Keeping Our Eyes on Jesus, Not on Each Other

A Day in the Life

“Then Peter, turning around, saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following… Peter said to Jesus, ‘But Lord, what about this man?’” — John 21:20–21

There are moments in Scripture that feel almost uncomfortably human, and this exchange between Jesus and Peter is one of them. I can picture the scene vividly. Peter has just been restored after his devastating denial, and Jesus has spoken words that are both sobering and sacred. He tells Peter that faithfulness will one day cost him his life. This is not casual conversation; it is holy ground. Jesus is, in effect, pulling back the curtain on Peter’s future, revealing a path that will be difficult, costly, and yet deeply blessed. And almost immediately, Peter looks away. He turns his head, notices John following behind, and blurts out, “But Lord, what about this man?” It is such a natural response that it almost sneaks past us without protest.

As I walk with Peter in this moment, I recognize the temptation all too well. When God speaks personally and clearly—especially when His words involve sacrifice, loss, or endurance—my instinct is often to glance sideways. Comparison becomes a quiet refuge from obedience. Peter’s question is not curiosity; it is deflection. Jesus has just told him what his faithfulness will require, and Peter wants to know whether someone else’s road might be easier. The Greek text underscores the contrast: Jesus speaks directly to Peter, yet Peter’s eyes drift toward another disciple. Eugene Peterson once observed that “comparison is the enemy of spirituality,” because it shifts our attention away from God’s particular work in us and toward measurements He never asked us to make.

What strikes me is that Jesus does not rebuke Peter harshly, nor does He explain John’s future to satisfy Peter’s anxiety. Instead, He redirects Peter’s gaze. “If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me.” The call is not to understand everyone else’s assignment, but to remain faithful to our own. Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote in The Cost of Discipleship, “When Christ calls a man, He bids him come and die.” That call, however, is always personal. Jesus does not issue generic discipleship contracts. He shapes each life according to His wisdom and purpose, and comparison disrupts our ability to trust that wisdom.

As I reflect on Peter and John walking behind Jesus on that shoreline, I am reminded that both men would go on to bless the church profoundly—but in entirely different ways. Peter’s ministry would be marked by bold proclamation, leadership, and ultimately martyrdom. John’s would be shaped by longevity, contemplation, and deep theological reflection. The church needed both voices. Yet neither path would have been sustainable if either man had tried to live the other’s calling. When I begin to measure my life against someone else’s blessings, healing, recognition, or ease, I quietly imply that Jesus may not be equally wise or attentive with me. That is the hidden danger Jesus addresses by re-centering Peter’s focus.

The question Jesus implicitly asks still confronts us today: Where are you looking? Am I more concerned with how God seems to be treating others than with how He is forming me? Am I distracted by who receives affirmation, who appears spared from suffering, or who seems to move through life with fewer obstacles? N. T. Wright notes that in John’s Gospel, following Jesus is never about abstract belief alone but about embodied loyalty. To follow is to keep moving behind Him, eyes forward, even when the road ahead is unclear. When I allow comparison to dominate my vision, I am no longer truly following; I am evaluating from the sidelines.

What I find reassuring is that Jesus does not withdraw His call from Peter because of this momentary lapse. He simply repeats it: “You follow Me.” That is enough for today. As a daily spiritual discipline, this passage invites me to practice attention—attention to Christ’s voice, Christ’s pace, and Christ’s presence. Comparison thrives in distraction, but discipleship grows in focused trust. As the day unfolds, I am reminded that faithfulness is not measured against someone else’s story, but against obedience to the One who walks ahead of me.

For further reflection on this passage, you may find this article helpful from Desiring God:
https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/you-follow-me

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Willingness to Serve

Breakfast by the Sea and the Restoration of Peter

John 21:7–14 draws us into one of the most tender and quietly decisive moments in the post-resurrection life of Jesus. The scene is ordinary on the surface: a group of disciples fishing, a charcoal fire on the beach, bread and fish prepared for breakfast. Yet beneath that simplicity lies a deeply restorative encounter, particularly for Simon Peter. When the beloved disciple declares, “It is the Lord!”, Peter’s response is immediate and physical. He does not wait for the boat to reach shore; he throws on his tunic and plunges into the water. His action reflects what the Gospels consistently show us about Peter: impulsive, earnest, and deeply relational. The Greek text emphasizes recognition before action. The verb estin (ἐστιν), “it is,” signals certainty. Peter does not question whether this might be Jesus; recognition fuels movement. Love, even when imperfect, longs to close distance.

