John 21 | Follow Me

Do you know what golfers and fishermen have in common? This isn’t a bad dad joke I promise. Golfers and fishermen are storytellers.

Whether it’s the tale of a miraculous chip-in from the thick rough to save par, or the story of the brown trout that snapped the line just as it broke the surface, they love to tell a great story and the details always get just a little bit more dramatic. The putt gets a foot longer, the wind gets faster, and the fish gets a longer and heavier with every single telling.

There is an absolute art to a guy who can lean over a counter and tell a story that makes you feel the spray of the water or the tension in the line.

Did you know the Bible has exactly that kind of fish story? One that gets better with every retelling?

And the Apostle John... let me tell you, this dude knows how spin a yarn! He can tell a story. He isn't just recording data; he is inviting us into a moment.

If you were directing the Gospel of John as a movie, you would have rolled the credits at the end of chapter 20. It’s the ultimate mic drop. Jesus is risen. Thomas falls to his knees and cries out, “My Lord and my God!” The music swells, the screen fades to black, and you leave the theater feeling inspired.

But John doesn’t roll the credits. He adds an epilogue in chapter 21. And he doesn't start with high theology; he starts with a fish story. Here is how it begins.

ACT 1: The Retreat to Busyness

John 21:1–3 NIV

1 Afterward Jesus appeared again to his disciples, by the Sea of Galilee. It happened this way: 2 Simon Peter, Thomas (also known as Didymus), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples were together. 3 “I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Imagine the sound of cold water slapping against the wooden hull of a boat in the pitch black of a Galilean night.

Smell the wet rope and the faint, lingering scent of old bait. Feel the damp, heavy chill in the air that settles into your joints after three or four hours of doing nothing but waiting. Look at the faces of seven grown men who have been throwing heavy nets into the dark for hours, pulling them up over and over again, only to find them completely empty. Every time that net comes up light, it’s a reminder of another night wasted.

Nobody is talking. The silence is thick. It’s the kind of heavy, exhausted silence that only comes when you are profoundly disappointed with how your life is turning out.

If you asked Peter what he was doing out on that water, he would probably tell you he was just trying to make a living. But that’s not the real story. Peter is out in the dark, pulling up empty nets, because he is running.

A few days prior, Peter had seen the resurrected Jesus! It was the ultimate, mountain-top high. But now, it’s a random Tuesday. The adrenaline of the resurrection has worn off. Jesus hasn't ascended yet. The Holy Spirit hasn't fallen yet. Peter is stuck in the messy, awkward in-between. He is in the waiting room of his own life, and the walls are starting to close in.

And when human beings are stuck in the messy middle—when we feel empty, confused, or exhausted—our natural gravity pulls us toward what we can control.

So Peter did what we all do. He retreated into busyness. He went straight back to his area of competence. He looked at the other guys—men who were looking to him for a lead—and he said, “I’m going fishing.” He went back to his old nets, his old boat, and his old identity. He went back to the one place where he felt like he knew what he was doing so he wouldn't have to sit in the quiet with his own thoughts.

John tells this story because he knows Peter isn't the only one who retreats. He wants to show us what it looks like to be an Apprentice of Jesus when the hype fades, when following Him feels mundane, or worse—when you realize how badly you’ve failed. John wants you to know that post-resurrection discipleship isn't a state of sinless perfection; it is a state of perpetual restoration. The way IN to Jesus is the way ON with Jesus.

And we, like Peter, desperately need to hear that. Because if we are honest, Peter's boat is floating in the exact water we all swim in today.

Some of you are sitting in the dark right now, pulling up empty nets, because you feel totally disqualified from following Jesus. You blew it. You snapped at your spouse, yelled at your kids, looked at garbage on your phone in the dark, and lied to cover your tracks. The shame is so heavy that you assume Jesus is done with you. So you bury yourself in work, because it’s easier to be busy with your job than to be broken before the Lord.

But others of you are out in that boat not because you failed, but because you succeeded. And you are totally disillusioned.

You climbed the mountain. You built the career. You got the house and the lawn and the cars. You got the applause. You started from the bottom, now you here at the top, you got to the summit only to realize it’s cold, windy, and lonely. Success didn't deliver the peace it promised. And now you’re just… bored. A deep cynicism has set in. Following Jesus feels miraculously mundane.

And so, because you don't know what to do with that emptiness, you throw your hands up and say, "I'm going fishing."

You idolize the golf course, the weekend, the early retirement. You decide to just drift into a life of leisure and comfort because purpose feels too heavy and success proven too hollow.

Regardless of the reason, we all have a bent to retreat into busyness to prove our competence, to maintain control, and to chase comfort.

