There’s something profoundly beautiful about second chances. Even more beautiful when those second chances come from the very person we’ve disappointed.
The shoreline of the Sea of Galilee sets the stage for one of the most tender restoration stories in all of Scripture. It’s been perhaps two or three weeks since the resurrection, and the disciples have returned to familiar territory—both geographically and emotionally. They’re back in Galilee, back to fishing, back to what they knew before everything changed.
When Life Circles Back
Peter announces he’s going fishing, and several others join him. It’s easy to imagine why. After the trauma of watching Jesus arrested and crucified, after the fear for their own lives, after the bewildering shock of the resurrection itself—maybe they just needed to do something normal. Something that made sense. Something that didn’t require processing impossible emotions.
They fish all night. They catch nothing.
As dawn breaks, a voice calls from the misty shore: “How’s it going, lads?”
There’s always an expert on hand when things aren’t going well, isn’t there? Someone ready to offer advice precisely when you’re most frustrated. “Put your nets on the other side,” the stranger suggests.
This time, the advice is good. This time, they haul in 153 large fish—so many the nets should have broken but didn’t.
The Echo of a Previous Calling
For some of the disciples, especially Peter, this moment must have triggered a powerful memory. Three years earlier, almost this exact scene had played out. They’d fished all night and caught nothing. A traveling preacher borrowed their boat to speak to crowds on shore. Afterward, he told them to push out a bit and let down their nets.
What does a preacher know about fishing?
But they did it. And the Creator of the universe blessed them with a catch so huge their nets began to break. Peter fell at Jesus’s feet: “Depart from me, Lord, I’m a sinful man.”
Jesus’s response? “Come and follow me, and I will make you a fisher of men.”
Now here was Peter again, with that memory as fresh as yesterday. But this time, the memory was complicated by another one—the haunting image of warming himself by a charcoal fire where he denied even knowing Jesus. This was just hours after declaring he’d go to prison with him, die for him.
Come and Have Breakfast
The man on the shore already has a barbecue fired up. “Come and have breakfast,” Jesus invites.
What a beautiful invitation this is—one that extends to each of us every morning. Come and have breakfast with Jesus. Come and spend time with him. Start your day in his presence.
As Jesus hands out fish and bread, perhaps some disciples recall miracles of feeding thousands on hillsides. But Peter, gazing into those charcoal barbecue embers, travels down a more painful memory lane. He hears his denial echoing in his head. He sees Jesus’s face looking at him from across the courtyard.
Three Questions, Three Recommissions
After breakfast, Jesus and Peter walk along the shore. Jesus brings out the elephant in the room.
“Simon, do you really, really love me?”
Inside, Peter must be thinking: How can I say I really love him after what I’ve done? After denying him when he needed me most?
“Lord, of course I’m very fond of you.”
“Feed my lambs.”
Again: “Simon, do you love me?”
Same response. “Take care of my sheep.”
A third time—using Peter’s own words now: “Are you fond of me?”
Peter breaks, deeply hurt. And Jesus says, “Feed my sheep.”
With each question, Jesus gently recommissions Peter. He offers healing, forgiveness, and restoration. The message is clear: Peter is still in the plans. Peter is still on the team. Peter is still a disciple.
The Message for Us
How many of us have known God’s call in the past and responded, truly wanting to follow and do what he wants—but somehow it just hasn’t worked out?
Life gets in the way. Career paths become all-consuming. Health issues arise. Family demands multiply. Marriage breakups we never imagined shatter our vision. We don’t feel equipped enough, gifted enough, worthy enough.
Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians that God deliberately chooses the foolish things to shame the wise, the weak things to shame the strong, the lowly and despised things—the things people think are nothing. Why? Because he wants to manifest his glory.
God doesn’t choose people who are already fully equipped or the best at something. He chooses the weak and lowly so his power can be displayed through them.
Wiping the Board Clean
There’s a powerful story about a woman who saw a psychotherapist for her many problems. Through gentle probing, the therapist discovered a childhood trauma: a teacher who disliked her had made her write “I am a failure” on the board, then had the entire class come up and write what they thought of her.
The Christian psychotherapist said, “I know something else happened that day. After all the class had written on the board, there was a man at the back of the class called Jesus. He got up, went to the front, picked up the eraser, and wiped away everything. Then he wrote: ‘I love you and I forgive you.'”
Whether the things written were true or not, Jesus wiped the board clean.
Jesus didn’t come to rub it in. He came to rub it out.
Never Too Late
Perhaps you feel you’ve missed your calling from years ago. Perhaps you carry shame for letting down the Savior. Perhaps you think you’re too old, that it’s all too late now.
Here’s the truth: God is not ageist. You might be retired, but through the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, you can be refired.
You are still on the team. Your calling may still be there, or it might look slightly different now, but you haven’t been disqualified.
Take it to Jesus. Tell him about it. Tell him how you feel. He won’t rub it in—he just wants to rub it out and give you a fresh start, fresh vision, fresh anointing.
The same Jesus who stood on that shore and called to his disciples is calling to you today: “Come and have breakfast.” Come into his presence. Come and be restored. Come and be recommissioned.
You’re still important to him. You’re still in his plans.
Don’t forget—you matter to God.
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