Do You Love Me?

¹⁵ When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Feed my lambs.” ¹⁶ He said to him a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” He said to him, “Tend my sheep.” ¹⁷ He said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. ¹⁸ Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you where you do not want to go.” ¹⁹ (This he said to show by what kind of death he was to glorify God.) And after saying this he said to him, “Follow me.”

The Holy Bible: English Standard Version (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Bibles, 2016), John 21:15-19.

As children, the thought of disappointing a parent, especially a mother, could be profoundly unsettling. The moment of being “caught” often brought with it a wave of dread, the knowledge that the conversation to come would be etched with her disappointment, a feeling that could truly crush one’s spirit. It is an inherent truth that the people we love most are those we least wish to let down. Yet, despite our best intentions, we invariably falter, letting down friends and family. In these moments, the path back to a healthy relationship invariably involves the arduous, yet essential, work of reconciliation. This profound human experience mirrors a powerful divine narrative: Peter’s denials of Jesus, a betrayal that seemed to strip away his very identity, only to be met with a loving, restorative encounter that redefined his purpose.

Peter’s public betrayal, denying Jesus thrice on the night of his arrest, was a profound fall, seemingly reverting him to the impulsive “Simon” he was before his transformative encounter with Christ. It was into this deep shame that Jesus stepped, meeting Peter on a beach with a simple meal. Peter, undoubtedly relieved yet burdened by guilt, likely braced himself for rebuke. Instead, Jesus initiated a conversation marked by tenderness and profound understanding. He did not scold directly but gently prodded, not with accusations but with a repeated inquiry into the very core of their relationship: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” By calling him “Simon” rather than “Peter,” Jesus subtly acknowledged the fall from his transformed identity, hinting at the need for restoration to the “rock” he was destined to be. The focus was never on Peter’s failure but on his capacity for love—the supreme requirement for his future office and essential qualification for service. This encounter teaches us that divine reconciliation doesn’t demand penance or grill us over mistakes; it simply invites us to remember the foundational call to love God, and, by extension, our neighbor. Jesus has already paid the price; our return is to embrace the transformation He offers.

The words of Christ, far from accusing, serve to reconnect us with our true purpose and mission. In an act of unparalleled trust, Jesus, having forgiven Peter, entrusted him with the most valuable treasure on earth: His flock. Peter’s vexation at the third repetition of the question was not resentment, but a sign of genuine contrition and deep sorrow, echoing the bitter weeping he experienced after his denial. This grief was evidence of a contrite heart, wounds only Jesus could truly heal. The culminating command, “Follow me,” was more than a simple invitation; it was a powerful reaffirmation of Peter’s discipleship and a renewed call to commit wholeheartedly to Christ’s service. This implied a deeper commitment, including a readiness to suffer and “take up his cross” by mirroring Jesus’ own example. Having been restored and humbled, Peter was now truly ready to fulfill his earlier, premature promise of unwavering loyalty, even unto death. This reaffirmation of faith reminds us that we are infinitely more than the sum of our mistakes; Jesus desires a deep, connected love that transcends shame and empowers us for His mission.

Our love for Christ finds its truest expression not in words, traditions, or values alone, but in our actions—specifically, in how we extend love to one another, to the poor, and even to our enemies. Each of Peter’s professions of love was met with a clear directive for service: “Feed my lambs,” “Tend my sheep,” “Feed my sheep.” This unequivocally demonstrates that Peter’s love for his Lord was to be made manifest in his care for the Lord’s flock, a task achievable only through a primary connection to Christ’s love, flowing outward to nourish others. The ultimate act of following Christ, Jesus revealed, is intimately linked to suffering and martyrdom. By predicting Peter’s death, Jesus underscored that true love and submission extend even to laying down one’s life in service and for God’s glory, fulfilling Peter’s earlier, premature promise only after he had been strengthened by the resurrection. It is not merely through action, but profoundly through suffering, that the saints glorify God. Our proclamation of love for God, articulated in worship, must then translate into tangible service in the world, embodying the Gospel’s message of a God who empowers us to love, rather than to judge or accuse.

The journey toward reconciliation with God, if initiated by our own desire to “get right,” is destined to fail. No amount of human effort, knowledge, or self-improvement can bridge the chasm created by our imperfections. It is solely through God’s infinite love that reconciliation is even conceivable. So much of life is consumed by attempts at self improvement, through self-help doctrines or relentless learning. Yet, in the grand scheme of God’s boundless love, these efforts often prove to be vanity, leaving a pervasive emptiness. I once spent years pursuing knowledge and degrees, convinced they held the key to self-betterment, only to find myself unable to truly answer the fundamental question, “Do you love me?” It was a humble lesson, one perhaps reminiscent of a mother’s wisdom, that reminded me: while the world may honor academic accolades, and theological education is valuable, true fulfillment comes not from what I know, but from the saving act of Jesus, and my faith is defined by my willingness to feed sheep, tend lambs, and genuinely love people. Only in these acts do I truly affirm, “Yes, Lord, I love you.”