But look at Peter. Look at what happens when we try to out-work our own emptiness. "That night, they caught nothing."

Listen to me: When you abandon following Jesus for the validation of men, the pursuit of leisure, or the frantic pace of busyness, you will eventually pull up an empty net.

If you are exhausted from trying to manage your own life, I want you to write this down:

When your outcomes leave you empty, don't retreat into busyness, comfort, or control; return to the rhythms that root you in Christ's love.

ACT 2: The Breakfast of Grace

Peter is about to learn that you can't row your way out of the dark. You have to wait for the sun to rise on the shore. Here is what happens next in John's story.

John 21:4–14 NIV

4 Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. 5 He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?” “No,” they answered. 6 He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish. 7 Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off) and jumped into the water. 8 The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net full of fish, for they were not far from shore, about a hundred yards. 9 When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread. 10 Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you have just caught.” 11 So Simon Peter climbed back into the boat and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14 This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead.

Put yourself back in that boat. They are exhausted. Their backs ache, their hands are raw from the rope, and they are freezing. They are staring at an empty net, completely confronted by their own inadequacy. And suddenly, a voice cuts through the morning fog from the shoreline.

"Friends, haven't you any fish?"

It is the most infuriating question you can ask a fisherman who has been out all night. It’s like asking a golfer who just carded a 110, "How'd you play?"

It forces them to verbalize their failure. “Haven’t you caught any fish”

"No." One word. Clipped. Frustrated.

Then the voice calls back: "Throw your net on the right side of the boat..."

Now, these are professional fishermen. Moving a net three feet is not a new strategy. I can imagine the eye-rolls. But they are so tired and out of options, they just do it. And they haul in one hundred and fifty-three massive fish. I know the text says large... but this is a fish story folks, I’m retelling it, and let me tell you, these fish were massive!!! Biggest they ever caught! More than you could count!

Suddenly, the timeline snaps together. The heavy net. The impossible catch. It’s absolute déjà vu from three years earlier when Jesus first called them.

John looks through the fog at the beach, squinting at the figure by the fire, and whispers to Peter, "It’s the Lord!"

And Peter—impulsive, messy, beautiful Peter—doesn't even think. He doesn't help with the net. He doesn't wait for the boat to dock. He just launches himself, full send, flailing into the Sea of Galilee, swimming as fast as he can, splashing through the surf toward the shore.

And what does he find when he gets there?

He finds a camp fire, with fish already cooking on it, and bread.

I want you to think about the staggering patience and compassion of Jesus in this moment. Jesus didn't show up with a clipboard. He didn't stand on the beach with a megaphone, yelling at them about how they lacked faith, or how they abandoned the mission, or how they fell back into their old habits the moment He left the room.

He didn't demand a performance review. He cooked them breakfast.

He watched his friends furiously try to manage their own lives all night, failing miserably. And instead of shaming them, Jesus watching from the shore, prepared them a meal. He met their physical and emotional exhaustion with absolute, tangible grace.

Jesus tells them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught."

Now notice, Jesus didn't need their fish! He already had fish cooking on the fire! But Jesus in His grace doesn't just provide for us; He dignifies us. He redeems our physical reality. He takes our broken, exhausted efforts, blesses them, and then invites us to bring them to His fire.

John specifically notes that even though there were 153 large, come on John massive, fish, the net was not torn. You see, when we try to fill our own nets with business for whatever reason, the weight of it eventually tears our lives apart. But when Jesus blesses, it doesn't break the vessel. His provision sustains us. His yoke is light and easy. It brings rest to our souls!

His blessings are never a burden.

(Pause). Parents in the room... let me repeat myself. God's blessings are never a burden. Children are a blessing from the Lord, and blessed is the family whose quiver is full of them! Don't let the exhaustion of the season blind you to the miracle of the catch. Your children, as infuriating as they can be at times, are a blessing from the Lord!

Hear Jesus says to them and us: "Come and have breakfast."

Church, I don't know what kind of boat you walked in from today. But I know this: You can't discipline your way out of your "funk"—you have to come to the fire and let Jesus feed you. He isn't waiting on the shore to punish you for the empty net. He's saying, "I know you are tired. Come and eat."

ACT 3: The Anchor of Love

They do. Then when breakfast is over, and their physical hunger is gone, they are left to confront the emotional elephant in the room. Let's see what happens next around the fire.

John 21:15–19 NIV

15 When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.” 16 Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.” 17 The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” 19 Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

Picture the scene. The sun is fully up now, sparkling off the water. The only sound is the water lapping on the shore and the quiet pop and hiss of the camp fire.

