Scripture: John 21:15-25
Originally, this sermon had three points. But I revised it, and it was getting too long, so I killed Point #3 merged the first two points. Bottom line, there’s really just one point: this sermon is a deep-dive on the meaning of God’s love and grace. It won’t be hard to follow. It also won’t be shorter than any other sermon, I’m afraid, so don’t get your hopes up…
I shared a story last fall about running before dawn in the Stonehaven neighborhood. As I told you back then, on several occasions while I was running, I sensed what seemed like headlights from a fast-approaching car behind me, only to realize it wasn’t a car at all, but a very fast runner—a young woman covered with so many lights that she was probably visible to planes flying overhead at 30,000 feet. And she was much, much faster than me.
Many of you later told me that you knew who she was: a former track star from Clemson University who was so fast, she had even competed in Olympic trials. “So don’t feel bad,” you said, “about getting passed by her.”
And I know you meant well.
But if I held on to even a tiny bit of pride about running, it was obliterated last week! Because last week, while running on Brown Road just before dawn, I heard voices behind me. Within moments, not one, not two, but three young women ran past me at a very brisk pace. They were running so easily that—unlike me—they had plenty of breath left over to carry on a conversation while they ran. They were just chatting away while they smoked me.
What are the odds that all three were Olympic-caliber athletes? It was humbling, especially because I’ve actually been working recently on increasing my speed.
My father-in-law lives in a retirement community in Stone Mountain. If it weren’t two and a half hours away, I might be tempted to run there instead… to build up my self-esteem! But who am I kidding? I’m sure there are plenty of fast octogenarians who would pass me by, too!
Let me say something that I’ll come back to in a moment: God our Father absolutely thinks the world of me. He could notlove me more than he does. And his love for me does not rise and fall based on how fast I run—or whether I finally lose that extra ten pounds—because in my case I just lose and regain the same six or seven pounds over and over.
Our Father couldn’t care less!
Because of what God’s Son Jesus has done through is atoning death and resurrection, I am practically perfect in my Father’s eyes.
And if you are in Christ, so are you!
And you know what?
So is Peter in today’s scripture. He’s practically perfect in our Father’s eyes!
I’ll confess, it certainly doesn’t seem like it.
Remember what Peter did during the Last Supper. Jesus predicted that all the disciples would abandon him after his arrest. And Peter said, “I’m ready to go with you both to prison and to death.” “I will lay down my life for you.” “Even though they all fall away, I will not.”[1]
Yikes!
Instead, Peter denied three times that he even knew Jesus.
Peter suffered one of the most famous meltdowns in history… denying that he even knew Jesus. Peter’s meltdown was especially ironic given that Jesus’ chosen nickname for him, “Peter,” literally means “Rock”—it suggests strength, steadiness, dependability.
Yet when Peter’s life was on the line, he proved to be anything but a rock. He was about as firm as Jell-O.
So in today’s scripture, what does the risen Lord Jesus do when he finally has this one-on-one conversation with Peter—the first such conversation since Peter failed so spectacularly?
Jesus makes Peter face his failure.
How?
First, by bringing him to a charcoal fire.
In last week’s scripture, after the miraculous catch of fish, the disciples come ashore and find Jesus cooking breakfast over a charcoal fire. Some people grill with propane. Some people, like me, prefer charcoal. But if you grill with propane, I just want to ask: “What would Jesus do?” Jesus would use charcoal… obviously.
But all of you probably know that charcoal has a distinctive, wonderful smell. And smells have a remarkable ability to trigger memories.
Surely Peter smelled the charcoal fire and remembered the last time he stood beside one: in John 18:18, in the high priest’s courtyard, the site of his great meltdown. In fact, this is the only other place in the Bible where this Greek word for “charcoal fire” appears.[2]
And while Peter stands beside this fire—remembering his failure—Jesus asks him three times, “Do you love me?”
Do you think that’s a coincidence? No.
