5 May 2025, John 21:1-19, "Do You Love Me?"

“Lord, you know all things. You know that I love you”?

Can I tell you a little story before we begin?

The very first English alphabet I ever learned wasn’t from school, a textbook, or a teacher. They were K, D, and Y my own initials. I know, it might not sound like much. But over 40 years ago, in Korea, learning even a few English letters before high school wasn’t easy, especially if you were just a primary school kid in Korea. So how did I learn them? Don’t be too surprised... it was thanks to arcade games.

And I have to admit... I had a bit of a hidden gift. I was pretty good really good, actually. I remember seeing my initials up on the high score board very often. That’s actually how I first learned the English alphabet — D, Y, K. Three little letters, flashing on the screen, claiming my spot in arcade history. My speciality was Galaga and Donkey Kong.

Let’s go back for a moment to the 1980s here in Australia. Arcade games were the place to be. You’d walk into a local fish and chips shop or shopping centre and hear the sounds of Pac-Man, Galaga, Space Invaders, or Street Fighter calling you in. You might have had just a few 20-cent coins in your pocket, but that was all you needed for an afternoon of excitement and after-school fun.

Lately, I find myself longing for those kinds of memories. Not because I want to go back, but because I want to carry that joy with my mates into the life I’m living now.

Honestly, our parents didn’t love it. And schools didn’t think too highly of it either. But for us kids? It felt like heaven. A room full of glowing screens, catchy music, and the thrill of beating your high score what more could we want? It was noisy, a bit chaotic, and wonderful.

When I was in primary school, we had so many students that our classes were split into morning and afternoon shifts. I was in the afternoon class, and every day I’d walk past the local marketplace to get to school. That street had not just one, but two arcades right across from each other. And of course, for a kid like me, it was impossible not to notice.

One day, I stopped in for “just a minute.” I thought I had time… but that minute turned into missing school altogether. I felt hugely guilty, of course. But the next day, I did the same thing. And the next. Three days in a row, I skipped school and hung around the arcades.

Eventually, my teacher called home. That night, my dad found out. And let’s just say, I got into a lot of trouble. All my coins were taken away, and I made about ten promises never to do it again.

The next day, I went back to school. But on the way home, as I passed by the arcade coinless and just planning to watch or teach my friends, I couldn’t help myself. I slipped in again, like I was being pulled by some invisible force.

Then suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I ignored it at first… but when I finally turned around — it was my mum. I froze, terrified. I didn’t say a word. I just sat down on the spot, thinking, “This is it. I’m done. I’m getting kicked out of the house.”

But she didn’t say anything either.

She walked out and I followed her. We walked quietly to a nearby bakery. She ordered my favourite dishes and drink. Still no words. I was thinking this would be my last supper.

When the food arrived, she finally said, “Eat.” And I just burst into tears. I told her I was sorry. Over and over again. She didn’t say much. We ate in silence.

Then, just as we reached home, she finally said one thing: “Don’t go there again.” I promised I wouldn’t. And she never told my dad.

After that… I really did change. For a while, I would cover my ears with both hands when walking past the arcade, just so I wouldn’t hear the sound of the games.

Looking back now, I think I’m only beginning to understand what happened that day. How deep love and care can be — when it chooses silence instead of shouting, grace instead of punishment, presence instead of judgment.

That quiet afternoon with my mum at the bakery changed me. That experience though quiet... remains deeply etched in my memory.

It’s a little embarrassing to share, but I do so because, in a remarkable way, it connects beautifully with today’s passage from John 21:1–19.

Peter said, “I’m going out to fish.” And the others didn’t hesitate. “We’ll go with you,” they replied. So early that morning, they went back. Back to what was familiar. Back to the life they knew before Jesus turned everything upside down. They fished through the long, dark hours of the night... but caught nothing. Not a single fish. Just silence. Perhaps even a few sighs of disappointment. Then, as the first light of dawn began to break, they saw someone standing on the shore. They didn’t recognise him. But they heard his voice, clear and kind:“Good morning! Did you catch anything for breakfast?”And then he said,“Throw your net on the right side of the boat. Try that.” They followed his words, and suddenly, the net was so full of fish they couldn’t even haul it in.

And in that moment, something clicked. John leaned in and whispered, “It is the Lord.”

Peter didn’t wait. He threw himself into the water and swam to shore. His heart racing, his eyes searching. This next part is one of my favourite scenes. One of the most beautiful moments in all of Scripture. “Breakfast is ready,” Jesus seems to say. “Come and eat.”

There on the beach, Jesus had already prepared a meal. Bread. Fish. A small fire burning. So simple. So ordinary. And yet.. so sacred.

Not one of the disciples dared to ask, “Who are you?” They knew. Or perhaps more accurately none of them dared to ask, because deep down, they already knew.

And I wonder what was going through their hearts? As they chewed the bread… as they tasted the fish… what emotions stirred within them?

I imagine they felt unworthy. Ashamed. Wrapped in a quiet guilt and sorrow.

After all, this was now the third time Jesus had appeared to them since rising from the dead.

And yet Jesus didn’t scold them. He didn’t raise his voice. Instead, he simply served them.

