Restored

After Easter: A Journey to Pentecost

Peter was one of Jesus’ closest friends. He had made bold promises—loud, confident ones. “Even if everyone else falls away, I never will.” But when it mattered most, Peter didn’t just slip—he broke. He denied even knowing Jesus. Three times. And the last time? With a curse on his lips.

Can you imagine the weight of that failure? After everything he had seen… after all the closeness… Peter still fell hard. And he had to live with it. The shame. The silence. The questions: How could I have done that? Will He still want anything to do with me?

Maybe you’ve been there. Maybe we’ve been there. Maybe you’ve said things—done things—you never thought you would. Maybe people in this very room carry wounds you gave, or carry wounds they gave you. And maybe you’ve decided it’s easier to stay quiet, keep your head down, and pretend everything’s fine.

But here’s what we see in this moment with Peter: Jesus doesn’t wait for Peter to crawl back in shame. Jesus goes to him. He meets him right where it all began—on the shore of the sea where Peter first said yes. And He doesn’t scold. He doesn’t say “I told you so.” He says: “Follow Me.” This is grace that breaks through failure. Love that reaches through silence. This is Jesus saying, “I still want you.” Not just as someone I forgive—but someone I want to walk with again.

Church, we need that today. We need healing. And Jesus is offering it. Not after you’ve figured it out. Not once you’ve earned it. Now. He’s still saying: “Follow Me.”

After the resurrection, the disciples stood at a crossroads. Jesus was alive—they had seen Him, touched Him, even heard His voice. But they still didn’t know what to do. Everything had changed, and nothing felt clear.

For three years, they had walked with Him. They had given up everything to follow Him, believing He was about to change the world. And He did—but not in the way they expected. Now, standing in the aftermath of their confusion, their failure, and their unmet expectations, they were stuck.

So Peter—the one who had failed the loudest—made a quiet decision: “I’m going fishing.” That wasn’t just about catching fish. That was Peter returning to the life he had before Jesus. It was familiar. It was safe. It didn’t require courage or faith or facing what he had done.

And if we’re honest, we know that feeling. When life falls apart… when guilt gnaws at us… when the future feels unclear and our past feels disqualifying…We go back. Back to what’s easy. Back to what numbs. Back to what doesn’t ask anything of us. We retreat to old habits, old attitudes, old distances. Even in church, we can show up—but go fishing in our hearts.

Some of us have been “back fishing” for a long time. But here’s the grace: Jesus doesn’t wait for Peter to get it together. He doesn’t sit on the shore with folded arms and a list of demands. He shows up. He meets Peter right in that place of retreat. Not to scold him—but to call him back. To say again: “You’re still mine. You still have a place in this story.”

God is saying that to us too. Even now. Even here.

As the night passes, Peter and the others fish—but catch nothing. Not a single thing. It’s almost as if Jesus is letting the emptiness speak: You can go back, but it won’t fill you. Then, as the morning light breaks, they hear a voice from the shore: “Children, do you have any fish?”

They don’t recognize Him at first—but they obey the voice. They cast the net one more time. And suddenly, the net is full. Just like before. And that’s when it hits Peter: It’s Him. Peter doesn’t wait. He doesn’t hide. He doesn’t rehearse excuses. He jumps into the water and swims straight to Jesus. And what does he find when he gets to shore?

Not a lecture. Not a cold stare. He finds a fire. He finds breakfast. He finds Jesus already cooking fish—the very thing Peter had gone looking for on his own. Church, don’t miss this: Jesus meets Peter in the place of his running, in the middle of his failure, and instead of demanding repentance first, He makes breakfast. This is not a Savior who waits for us to fix ourselves. This is a Savior who feeds us while we’re still confused, still ashamed, still figuring out how to come home.

Some of you are tired. Tired of pretending you’re fine. Tired of holding it all in. Tired of the distance. Jesus is on the shore of your life right now, and He’s not asking for your defense—He’s offering you breakfast. He’s saying: “Come sit with Me. Let’s start again. I’m not done with you.” The path to healing doesn’t start with fixing what we’ve broken. It starts with sitting by the fire of grace and letting Jesus speak to the parts of us we’ve been too afraid to name.

What a picture of Jesus’ love. Before Peter could explain himself… before he could apologize or prove he’d changed… Jesus had already built a fire, cooked a meal, and said, “Come sit down.” This wasn’t just about feeding their stomachs. It was about restoring relationship. It was Jesus saying, “I still want you at My table.” Church, that’s the kind of Savior we have. He doesn’t wait for us to climb our way back. He steps into the ordinary, shows up in the middle of our mess, and gently says, “I’m here.”