This eagerness is significant when we remember Peter’s recent past. Only days earlier, he had denied Jesus three times beside another charcoal fire (John 18:18). John is intentional with this detail. The Greek word anthrakia (ἀνθρακία), meaning “charcoal fire,” appears only in these two scenes in the New Testament. The setting itself becomes part of Peter’s healing. Jesus does not confront Peter in abstraction; He restores him in a space that echoes his failure. As Raymond Brown observed, “The rehabilitation of Peter takes place in an atmosphere deliberately evocative of the denial.” Grace does not erase memory; it redeems it. Peter’s leap into the water is not just enthusiasm—it is the movement of a repentant heart toward the One he wronged and loves.

The miracle of the fish further reinforces this theme of restoration and calling. The net holds 153 large fish, yet it does not tear. Early commentators such as Augustine speculated symbolically about the number, but the more immediate theological weight lies in the unbroken net. Earlier in the Gospel, nets tore under abundance (Luke 5), but here they hold. Many scholars see this as a quiet picture of the church’s mission after the resurrection: abundance without fragmentation, diversity without loss of unity. Peter, who once feared association with Jesus, now hauls the net ashore at Jesus’ command. Obedience replaces fear. The fisherman is being reshaped into a shepherd.

Jesus’ invitation, “Come and have some breakfast,” is one of the most pastoral sentences in all of Scripture. The resurrected Lord serves His disciples. John tells us that Jesus “went around serving us the bread and fish.” The verb diakoneō (διακονέω), to serve, echoes Jesus’ earlier teaching that true greatness is found in service. Even in resurrection glory, Jesus does not relinquish His servant identity. For Peter, this is a corrective vision of leadership. Apostolic authority will not be built on bravado but on humble participation in Christ’s serving life. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “The church is the church only when it exists for others.” Peter’s future ministry would be shaped on this beach, by this meal, from the hands of the risen Christ.

The heart of the passage unfolds just beyond verses 7–14, when Jesus asks Peter three times if he loves Him. Yet even here, the groundwork is laid. Peter’s willingness to serve is not proven by words spoken yet, but by presence, obedience, and openness. He comes to the fire. He brings the fish. He eats the meal. Love for Jesus is being re-educated away from impulsive declarations toward faithful participation. The Greek dialogue that follows hinges on two verbs for love, agapaō (ἀγαπάω) and phileō (φιλέω), but the outcome is clear: love for Jesus is expressed through care for His people. As Jesus will soon say, “Feed my sheep.” Service is not a secondary add-on to devotion; it is devotion embodied.

Peter’s transformation in this scene is comprehensive. His occupation changes from fisherman to evangelist, not because fishing was unworthy, but because his skills are now redirected toward people rather than nets. His identity shifts from impetuous disciple to “rock,” not because he became flawless, but because he learned to depend on grace rather than self-confidence. His relationship with Jesus is restored, not through minimizing his denial, but through honest engagement with love and responsibility. As N. T. Wright notes, “Forgiveness and vocation go hand in hand.” Jesus does not merely absolve Peter; He commissions him.

For contemporary disciples, this passage presses an insightful and uncomfortable question: is our love for Jesus visible in our willingness to serve Him where we once failed? Many believers are eager to return to usefulness without revisiting the places of denial, shame, or fear. Jesus, however, meets Peter precisely there. Service flows from healed places, not hidden ones. The risen Christ still invites His followers to breakfast by the sea—to communion that restores, nourishes, and reorients. The test of discipleship is not emotional intensity but sustained, humble obedience shaped by forgiveness.

