Homilies
Our Story; Isn't Over
Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our need.
Many of us have lived long enough to know that life rarely unfolds in tidy chapters. There are bright memories of joy, yes—but also things we wish we could rewrite. Choices we regret. Words we wish we hadn't spoken. Opportunities we missed. And some of us quietly wonder: Does God still have something for me, even after all of that?
Today’s Gospel reading speaks directly to that question. It’s the story of Peter, a disciple who once promised never to abandon Jesus—yet, as we heard only a couple of weeks ago, ended up denying Him three times. And here, on a beach by the Sea of Galilee, the risen Jesus comes to Peter. But not to punish. Not to scold. He comes to restore. And more than that—He comes to commission.
Let’s walk through this story again together, and listen for what it might be saying to us today, especially for those who feel like their story might be drawing to a quiet close. This passage tells us something powerful: BOTTOM LINE - with God, no story ends in shame. Restoration is always possible. And calling never expires.
At the start of the passage we find Peter fishing again. After all that’s happened—the Last Supper, the arrest, the crucifixion, the empty tomb—he’s gone back to what he knew. Fishing. Perhaps confused, perhaps ashamed. Certainly grieving and maybe wondering if he still had a place in Jesus’ plans. Sometimes, when we’re overwhelmed, we too return to old rhythms. The safe, the familiar. But then, for Peter, into that ordinary familiar space, Jesus arrives. Not with fanfare, but with a charcoal fire and food.
This is not just a warm reunion—it’s a symbolic scene. Do you remember where Peter last stood by a charcoal fire? It was in the high priest’s courtyard, warming himself while denying Jesus. Now Jesus builds a similar fire—but instead of a place of failure, it becomes a place of healing.
Jesus speaks to him, but not as “Peter.” Not “the Rock,” the name Jesus had given him earlier. Instead, He calls him “Simon, son of John.” His old name. It’s almost as if Jesus is going back to the beginning, rewinding the tape of Peter’s discipleship.
But this is not punishment. It’s grace. When Jesus calls us by name, He always knows who we truly are. And sometimes, to rebuild us, He needs to return to the foundations.
For many of us, especially in later life, our sense of identity can feel fragile. We’ve had many names or titles—parent, spouse, worker, leader. Some of those roles we’ve had to let go. Some may have ended painfully. But here’s the good news: Jesus still sees the whole story. He goes back to where He first met us—not to shame us, but to restore us. Even if we’ve stumbled along the way, He still calls us.
Three times Jesus asks, “Do you love me?” It echoes Peter’s threefold denial. It’s deliberate. It’s complete. For every denial, Jesus gives Peter a chance to reaffirm his love. Not just once, to cover it quickly—but three times, to dig deep, to let grace sink in. And each time, Jesus responds not with “You’re forgiven,” but with a call: “Feed my sheep.”
Here, we see something astonishing. Even though Peter is failing to grasp what is going on and is becoming more frustrated with being repeated asked the same thing - Jesus doesn’t simply restore Peter—He recommissions him. He doesn’t say, “You can stay with the group, but keep a low profile.” He says, “Tend to my people. Be a shepherd.” This is a message at the heart of the Gospel: failure does not disqualify us. Grace doesn’t just patch up the past—it opens up the future.
For those of us who carry regrets—perhaps over broken relationships, or over a faith that has faltered—Jesus asks us the same question: Do you love me? That’s the only qualification He seeks. Not perfection. Not performance. Just love. And from that love, flows purpose.
Here, We also need to notice that, Jesus doesn’t erase Peter’s past. He doesn’t pretend the denial never happened. Restoration is not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about facing the past honestly—and letting Jesus redeem it.
Sometimes in life, we wish we could turn back the clock. We can’t. But God doesn’t need to erase our past to bring healing. He weaves even our failures into His purposes. Perhaps there are things that we can look back on and wonder if it’s too late for certain things to change. But God is not finished with us. He never was. As long as we have breath, we have a calling. Callings are for everyone, not just those who are ordained, commission or licensed but all of God’s people, created by Him in His image.
Peter had returned to fishing. It was the trade he knew. But Jesus meets him there but doesn’t let him remain there. “Feed my lambs,” He says. “Tend my sheep.” This may not sound like a glamorous calling—but it is vital. Care. Nurture. Protection. It is the quiet, persistent work of love.
We too, all of us, are still called. Maybe not to preach or travel or build, but to shepherd. To feed. To guide. To bless. That may look like prayer, or wisdom shared over a cup of tea. It may mean being present to a grieving friend, or a young grandchild. We all have a place in the flock.
At the end of the conversation, Jesus simply says, “Follow me.” It’s the same call Peter heard years ago, when he left his nets behind. But now it carries new weight. Knowing the story as we do, from our perspective, we know it will lead to sacrifice and Peter’s journey will end in martyrdom. But still the path and the call is clear: Follow me.
Jesus does not promise ease, especially not in later life. There may be pain. There will be uncertainty. But His voice remains steady. And it is the same voice that speaks to each of us—no matter how many steps we’ve taken, or missteps we’ve made.
So what can we take from Peter’s encounter in today’s Gospel?
We see a God who is not deterred by failure. A Saviour who returns to us at the point of our wavering, uncertainty and perhaps shame—not to expose, punish or condemn us, but to heal, restore and recommission us.
A Redeemer who doesn’t just forgive, but commissions.
And a Shepherd who still says, “Follow me.”
To those with heavy hearts, feeling unsure of their purpose—He still says, “Feed my sheep.”
To the regretful soul that wonders if it’s too late—He still asks, “Do you love me?”
To each of us, wherever we are—He still says, “Follow me.”
Let us not give into to the temptation of believing our stories are finished. With God, nothing is wasted. Nothing is beyond His grace. And every step—yes, even the painful ones—can be woven into His work. Let us answer Him with the love we have, however faltering.
Let us trust that He will restore what is broken. And let us walk on, in the company of the One who knows us and still calls us by name.
Amen