Verse 17 even says that Peter was grieved when Jesus asked him the question a third time.
Why does Jesus put Peter through this? Is Jesus trying to “twist the knife” and make him feel even guiltier than he already does?
No… If Jesus is wielding a knife at all, it’s different kind of knife—not the knife of a violent criminal, but the knife of a surgeon.
And like a surgeon, Jesus the Great Physician wounds Peter in order to heal him.
And sometimes our Lord does the same thing to us—not because he doesn’t love us, but because he does.
Jesus is helping Peter relive this painful memory in order to heal him and teach him about sin, repentance, God’s grace, and God’s love.
In doing so, Jesus addresses him not by his nickname, Peter, but by his given name: “Simon, son of John.” Or… Simon Johnson.
Why does Jesus do this? Some commentators believe that Jesus is calling by his formal name because he’s mad… and you know how parents sometimes call children by all their names when they’re angry?
Is that what Jesus is doing?
No.
Is it because Peter has proven he’s no longer “worthy” of the name “Rock”?
Some people think so…
Not me…
After all, Jesus knew exactly who Peter was when he first gave him that name. He knew Peter would fail. He knew Peter would deny him three times. As Peter himself says in verse 17, “Lord, you know everything.”
Indeed our Lord does know everything… including everything that will happen in our future. He knew Peter’s future when he gave Simon Johnson the nickname “Peter.”
Think about what this means… Some of you, right now, are like Peter. You’re carrying guilt over past failures, past sins, past regrets—things you wish you could undo.
Some guilt, of course, can be healthy. It leads us to confess, repent, make amends where possible, and move on.
But there is another kind of guilt that lingers and accuses… never seems to go away.
Jesus wants to heal Peter of that kind of guilt.
That is what the cross is all about.
On the cross, Jesus removed all our guilt, all our sin, and all our shame. We have never committed a sin that took God by surprise. God does not say, “I loved and forgave you on Tuesday, but that was before I knew what you would do on Wednesday.”
No. When God loved you on Tuesday, he already knew all about Wednesday.
So… if, like Peter, you’re struggling with guilt right now, ask yourself this question: have you ever had a time in your life when you just knew that your heavenly Father loved you? That Jesus loved you? You felt God’s love for you?
I have.
One of those times was when I was converted—on the weekend of my 14th birthday, on a youth retreat in Black Mountain, North Carolina. At a retreat center called “In the Oaks.” And listen… For many of you, you didn’t come to faith in such a dramatic fashion. So you don’t remember a “moment” in time when you first believed and were saved. It was more gradual. That’s perfectly okay.
But even if you don’t remember when you were saved, I’ll bet you’ve had experiences in which you felt God’s love for you personally.
So I first had that experience on the bus ride home from that retreat. I remember being filled with an overwhelming sense of God’s presence in my life… and God’s love.
There have been several other times in my life like that. They never lasted as long as I wanted them to, but they were just as real. I wish I could put that feeling of God’s love in a bottle and open it up whenever I’m feeling down!
But anyway… this raises an important question: If God’s love for me was real back then… on the weekend of my 14th birthday—and I know it was—why should I ever doubt God’s love for me now?
Because when I was fourteen, God already knew every sin I would ever commit. He knew every way I would fail him. He knew all of it. From God’s perspective my life was laid out like a map on a kitchen table. It was all right there in front of God. This is what we mean when we say that God is timeless… he operates both in time… but also beyond time.
My point is, God loved me back then while knowing all the ugly truth about sin in my future.
The same was true for Peter.
And this, my friends, is why I believe Jesus calls Peter by his birth name “Simon, son of John.”
Not because Peter failed to live up to the nickname “Rock,” but because Jesus wanted Peter to know that God’s love never depended for a single moment on Peter’s ability to act like a rock in the first place! There was no condition on his love… No strings attached.
So when Jesus calls him “Simon son of John,” he is saying, “I do not merely love Peter the Rock. I also love Simon ‘Johnson’—that impulsive, arrogant, hotheaded fisherman that I called as my disciple in the first place!
