(John 21:1-19)
We’ve All Been Peter (Yes, Even When We Blow Up)
Let’s be honest—we’ve all had Peter moments.
Moments as a parent when we said the wrong thing.
When we lost our temper even though we promised we’d be calm this time.
When we let fear, exhaustion, or pressure call the shots instead of faith.
And then there are those moments we just lost it.
You know the ones I’m talking about--
When you stepped on the 47th toy of the day.
When the toddler screamed through your Zoom meeting.
When the teenager rolled their eyes and you felt the sting deep in your chest.
When you were running on 3 hours of sleep and someone spilled the cereal again.
And we blew up.
We yelled.
We slammed the cabinet.
We said something sharp we wish we could take back.
We walked away—not because we didn’t love our kids, but because we didn’t trust ourselves to speak with love in that moment.
And then that creeping voice shows up:
“Well, that’s it. You’ve messed it up now.”
“Good parents don’t do that.”
“Jesus is probably disappointed in you too.”
If that voice sounds familiar--
if you’ve ever sat on the edge of your child’s bed with tears in your eyes and regret in your heart--
I want you to know something:
You are exactly the kind of person Jesus builds His Kingdom with.
Not the perfect parent. Not the always-patient, always-together one.
But the one who messes up and keeps coming back.
The one who loves deeply, even when it’s messy.
The one who says, “I’m sorry,” and tries again.
Jesus doesn’t build His church with flawless people.
He builds it with people like Peter.
Like you.
Like me.
And just like He met Peter by the water and fed him breakfast, He meets you in the kitchen mess, in the laundry piles, in the carline chaos.
Because His specialty is messy, emotional, imperfect people--
especially the ones who love their children enough to start fresh, again and again.
So when you’re tempted to believe you’ve disqualified yourself,
Look at Peter.
And remember—Jesus still said, “Feed my sheep.”


Peter’s Story: From Denial… to Breakfast
Peter wasn’t some quiet, background disciple.
He was bold. Passionate. A little reckless.
The guy who walked on water--
And then he sank.
The guy who declared, “I’ll never leave You, Jesus!”
And then denied Him three times the night Jesus needed him most.
Imagine the shame Peter carried after that.
How do you come back from publicly disowning your best friend, your Savior?
So, Peter does what a lot of us do after we fail--
He goes back to what’s familiar.
Fishing.
And that’s where Jesus finds him.
Not in a synagogue.
Not in a moment of repentance.
But on a boat, probably still replaying every mistake in his head.
And what does Jesus do?
He doesn’t stand on the shore with crossed arms and a disappointed look.
He makes breakfast.
He creates space—not for shame, but for forgiveness.


Grace Doesn’t Rub It In—It Lifts You Up
Around that fire, Jesus asks Peter one question, three times:
“Do you love me?”
Notice what Jesus doesn’t say:

• He doesn’t say, “Peter, why did you fail me?”
• He doesn’t say, “Can I trust you again?”
• He doesn’t say, “Are you sorry enough?”

Just:
"Do you love me?"
Because Jesus isn’t interested in rubbing Peter’s face in failure.
He’s interested in lifting him out of it.
For every denial, Jesus gives Peter a chance to say,
"Yes, Lord, You know I love You."
Grace is rewriting Peter’s story right there on that beach.
And friends, that’s precisely what grace does for us.


God Uses Messy People to Build the Kingdom
Here’s what I love most about this story--
Jesus doesn’t just forgive Peter and send him on his way.
He gives him a job:
“Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”
In other words:
"Peter, I’m not done with you. I still trust you. I still choose you."
Peter—the emotional, impulsive, loud, mistake-prone disciple--
became a leader in the early Church.
Not because he cleaned himself up.
Not because he figured it all out.
But God delights in using messy people
to show the world what grace looks like.
So if you’ve ever thought,
"God can’t use someone like me..."
Remember Peter.
And remember this:
Your worst moment doesn’t cancel God’s calling on your life.


Follow Me—Again
Jesus ends the conversation with two simple words Peter had heard before:
“Follow me.”
It’s the same call, but now Peter knows--
This journey isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about saying "yes," even after falling flat on your face.
That’s the invitation for you today, too.
If you’ve been sitting in regret…
If you’ve returned to “fishing” because you thought God was done with you…
Hear Jesus speaking to you:
"Do you love me?"
If the answer is yes--
no matter how shaky, how unsure, how tired you feel--
Then, grace is already moving.
And Jesus is saying,
"Good. Now get up. We’ve got work to do. Follow Me."
Because he still calls messy people.
People like Peter.
People like us.