He gave them what they needed daily bread, gently shared. And in that moment, he wrapped them not in shame, but in grace.

And then, after breakfast, comes the highlight of today’s story. A moment filled with both tenderness and tension.

Jesus turns to Simon Peter and asks,“Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”“Yes, Lord,” Peter replies,“You know that I love you.”Jesus asks again,“Do you love me?”“Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”And then a third time —“Simon, do you love me?”

At this, Peter hesitates. He’s deeply troubled. His heart aches. And he answers,“Lord, you know all things. You know that I love you.”

Why did Jesus ask three times?Why did Peter feel hurt when he was asked the third time?

Many English Bible translations say that Peter was hurt. Others use the word grieved.

Now if we read the dialogue on a surface level, we might think Peter was hurt because it felt like Jesus didn’t believe him like Jesus was doubting his love. That would be unsettling. Even painful.

But when we look more closely, especially at the Greek word used here, it means something deeper. Not just “hurt” in the way we might be offended. It means to be sorrowful, to feel deep pain, to be distressed.

In other words, Peter wasn’t just uncomfortable. His heart was breaking. This was a sorrow that came from deep within a sorrow full of regret, loss, and shame.

And I began to wonder why did Peter respond, in that moment of grief,“Lord, you know all things. You know that I love you”?

I believe it’s because a flood of memory hit him.The memory of the courtyard.The night Jesus was arrested.John chapter 18.

Do you remember Peter on that night?

He was standing near a fire just like this one. Warming himself in the high priest’s courtyard. Trying to hide.

And someone asked him,“Aren’t you one of Jesus’ disciples?”He shook his head.

Another voice:“You are one of them, aren’t you?”He denied it again ,more firmly this time.

And then a third person stepped forward,“I saw you with him!”

And Peter cried out,“I don’t know the man!”

And at that exact moment, a rooster crowed.And Peter looked up and caught Jesus’ gaze.And he ran out into the night, weeping bitterly.

That is the turning point. I believe Jesus asked Peter three times not to shame him, but to heal him. To revisit that painful night… and gently bring restoration.

Jesus deliberately took Peter back to that night.The memory of the courtyard.The sound of the rooster.The three denials.

Jesus had not forgotten that night.But he also didn’t let it be the final word.

Instead, he layered love over the pain. He covered the wound with grace. And on top of the shame, he built a new calling.

“Feed my sheep.”

Jesus gave Peter a new mission.

“With the same mouth that once denied me,” Jesus seems to say,“now speak love. Now care for my people. Now follow me again.”

This is what grace looks like. The grace of restoration.

Planting love where there was once hurt. Calling again from the very place where failure had lived.

And Peter, he rose. He stood again. He walked forward not just forgiven, but entrusted. Not just restored, but recommissioned. He stepped out of a night of tears… and into a calling of love.

Dear friends,

I truly love today’s passage. And I have a feeling you might love it too.

Because here we see Jesus coming to find His disciples when they had failed, when they had lost hope, when they had nowhere left to go.

He didn’t give up on them.

Instead, He came to them. He lit a fire. He prepared a meal with His own hands. He invited them to sit and eat.

And instead of scolding them or pointing out their faults, He comforted them. He restored them.

Jesus didn’t bring up Peter’s failure.He didn’t say, “Let’s talk about that night.”Instead, through gentle questions, He drew Peter in.He opened a path toward healing.

Isn’t it amazing that this is our Jesus?That He is alive, and here, with us today?

No matter our situation. No matter what burden or crisis we carry, whether it’s big or small Jesus comes to us first.He takes the initiative. He meets us where we are.

That is the power of the resurrection. That is the joy of Easter life.

But don’t miss this. There’s an even deeper meaning in today’s story.

Did you notice? Jesus didn’t ask Peter, “Do you believe in me?”

He asked,“Do you love me?” Isn’t that curious?

Why love? and not faith?Why not, “Do you trust me?” or “Do you understand everything now?”

You see, this is the kind of question you can only ask when you truly love someone.

“Do you love me?”It’s not a question you ask just anyone.Jesus could ask Peter this question because He loved him.

That morning on the beach, it wasn’t an interrogation. It wasn’t about guilt or shame. It was a conversation full of love.

In Jesus’ question, there was no condemnation, only trust...no accusation, only restoration.

“Simon, do you love me?”That’s the kind of question only love can ask.And the kind of question love must ask.

As I reflect on today’s passage, one truth stands out so clearly:

The reason for the resurrection,The reason for Jesus’ suffering,And the reason we’re gathered here today, It’s all because of His love. I truly believe Jesus still comes to us. And He still asks us, gently and personally,“Do you love me?”

My prayer is that the depth of that question,the quiet strength behind it,and the love of Christ woven into every word will surround you today.

May it meet you wherever you are.

This love never fails.

And it gives us more than just comfort, It gives us purpose.A reason to live as followers of Christ.

And with that purpose, He gives us strength.He encourages us, lifts us up, and sends us out.

So today, as we close,let me ask you... on behalf of Jesus:

“My dear one… do you love me?”

Amen.