“To be sure, in the years ahead, by my Spirit, I will make you, Peter, more like a rock. But even now, you are practically perfect in my eyes—and in my Father’s eyes.”
And if you need more evidence, notice that there is no rebuke in these three questions.
None whatsoever.
When Jesus asks, “Do you love me?” Peter is surely bracing for the hammer to fall. For Jesus to ask him, “How can you say you love me after denying me three times?”
But the hammer never falls. The “other shoe” never drops. The judgment that Peter fears never arrives.
And how could it—if Jesus’ own Parable of the Prodigal Son is true?
Remember?[3] A younger son insults his father, squanders his father’s inheritance in a faraway land, and ends up penniless and starving. He returns home rehearsing a speech: “I’ve sinned against you, Dad. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.” He intends to make this speech when he sees his father. He doesn’t know if it will work or not—because, after all, he’s hurt his father, and messed up his life so badly!
And by the way, even the younger son’s “repentance” is a bit half-hearted. I mean, yes, he feels sorry for what he’s done… But that’s not mostly what motivates him to return home; what motivates him to return home is his hunger… his self-interest. He’s going to die if he doesn’t go home. What choice does he have?
So his plan is a long-shot, but he’s going to try to fall upon his father’s mercy and see what happens…
But when he gets home and starts to give his well-rehearsed speech, his father never lets him finish getting the words out of his mouth!
Instead, the father runs to meet him, embraces him, clothes him in the finest robe, puts a ring on his finger, and throws a big party.
No conditions. No probation. No guilt trips. No “do better next time—or else.”
This son’s performance—how he behaves, whether he straightens up and flies right—either now or in the future—never enters into the equation.
The only condition for his father’s extravagant and costly mercy, grace, and love is that this son turned around in the first place and came home.
The same is true for us… If you are in Christ, your Father’s love for you does not depend on your performance.
Your Father thinks you are practically perfect in his eyes!
And I think this is nearly the hardest part of the gospel to believe!
The resurrection of Jesus is easy by comparison! I can make an excellent historical case for the resurrection! I can defendthe historicity of the resurrection!
But you tell me that our heavenly Father loves me, of all people, without condition… and that his love doesn’t change based on what I do or fail to do…? Are you kidding?
That’s the hardest thing to believe. That’s not how life in the so-called “real world” works! That’s not how “love”—as we often understand it—works!
That’s certainly not how it worked in my family growing up!
Listen… I love my parents, and I thank God for them—for all they gave me and did for me and sacrificed for me. And I’m especially grateful that both of them grew much closer to God before they died.
But for whatever reason, I was made to feel that some measure of their love depended on my performance… what I did or failed to do… whether I measured up or not.
I was adopted, as many of you know. And my parents always told me that I was extra special because, after all, my parents chose me. They didn’t just “have to have me,” like most parents; no, they chose me.
But even as a child of 8 or 9, I never quite bought that: it wasn’t as if a nurse rolled out a dozen babies in basinets and said, “Mr. and Mrs. White, please pick the one you like best.”
I mean, yes, they requested a boy. But beyond that, I figured they were pretty much stuck with whoever the adoption agency sent them. They didn’t know what kind of person I would turn out to be. Adopting me was, in a sense, like buying a pig in a poke.
So even if they chose me as a baby—they often made me fee as if they wouldn’t have chosen the person I later grew into… I grew up thinking they wanted the stereotypical “all-American boy,” and that wasn’t me.
And I’m sure many of you can relate, whether you were adopted or not…
And the problem is, how our human parents love us affects the way we understand our Father’s love!
A couple of years ago, I had dinner with one of my older sisters—the one who was not adopted, by the way—and I finally said, “Imagine feeling as if nearly everything you did—everything you were as a person—was wrong. That’s what growing up often felt like.”