And for Peter, the smell of that smoke is a devastating trigger. Because the last time Peter stood around a fire, he was in the courtyard of the high priest. It was the night Jesus was arrested. And around that fire, Peter was asked three times if he knew Jesus. And three times, Peter said, "I don't know the man." Every time he inhales the scent of smoke, he’s transported back to the moment he betrayed his best friend and mentor.

Peter has been carrying the agonizing weight of that failure for days. He’s eaten the breakfast, but he’s sitting there thinking what any of us would be thinking: Am I out? Is Jesus going to demote me? Is this the part where He tells me I'm not cut out for this?

Jesus doesn't pull Peter aside for a private HR meeting. He looks across the smoke, locks eyes with him, and He doesn't call him "Peter"—the Rock. He uses his old name.

"Simon..."

Why? Because Peter hasn't been acting like a rock. He’s been relying on his own strength and running back to his boats. By using his old name, Jesus takes him all the way back to square one. He meets Peter in his failure, not his success, not to shame him, but to to restore and remind Pete that Jesus doesn't demand him to act like "The Rock" before restoring him.

"Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." He asks him three times. And Peter is grieved. It physically hurt him. Jesus is doing surgery without anesthesia. He is reconstructing the exact scene of the crime—three questions for the three denials. It is painful. But Jesus isn't using a sword to punish; He is using a scalpel to heal. He is draining the infection of Peter's shame so it can never be used against him again.

Peter looks at Jesus and says, "Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you." And Jesus says, "Feed my sheep."

I want you to lean in and look very closely at what just happened here, because this is the five-second moment that changes everything.

Jesus does not ask Peter for a strategic plan. He doesn't ask him, "Are you going to try harder next time?" He doesn't ask him if he is going to be a successful preacher, or if he is finally ready to climb the mountain of ministry.

He asks one question: "Do you love me?"

Jesus intercepts Peter's massive failure and He fundamentally shifts the anchor of Peter's identity. He detaches Peter's calling from his performance and He anchors it entirely in his affection.

Jesus frees us from the exhaustion of outcomes. He doesn't ask if we are successful; He asks if we love Him. Following Jesus is not about climbing a mountain; it's about staying close to the Master.

This is why, when life leaves you empty, you cannot retreat into busyness, comfort, or control. Because none of those things can love you back! A frantic schedule cannot forgive your sins. A massive bank account cannot heal your shame. A perfectly manicured life cannot sit with you in your grief. Only Jesus can do that.

ACT 4: The Undivided Follower

You would think the story ends there. But Peter is just so painfully human. He literally just got his soul restored, and what is the very first thing he does?

John 21:20–22 NIV

20 Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) 21 When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?” 22 Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

Pete! Come on man! It took you five seconds to take your eyes off Jesus and start looking at someone else. Peter is essentially saying, "Okay, Jesus, I love you. But what is John's package going to look like? Is his life going to be easier than mine?"

And Jesus shuts it down immediately: "What is that to you? You must follow me."

Church, listen to me. Comparison will kill your Residency. You cannot walk in the Master's footsteps if you are constantly turning around to look at someone else's path. You will never be able to rest in Christ's love if you are obsessed with the outcomes of the Christian next to you. You'll spend all your time measuring their "catch" instead of enjoying Jesus for yourself.

Jesus looks right at you and says, "What is that to you? I am not writing their story in your life. I am writing your story. You follow me."

THE HAND-OFF & CONCLUSION

Folks, today we bring the Residency series to an official close. But your practice as an Apprentice is just beginning.

In the medical world, a Residency eventually ends, but the practice of medicine does not. An Attending Physician still scrubs in, scripture before screen. They still follow the protocols. They still wash their hands until they are raw. Why? Because if they stop the practices, the patients suffer and potentially die. They don't do those things to earn their degree; they do them because it's the only way to stay sharp and save lives.

In our spiritual Residency, we never outgrow the basics. The habits, the sails—solitude, Sabbath, scripture, prayer, fellowship—these are not religious checklists. You do not do them to earn God's love.

They are simply the required rhythms that keep us awake to the Master's voice so we don't drift back into the dark to throw our old fishing nets. They are how we pull our boats onto the shore to eat the breakfast Jesus has already cooked.

Whether you are in a group or not, the practical step is the same: You need a rhythm of returning to the fire with Jesus.

Because you are going to get exhausted. You are going to fail. And you are going to succeed and find it completely hollow.

But when your outcomes leave you empty, don't retreat into busyness, comfort, or control; return to the rhythms that root you in Christ's love.

The grace has been provided and Jesus is just waiting for you to jump out of the boat and swim to the beach and hear the only command that matters:

Follow me.

Let's pray.