Scripture Focus: Luke 22:54–62 and John 21:15–17

On the night Jesus was arrested, Peter—the boldest of the disciples—followed at a distance. He had just promised he would never leave Jesus, even if it cost him his life. But before the rooster crowed that morning, Peter denied knowing Jesus three times.

He didn’t deny Jesus to powerful leaders or dangerous guards. He denied him to a servant girl, to bystanders. And after the third denial, the rooster crowed, and Jesus turned and looked straight at Peter. That moment must have shattered him. Peter went outside and wept bitterly.

Fast forward to after the resurrection. Peter had returned to fishing, maybe trying to lose himself in something familiar. Jesus appeared on the shore and prepared breakfast. After they ate, Jesus spoke directly to Peter.

Three times, Jesus asked, “Do you love me?” Three times, Peter answered, “Yes, Lord, you know I do.”

And three times, Jesus responded, “Feed my sheep.”

It wasn’t a lecture. It wasn’t punishment. It was restoration. For every denial, a chance to reaffirm love. For every failure, a purpose renewed. Jesus didn’t bring up Peter’s shame. He brought him back into relationship. He offered him a new start.

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Reflection from My Life:

Peter’s story hits close to home. I’ve made promises I didn’t keep. Claimed I would stand firm, only to fold under pressure. Sometimes the failure isn’t loud or dramatic—it’s quiet. It’s walking away when someone needed me. Staying silent when I should have spoken up. Putting my pride before my faith.

And like Peter, I’ve wept bitterly. Not always outwardly, but inside. I’ve felt the shame of knowing I’ve let someone down, or worse—let myself down.

But what strikes me in Peter’s story is what Jesus didn’t do. He didn’t shame Peter. He didn’t say, “I told you so.” He didn’t give him a probationary period before trusting him again.

He simply said, “Do you love me?”

That’s where restoration begins. Not with proving ourselves, but with returning to love.

There have been people in my life who’ve offered me that kind of grace. People who saw more in me than my worst moments. People who gave me another chance, not because I earned it, but because they chose to believe in the man I was trying to be.

That kind of love shapes you. It makes you want to be worthy of it.

I can remember like it was yesterday… not specifically what I did or didn’t do, but I remember my father’s eyes. I had failed him in some capacity. He thought the world of me, and I obviously did not live up to his expectations. He believed I was a better person than I was at that moment. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. Although he was hurt, he never chastised or criticized me. But I knew I had failed him. His look was the equivalent of the rooster crowing for the third time.

I look back at that time and hope I can forgive others the way my father forgave me. Unconditionally.

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Takeaway:

Unconditional love restores. It sees beyond betrayal, beyond failure, and into the heart of a person who still wants to do right.

We all have roosters that crow. We all have moments we wish we could take back. But Jesus shows us that failure isn’t the end of the story. It can be the beginning of something deeper.

So when someone falls short, let’s be the kind of people who make breakfast on the shore. Who ask, “Do you love me?” and say, “Then let’s begin again.”