Go knowing that God doesn’t call the flawless—He calls the willing.
Your failures don’t disqualify you.
Your temper, your doubts, your missteps--
They’re just reminders of why grace is so necessary.
You are loved.
You are forgiven.
And you are still called.
So get up from that fire.
Lift your head.
And follow Jesus into a world that needs people just like you--
Messy, redeemed, and ready to build the Kingdom.​

Thirteen friends gather for dinner. The atmosphere is intimate, maybe a little tense. They’ve been through so much together—miracles, storms, crowds, confrontations. Now, as they sit down to share a meal, something unexpected happens.
The guest of honor—Jesus—gets up from the table.
He kneels.
He pours water into a basin.
And he begins washing their feet.
Can you imagine that today? Picture a president or a CEO dropping to their knees to scrub dirty feet. It feels almost absurd. But that’s exactly the point.

The Night We RememberMaundy Thursday calls us back to that Upper Room. We remember three powerful movements from that night:

• The washing of the disciples' feet
• The breaking of the bread (Holy Communion)
• The new commandment: "Love one another."
• ​

It’s easy to rush past the foot washing as some ancient custom. But it was deeply practical—and deeply humiliating. In the first century, feet weren’t just dirty. They were disgusting, caked with mud and manure. Foot washing was reserved for slaves.
No slave was present that night.
No servant waiting at the door.
So Jesus—the Son of God—picks up the towel.
And while the disciples are arguing about who among them is the greatest, Jesus interrupts their chest-thumping with an act of radical humility.

More Than Dirty FeetJohn’s Gospel, full of layers and meaning, wants us to see that the foot washing is not just about cleanliness. It’s about incarnation—God stooping down into the dirt of the world to lift us up.
Every move Jesus makes that night tells a deeper story:

• He gets up from the table—leaving the heavenly feast.
• He lays aside his robe—setting aside divine glory.
• He wraps a towel around his waist—taking on the form of a servant.
• He washes their feet—bringing humanity face-to-face with grace.
• He puts the robe back on and returns to the table—signifying his coming resurrection.

Jesus knew his hour had come.
Three days later, he would be nailed to a cross.
Yet that night, he chose to demonstrate love with basin and towel.
"He loved them to the end." (John 13:1)

The Kingdom Starts LowAfterward, Jesus says something shocking:
“I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:15)
In other words: Get low. Serve one another. Love without limits.
The world tells us to climb higher—to chase recognition, status, power.
Jesus invites us to step lower—to seek brokenness, service, humility.
This is what real love looks like:
It’s not performative.
It’s not self-protective.
It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It’s sacred.
This is love at ground level.

How We RememberMaundy Thursday invites us not just to remember with our minds but to step into the story with our bodies.
Think about your most meaningful meals—the ones where laughter, tears, and vulnerability were all shared around the table. The lighting was probably low. The conversations were real. There was something sacred in the atmosphere.
That’s what Jesus created in the Upper Room.
When we gather tonight, maybe we dim the lights. Maybe we pass around a single loaf of bread, tearing pieces from it. Maybe we taste the story and feel the vulnerability. Maybe we set aside our polished traditions for something a little more raw, a little more real—just like Jesus did.
It doesn’t have to be fancy to be holy.

Living the Towel LifeAt the end of the night, the question isn’t just "Do we remember?"
It’s "Will we live differently?"
Will we pick up the towel in a world obsessed with thrones?
Will we choose downward mobility in a culture addicted to upward success?
Will we love at ground level?
Because Jesus’ hands may have been nailed to a cross,
but our hands are still free.
Free to serve.
Free to kneel.
Free to love.
Tonight, Maundy Thursday, isn’t the end of the story.
It’s the beginning of the kind of love that can change the world.

Prayer to End the Reflection:
Lord Jesus,
You stooped when we expected you to reign.
You served when we expected you to rule.
You washed our feet when we didn’t even know they were dirty.
Teach us to love like you.
To kneel, to serve, to risk vulnerability.
And in this moment of remembrance,
Lead us into resurrection hope.
Amen.