Recognizing the Lord

The Gospel of John ends on a striking and tender note. After the Resurrection, the apostles return to fishing, going back to the ordinary work of life. It is there, at the Sea of Tiberias, that the risen Jesus comes to them once more. Yet at first, they do not recognize Him. The risen Lord is both familiar and unfamiliar, the same Jesus they knew, yet glorified beyond their comprehension.

Curiously, Jesus addresses them as "children" (Greek: παιδία, paidia), a word full of affection and tenderness. It is unusual, but beautiful. It reminds us that no matter how strong, mature, or self-sufficient we become, before God we are always His beloved children, dependent on His love, nourished by His grace.

As when He first called Peter years earlier, Jesus tells them to cast their nets, and they haul in an overwhelming catch: 153 fish, the Gospel tells us. Early Christian writers saw significance here. Some, like St. Jerome, noted that ancient zoologists believed there were 153 kinds of fish, symbolizing the universal mission of the Church to gather all peoples into the net of salvation.

Importantly, the net does not tear. This is a quiet symbol of the Church’s unity, sustained by Christ Himself even amid vast diversity.

It is Peter whose heart first recognizes the truth: "It is the Lord!" (John 21:7). Love, not sight, reveals Him.

When Jesus first called Peter, Peter fell to his knees and said, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8). This time, things are different. Peter does not retreat, but he rushes to Jesus.

When they come ashore, they find that Jesus has prepared a meal for them over a charcoal fire (ἀνθρακία, anthrakia). This detail matters: it is the same kind of fire near which Peter had earlier denied Jesus (John 18:18). Christ deliberately recreates the setting of Peter’s greatest failure, not to shame him, but to heal him. He invites Peter to confront his weakness, not with fear, but with love.

Then Jesus draws Peter aside for one of the most moving conversations in all of Scripture. Three times Jesus asks Peter if he loves Him, and three times Peter responds. In English, it sounds repetitive, but in Greek, the exchange reveals a delicate dance of the heart:

Jesus first asks if Peter loves Him with the deepest kind of love (agapē, self-giving, sacrificial love).

Peter, humbled by his past failure, responds honestly: he loves Jesus as a dear friend (phileō).

On the third asking, Jesus lowers the question: "Peter, do you even love Me as a friend?"

Grieved, Peter answers: "Lord, You know everything; You know that I love You."

Jesus accepts Peter’s sincere, if imperfect, love and entrusts him with a mission: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”

Peter, who had denied Jesus three times, is now three times restored. Christ commissions him as the earthly shepherd of His flock. It is not merely forgiveness. It is elevation.

Christ changes everything. Grace changes everything.

Peter is moved from shame to love—and love changes everything.

What once bound him in fear now propels him in courage. The wounds of his failure become the very place where mercy is poured out. The one who once swore he did not know Jesus now lives and dies to make Him known.

And it is a costly calling. Jesus hints at Peter’s martyrdom, saying, “When you are old, you will stretch out your hands” (John 21:18). It is a veiled reference to crucifixion.

Indeed, after Pentecost, Peter’s transformation is unmistakable. This is not mere natural maturity. It is the work of grace.

When Peter and the other apostles are arrested and ordered to stop speaking about Jesus, Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, boldly declares: “We must obey God rather than men.” (Acts 5:29)

Peter’s life now flows from a rightly ordered love. He recognizes that loyalty to God must come first, above human praise or fear. When we love God above all, all our other loves, our love for family, for neighbor, for the world, fall into their proper place.

But when we love things more than persons, or persons more than God, our lives become disordered, confused, and sorrowful.

At that lakeside meal, there is perhaps another quiet hint: Jesus feeds them bread and fish. Some early Christian writers saw in this a whisper of the Eucharist; the sacramental feeding of Christ’s flock, a task Peter and his successors would carry forward. Christ Himself nourishes His people with His very life.

Peter learned, and we must learn, that true love is humble, honest, and sacrificial. It does not seek glory but rejoices even in dishonor, so long as it belongs to Christ.

For Christ, the Lamb who was slain, is worthy. Worthy of all power and riches, wisdom and strength, honor and glory and blessing (cf. Revelation 5:12).

Every creature in heaven and on earth should cry out with one voice: “Blessing and honor, glory and might, be to the Lamb forever and ever!” (Revelation 5:13).

Let us, like Peter, recognize the Lord, offer Him whatever love we have, and trust that He will strengthen it, purify it, and draw us ever closer to Himself, until we too can love with the full measure of His love.

Every time we return to Scripture with an open heart, we are invited into a deeper encounter. We are not merely reading about God. We are meeting Him, speaking to Him, and being spoken to. In every word, every detail, He calls us as His beloved children, gently but persistently drawing us closer to Himself.

Like Peter, we are often asked to love Christ in ways that stretch us beyond what we think we can give. We are not called to offer perfect love, but a willing heart: a love that Christ Himself will strengthen, purify, and make whole.

Today, Christ still calls across the waters of our lives: “Do you love Me?”

Will we recognize His voice? Will we trust Him enough to cast our nets once more, to tend the sheep He entrusts to our care, and to follow Him wherever He leads even when the cost is great?

He does not ask us to be perfect. He only asks us to follow Him with love and to trust that He will complete the good work He has begun in us.

At the fire of our failures, Christ does not accuse us. He invites us to love again.