The other day someone referred to me as Pastor Mike. It’s not too strange since I was “Pastor Mike” for 20 years of my life. And that’s how most people know me. But now I’m not pastoring anywhere. (Well, not vocationally anyways…but that’s a different post). Does that still make me “Pastor Mike”?
I’ve never been one to get hung up on titles. In fact, I was once rebuked by a well-meaning lady for allowing people to just call me Mike. It was, she said, “disrespectful to my office”.
I also had someone refer to me the other day as “Hannah’s dad”. I can’t tell you how much that warmed my heart. That’s my higher calling and I’m glad for it to be recognized.
Now, I share all of this to get us to John 21. It’s when Jesus restores Peter. Yes, we can read this story as Jesus restoring someone who failed by denying Him. And that’s a good application. Yet, there’s something in this passage really for any of us who are in a place that is different than what we thought our story might be. Even if you haven’t exactly “failed”.
All of us have names we live under: mom, teacher, coach, entreprenuer, caregiver, pastor. And all of us eventually face a season where one of those names slips away. Kids grow up. Jobs end. Dreams sometimes die. Relationships change.
John 21 is Jesus meeting a man who lost his name. “Peter” was the name for a ROCK. It means bold leader. The people’s champion. The guy who you’d have expected to be on a cross right next to Jesus.
But when the pressure came, he buckled.
Peter’s dead. He died when the rooster crowed.
Ask that fisherman on the boat, who isn’t catching anything, what his name is and he couldn’t tell you. Is he Simon? Is he Peter? He’s just a guy who catches fish. Some no-named dude out on the lake trying to make ends meet.
Then Jesus enters, once again, into his story. And notice the words….
“Simon, son of John….”
Not Peter. I suppose if we wanted to be all prideful and hung up on titles we might place ourselves in Peter’s spot and feel wounded for him. Like this is somehow a slap in the face. A reminder that things didn’t go quite like he thought they would.
Or….
Or we could see them with the tenderness that is there. This is the same langauge that Jesus used all the way back in John 1:42. That’s when he first called him. That’s before he was “Peter”.
You see what Jesus is doing here is reaching into that deepest part of Simon Peter’s being. He’s going back to that little boy heart. And he’s asking the most important question that can ever be asked. “Do you love me?”
This is how I hear his question.
It’s like he’s saying, “I’m not asking Pastor Mike that question.” I’m asking Little Mikey. The “you” before you even started on this journey. Before you were married. Before you became a dad. Before you even thought about ministry. The you that was there broken, confused, hanging onto the last little bit of warmth in that shower, and crying out “God save me”.
Do you love me?
—
“Simon, son of John” isn’t a demotion. It’s a recommissioning.
This is where grace always meets us. It’s not at the top of our résumés, it’s not as PETER, but at the core of who we are.
I find it interesting that Jesus never changes back to Peter here in John 21. Even when he says “feed my sheep”. It’s almost like he’s saying, “You’ll tend to my lambs as Simon”. The call was never to a title. It was never to a platform. It was never even to a particular role. It was to love Jesus and love people.
That hasn’t changed. Not for Peter. Not for me. Not for you.
Maybe you’re not “Coach” anymore. Maybe you’re not “Mom” in the same way you once were. Maybe you’re not “Pastor.” Maybe you’re not “CEO.”
The truth is, I may never be “Pastor Mike” again. And I don’t have to be. That’s never been what it’s about anyways. But I will always be “Mike, son of Jeff”. That’s the one Jesus called by name and loved before I had anything to offer anyone. And it’s the one who, quite graciously, still is called to “feed sheep”. It just looks different than I thought it would.
And it’s wonderful.
Maybe you’ve lost a name too. Maybe the kids are grown. The company closed. The marriage ended. Or the dream died.
Hear this: Jesus still knows your name. Not the one on your business card or the one printed on the church bulletin. The real one. The one He spoke before you had a resume to protect or a reputation to defend.
And’s He’s still asking the same question, “Do you love me?”
If the answer is yes, even a trembling and tear-streaked yes, then the story isn’t over. It’s only just begun.