This scene also speaks to the communal nature of restoration. Peter swims alone, but he eats with others. The church is the context in which forgiven people learn to serve again. The unbroken net suggests that restored disciples are woven back into shared mission. No one is healed for isolation. As Paul later wrote, “By the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:10). Peter’s life stands as testimony that failure, when met by Christ, becomes formation rather than disqualification.

A helpful reflection on this passage can be found at The Gospel Coalition, which explores Peter’s restoration and calling in depth:
https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/jesus-restores-peter/

May you, like Peter, recognize the Lord in ordinary moments, move toward Him without delay, and discover that love for Jesus finds its truest expression in humble, faithful service. May your past failures become places of grace, your daily work become holy ground, and your walk with Jesus deepen as you learn to serve Him by caring for those He loves.

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A Call from the Shore

A Day in the Life of Jesus

There are moments in the life of Jesus that feel almost tenderly ordinary, and John 21:1–6 is one of them. As I walk through this scene with you, I am struck by how quietly human it feels. The disciples are not preaching, healing, or confronting opposition. They are fishing. After the trauma of the crucifixion and the wonder of the resurrection, they return to what their hands remember even when their hearts are uncertain. Simon Peter’s words, “I’m going fishing,” carry more than occupational intent. They sound like a man searching for footing after failure. Many commentators have noted that Peter’s denial still hangs in the air. As D. A. Carson observes, Peter’s return to fishing is not rebellion but retreat—a familiar place when the future feels unclear. I recognize that instinct in myself, and perhaps you do as well.

The night of fishing yields nothing. John is careful to tell us this: “that night they caught nothing.” Scripture often lingers on emptiness because emptiness prepares us to recognize grace. In the gray light of dawn, a figure stands on the shore, unseen and unrecognized. Jesus does not announce Himself. He calls out with a question that sounds almost playful: “Any fish, boys?” The Greek term paidia (παιδία) is affectionate, more like “children” than a stern address. It reminds us that the risen Christ is not distant or impatient. He speaks with familiarity, even after their abandonment and Peter’s denial. Their answer is brief and honest: “No.” Sometimes the most faithful prayer we can offer is simply naming our lack.

What follows deliberately echoes Luke 5:1–11, and the disciples would have known it. Once again, Jesus instructs them to cast their net differently—“on the right-hand side of the boat.” There is nothing magical about the side of the boat. The miracle rests entirely in obedience to a word spoken by Jesus. When they listen, the abundance is overwhelming. The net strains with life. The point is not technique but trust. As William Barclay once wrote, Jesus is Lord not only of sermons and sanctuaries, but of boats, nets, and ordinary labor. He meets them in their routine and reveals His authority there. That truth reshapes how I understand discipleship. Jesus does not wait for us to become spiritually impressive. He enters our everyday spaces and teaches us to listen again.

This moment is also quietly restorative for Peter. Before Jesus ever asks him to reaffirm his love later in the chapter, He reenacts the very miracle that first called Peter to follow Him. Grace often works this way. It does not merely forgive; it re-teaches. The abundance of fish is not about provision alone. It is about memory. Jesus is saying, without accusation, “I am still the One who called you. I have not changed My mind.” The love of Christ is not revoked by our failure. It patiently brings us back to the place where obedience once began, not to shame us, but to heal us.

As I sit with this passage, I find myself asking the question embedded in the study: Is Jesus standing on the beach calling to me? The answer, if I am honest, is often yes—but I do not always recognize Him at first. He comes quietly, through Scripture read again, through a nudge to trust rather than strive, through an invitation to obey even when exhaustion says it will not matter. Jesus meets us where we are, but He never leaves us there. He calls us from empty nets toward attentive listening. The Christian life is not sustained by effort alone, but by repeated responsiveness to His voice.

If you want to explore this scene more deeply, a helpful companion article can be found at The Gospel Coalition, reflecting on John 21 and the restoration of Peter: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/jesus-restores-peter/.

May the risen Christ meet you today in the familiar places of your life. May you recognize His voice even when the night has been long, and may obedience—simple, trusting obedience—open your hands to grace you could not manufacture on your own. May your walk with Jesus be marked not by perfection, but by listening.

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