Some of you are still out in the boat—tired, empty, unsure of where you stand with God or with each other. Some of you are near the fire, but you haven’t sat down yet. You’re still carrying shame, still wondering if you belong. But hear this: Jesus is calling—not to shame you, but to feed you. To welcome you. To heal what you’d rather ignore.

The question is… will we recognize Him when He calls? And maybe even more: Will we lay down our pride, our fear, our excuses—and let Him heal us? Because grace is here. The fire is burning. The meal is ready. But you still have to sit down.

After breakfast, Jesus turns to Peter. Three times Peter had denied Him. Now, three times, Jesus asks him a question that cuts deeper than any accusation ever could: “Simon, son of John… do you love Me?”

Not “Why did you fail Me?” Not “Do you feel sorry?” Not even “Will you promise to do better next time?” Just this: “Do you love Me?” And Peter—wounded, humbled, probably barely able to lift his eyes—answers: “Yes, Lord… You know I love You.” Jesus replies, “Then feed My sheep.” Jesus doesn’t rub Peter’s failure in his face. He doesn’t reopen the wound to punish him. But He does press into it—because real healing doesn’t come from ignoring what happened. It comes from letting Jesus speak into it.

This is how grace works. It doesn't pretend the past didn’t happen—it just refuses to let it define the future. And in this moment, Jesus not only forgives Peter—He recommissions him. He gives him back his purpose: “Feed My sheep. Care for My people. You still have a place in My work.”

Some of us have been living like our failures disqualified us. Some of us have been holding back because of what happened—what we said, what we didn’t say, what we regret. And Jesus is looking us in the eye today and asking the same question: “Do you love Me?”

Not, “Did you get it all right?” Not, “Did you handle every conflict perfectly?” But, “Do you love Me?” And if the answer is yes…Then He says: “Let’s get back to work. There are sheep to feed. There is healing to be done. You’re not done—not even close.”

What This Means for Us

Peter’s restoration isn’t just a touching story—it’s a mirror for our own lives. It speaks into the quiet shame we carry, the relationships we’ve strained, the promises we haven’t kept. And it reminds us of three unshakable truths:

Jesus does not give up on us. Not when we fail. Not when we fall silent. Not when we try to go back to what’s familiar. His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22–23). Even after the worst night of Peter’s life, the sun still rose—and so did grace.

Love for Jesus demands action. It’s not just about words—it’s about how we live, how we treat each other, how we serve even when it’s hard (1 John 3:18). Jesus didn’t just restore Peter’s heart; He gave him a mission: Feed My sheep. Love must move.

God redeems what we thought was ruined. Peter’s biggest failure didn’t disqualify him—it prepared him. The man who denied Jesus became the one who preached at Pentecost. The one who fell hard stood up strong—because grace stood him back up (Acts 2:14–41).

So let me ask you: Have you ever felt like you’ve messed up too badly for God to use you? Have you believed the lie that your past disqualifies you from having a future with God—or with His people? Then hear this clearly: Jesus isn’t finished with you. He’s still cooking breakfast on the shore. He’s still asking, “Do you love Me?” And He’s still saying: “Then come with Me. We’ve got work to do.” He does not define you by your worst moment. He calls you forward in love.

After restoring Peter, Jesus didn’t sugarcoat what was ahead. He gave Peter a glimpse of the cost—the suffering, the sacrifice, the road that would eventually lead to a martyr’s death. But even then, Jesus’ final words weren’t heavy or complicated. They were the same words He spoke at the beginning: “Follow Me.”

Peter’s story is our story. Every person in this room knows what it’s like to fail. To carry regrets. To wonder if we’ve missed our chance. To wonder if we’re still welcome at the table… or if it’s too late. But Jesus doesn’t leave us in that place. He doesn’t discard us. He restores us. And when He does, He doesn’t hand us shame—He hands us purpose. Church, listen closely: Your failure does not disqualify you from God’s mission. The things you’ve done—or failed to do—do not erase the call of Jesus on your life.

He meets you in your brokenness. He heals what you’d rather hide. And then He says: “I still want you. Come. Follow Me.” Not because you’re perfect. But because you’re willing. Because you love Him. Because the world needs what He’s doing through you.

Peter’s calling is our calling: To love Jesus deeply. To show that love in real, tangible ways—feeding His sheep, healing what’s broken, lifting up the weary, speaking hope to the lost. To be His presence in a world that is aching for grace. And so the question remains—Jesus is still asking it: “Do you love Me?” If the answer is yes…Then hear His voice a gain: “Follow Me.” Back into grace. Back into healing. Back into purpose.

This is the call that continues today. Jesus meets us, restores us, and calls us to follow Him. But what does following Him look like? Next week, we’ll look at Jesus' final instructions before He ascends to heaven—what we know as the Great Commission.