Heavy Hearts and Empty Nets: Peter’s Story of Restoration
I once had a biblical counselor encourage me to close my eyes and imagine the text I’ve read, to picture myself there, to linger long enough for the scene to come alive. When I do that, it brings the story closer. It reminds me these were real people, with real memories and emotions.
I think of Peter. How the smell of a charcoal fire on the beach might have reminded him of the one he stood beside when he denied Jesus. How the Sea of Galilee, the place he once walked on water and then sank in doubt, is the same place he finds himself fishing again after the cross. How those memories might have compounded the shame and guilt he felt about his denial.
I know what that’s like — to let shame and guilt build inside me, especially when it feels unresolved with my Savior. Peter had seen Jesus after the cross, twice in the upper room. But they had not yet spoken of his denial. I wonder what it felt like, to rejoice in His resurrection and yet carry that heavy silence, like the weight of the nets from the first time Jesus called him. Nets that broke under the strain, just as Peter felt broken then.
What follows is a narrative retelling from Peter’s perspective. It’s not meant to replace Scripture, but to help us linger in it, to feel the ache of failure, the weight of shame, and then the stunning kindness of Jesus’ love.
A Love That Restores (John 21)
From Peter’s perspective
We had seen Him. Twice already, in the upper room, behind locked doors. He stood among us, scars visible, peace spoken, breath given. I knew He was alive. And yet He hadn’t said anything about the night of my denial. Not a word.
Every time I caught His eyes, my heart tightened. Did He remember? Did He still want me? The others rejoiced, but my joy was mingled with shame. I couldn’t unsay the words from that night by the fire.
So I went fishing. Back to what I knew. Back to the nets, the water, the rhythm of something simple. Maybe I could work off the ache in my soul. Maybe I could forget for a while. But shame has a way of weighing heavier than any net.
As the boat rocked on the water, memories rose with the waves. I remembered another night on this sea, when I walked on water. For a few steps my eyes were fixed on Him… but then I doubted. I sank. He caught me and said, “Why did you doubt?” Even here, years later, I still feel that question burn.
Then another memory: the day He first called me. The nets were so full they began to break, and He said He would make me a fisher of men. But now? Now I felt like the broken one. The nets were empty, and my heart felt the same. Without Him, nothing holds.
All night we fished, but the nets came up empty. It felt like proof: He was not here. Things were different.
Then, as the sky began to gray, a voice called from the shore: “Friends, you don’t have any fish, do you?”
No. Not a single one.
“Cast the net on the right side.”
We did. Suddenly the ropes bit my hands. The nets swelled, straining, over a hundred fish, more than we could carry. And John said what my heart already knew: “It is the Lord.”
I could not wait. I plunged into the sea. My legs thrashed, my chest burned, but I had to get to Him.
And there He was. A small fire waiting, coals glowing, fish laid out. The smell stung. It took me back to another fire, a courtyard, a night when I sought warmth in the shadows and denied Him three times.
Yet here He was, making breakfast for us. Always serving, always giving. When the world’s weight was on His shoulders, He washed our feet. When death could not hold Him, He built us a fire.
After we ate, He turned to me.
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me more than these?”
“Yes, Lord, You know I love You.”
“Feed my lambs.”
Again.
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me?”
“Yes, Lord, You know that I love You.”
“Shepherd my sheep.”
A third time.
“Simon, son of John, do you love Me?”
The words pierced. I was grieved. How could I? How could I deny Him, after everything?
“Lord, You know everything. You know that I love You.”
“Feed my sheep.”
Three questions. Three affirmations. Three commands. My three denials undone. This was more than forgiveness, this was restoration. A public recommissioning, in front of my brothers. The same lips that once cursed Him were now entrusted to speak for Him.
The fire that once marked my shame now marked my calling.
And then, the words I loved most:
“Follow Me.”
A Word Across Time
Fast forward. Imagine me looking back now, from the other side of eternity.
I might say:
You who are quick to speak and slow to understand, like I was.
You who don’t yet realize the shame and failure you’re capable of, like I didn’t.
You who live by passion one moment and fall on your face the next, I see you. More importantly, He sees you.
And from my side of eternity to yours:
Feed His sheep. Shepherd His sheep. Follow Him. Trust Him. Know His love and show His love. He’s not done.
Friend, that’s the invitation for us too. Jesus isn’t finished with you. What once marked your shame can become the place of your calling.
I’m still walking through these chapters slowly as I dream about the next Read + Repeat study, hopefully letting them shape me as I write. If you’d like to walk with me in this journey through John 13–17, I’d love to share updates and reflections along the way. You can sign up here.