It felt good to say it out loud… to someone who had been there. And to my surprise, my sister Susan didn’t get defensive or think I was being unfair. She simply said, “Oh Brent, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
That helped.
And I’m grateful to say that God has placed older people in my life—from childhood to this very day—who have loved me with the kind of unconditional love that I’m talking about: for instance, Kay and Peter Sanders, or Sarah Blue—parents of a couple of my best friends growing up… or a dear family friend we called “Uncle Nick”… or an offensive line coach in rec-league football whose name I’ve now forgotten… or a guitar teacher named Jody Johnston… or a trigonometry teacher named Anthony Stinson… or my youth pastor Bill Bullard… or—good heavens—a couple of amazing in-laws, Anna Lee and Orlando Blancato. And there were and are others!
So thank you, Lord! These are some of the people who seemed to go out of their way to show me how terrific they thought I was… simply for being who I am.
And I hope you have experienced love like that too. Because that is how our Father loves you—only infinitely more so.
One of my favorite preachers is a Presbyterian pastor and theology professor in central Florida named Steve Brown. He has a famously deep voice, and used to host a radio call-in show that I listened to in the ’80s and ’90s.
Steve Brown is always, to this day, talking about the gospel… and grace—about how, through Christ, God has done everything necessary to make us acceptable to him, and how there is nothing we can do—or leave undone—that will change how much our heavenly Father loves us.
One time, he described a listener to his radio show who called in to say that she had struggled with her weight all her life, and her pastor had recently told her, “Don’t you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit? You are dishonoring God by being so fat.”
What a cruel thing for anyone—much less a pastor—to say.
And the Reverend Brown replied, “Respectfully, ma’am, your pastor is a twit. Now you go eat a doughnut for Jesus!”
Now Brown was not saying there aren’t perfectly good reasons to maintain a healthy weight.
His point was that this woman faced a far greater danger than being overweight: she had come to believe that there was something she could do—or fail to do—that would affect how her heavenly Father felt about her… and the extent to which her Father loved her!
And Brown wanted her to know the same thing that Peter needed to know… and what we need to know: that through faith in Christ, your heavenly Father thinks you are practically perfect just as you are.
And God could not possibly love you more. Period.
It’s hard to believe…
It’s hard for me to believe…
That’s why God gave me Ringo… It’s become a joke how much I love that dog. I get it. But God has used Ringo as a living parable of God’s love for me.
Here’s what I mean: I know Ringo is not perfect. For instance, he hardly obeys us…
Carol Strasser, by contrast, has recently trained her dog “Pal” to be a service dog and to use him in ministry. And just last week Pal passed all the tests and got certified as a service dog! Yay for Pal! One of the rules for a service dog, by the way, is “four paws on the floor at all times.” In other words, no jumping on people… no matter how excited you are!
Yeah, well… Ringo fails that test every time… Also when he gets excited he tinkles on the floor!
We’ve made some faltering efforts to train him, but mostly we just spoil him.
So I know Ringo isn’t perfect.
Except… he kind of is.
Somehow both those things can be true at the same time.
Because every day when I come home and see that silly dog, he melts my heart. I could not love him more than I do. Not for a single moment. He can’t disappoint me. He can’t make me angry. My love for him doesn’t waver; it’s not diminished at all by what the dog does or doesn’t do!
He’s seven years old now. I think I would know otherwise by this point…
So even though I know Ringo is not truly perfect, he is practically perfect in my eyes… And he always will be.
And just think: the way I view Ringo is the way our heavenly Father views you and me—only infinitely more so.
If you are a Christian, born again through faith in Christ, you melt our Father’s heart. Our Father couldn’t love you more than he does… not for a single moment. You can’t disappoint him. You can’t make him angry. His love for you doesn’t waver. It’s not diminished in any way by what you do or don’t do.
Do you believe it? Because that’s the gospel truth.
Amen.
[1] Luke 22:33; John 13:37; Mark 14:29
[2] John 18:18
[3] Luke 15:11-32