus’ knowledge and mercy: “Lord, You know everything…”
The wound is opened, lovingly tended, and healed.
Of course, Jesus and Peter likely spoke Aramaic in ordinary life, and John recorded this for his readers in Greek. We cannot replay the exact wording as it was spoken on the beach, but we can feel what is happening in the moment.
And with every answer, Jesus gives a commission:
“Feed My lambs.”
“Tend My sheep.”
“Feed My sheep.”
Peter isn’t being pushed aside because he failed. This is not Jesus saying, “You’ve disqualified yourself, step back.” This is Jesus saying, “You’re restored, now step forward.” He doesn’t just comfort Peter, He entrusts him.
And it’s not hard to hear the gentle challenge underneath it. Peter has gone back to fishing. It’s familiar. It’s what he knows. But Jesus is calling him out of the boat and into the Lord’s business. Not leading others off fishing, but shepherding Christ’s flock, young and mature, with steady care and patient discipleship.
This is worth lingering on, because it quietly corrects what we often get wrong about leadership. We can think leadership is about being loud, brave, ready to fight, full of big statements. Peter has tried that already. What Jesus calls him to now is different. Feed. Tend. Care. Teach. Disciple. Stay faithful when it’s ordinary and when it’s hard. This is leadership as humble service, not image or bravado.
And notice the setting. Jesus doesn’t launch straight into interrogation. He makes breakfast. There is warmth, bread, fish, presence. Then He speaks. There is something here about how Jesus restores people. He doesn’t come to crush Peter. He comes to bring him back. Sometimes the most holy conversations happen after we’ve simply been with someone, eaten together, and lowered our defences. Jesus restores with truth, but also with tenderness.
Then Jesus tells Peter the truth: this love will cost you. “When you are old… you will stretch out your hands… and someone else will tie you and carry you where you don’t want to go” (John 21:18–19). This isn’t vague. It’s costly discipleship, spelt out. Peter once promised, “even to death.” He couldn’t carry it that night by the fire. But one day, by grace, he will.
And then Jesus says it again. The same words He spoke the first time He called Peter, now spoken after failure with deeper meaning. And He calls him as He did at the beginning: “Simon, son of John…” Peter is recalled and recommissioned. Then comes the simple command: “Follow Me.”
This is where Easter Monday lands for us. We can be impulsive, overconfident, and we can fail. But failure isn’t the end. Jesus restores, strengthens, and sends.
Yet to do this work we must love Him. Not words only. Not head knowledge alone. Not activity to prove ourselves. Hearts aligned to Christ. Love for Him that becomes care for people and obedient service.
So, here’s a simple question to sit with, without rushing past it. Is this your charcoal fire moment? Not a place to hide, but a place to be honest. Can you answer His question truthfully? “Do you love Me?” And if you do, will you step out of the boat, feed His sheep, and follow where He leads?
Follow Me.
