When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”
- John 21:15-19

Heroes returning from a great quest often find that they face a last obstacle at home. In Homer's Odyssey, Odysseus returns to Ithaca after long years away to overcome Penelope's worthless suitors. After the great victory, the hobbit heroes of Lord of the Rings have to come home and deal with the mess on their doorstep. The great victories have to be applied to ordinary life. That's what this series has been about.

So: Peter. Impetuous, loyal, often wrong, occasionally magnificent. In Luke 5, the first time Jesus produces a miraculous catch, Peter's response is to fall at Jesus' knees and beg him to go away - "I am a sinful man!" The presence of Jesus overwhelms him. But in John 21, the same kind of miracle happens, and Peter throws himself into the water and swims to shore as fast as he can. Same Jesus. Same basic situation. Completely different Peter.

What changed? He's learned something about grace - of how in Jesus, the holiness and transcendence of God can be enjoyed, not feared. Theologian Miroslav Volf about the two wrong pictures of God we tend to carry: the Santa Claus god who gives and demands nothing, and the wrathful moralist just waiting for you to slip up. Jesus blows both of those apart. He is genuinely holy - and genuinely loving. Both at once.

Then we have the three-fold "do you love me?" conversation on the beach. It's a deliberate echo of Peter's three denials around the charcoal fire. But Jesus isn't rubbing Peter's nose in his failure - he's restoring him. He's asking: Do you understand now? Do you see what I came to do? And he recommissions Peter. In a mirror of his first calling in Luke as a fisher of people, he is now called as a shepherd of people.

It turns out that failure isn't the barrier to being used by God. If anything, it might be the condition. Only when we learn that our efforts for the cause of Jesus are neither sufficient nor the thing he wants from us, are we ready to serve. Like Peter, you will most probably break down under pressure. What matters most is that we love him.

Stammering Moses became God's great prophet. Annoying little brother David became Israel's great king. Peter failed spectacularly - and became the rock on which the church was built.

What could he do with you?

On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish leaders, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.

Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”

- John 20:19-23

What do you think to church? Do you like it?

It might be interesting for you to know that C. S. Lewis, the twentieth century's greatest Christian apologist, didn’t like it at all - at least at when he first became a Christian. He spoke about “the fussy, time-wasting botheration of it all… the crowds, the umbrellas, the notices, the bustle, the perpetual arranging and organizing…”

The thought that following Jesus is something we can do on our own is still with us. But that misses something essential about what the resurrection does in the world.

In John 20, Mary meets the risen Jesus and clings to him. But Jesus tells her, “Do not hold on to me.” Mary is trying to return to the old world, but a new world is breaking in. The resurrection is not a repair job on the past but the beginning of “New Creation” - a completely transformed reality. And this New Creation requires a new kind of human being.

Humanity as it currently exists is deeply broken by sin - not just individual wrongdoing, but a condition that shapes and distorts everything. If the world is to be renewed, people must be renewed too.

Jesus begins with his disciples. He appears among them, speaks peace (“shalom” - wholeness, restoration), shows his wounds, commissions them, and breathes the Holy Spirit into them. This is creation itself: just as God breathed life into humanity in Genesis, Jesus breathes new life into his followers.

The same pattern of encounter, transformation, and sending that we see with Mary is repeated with the disciples. They are gathered, restored, and then sent out to invite others into this New Creation.

Like the disciples, we meet every Sunday - every resurrection day! We meet because a new way of being human is being formed in us. The “botheration” of it all - the gatherings, rhythms, and structures - is the place where Jesus meets people, brings life to what is dead, and sends them out again. It is where broken people receive peace, purpose, and the Spirit.

In other words, if Jesus rose from the dead… go to church!

Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.

They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”

“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realise that it was Jesus.

He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”

Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”

Jesus said to her, “Mary.”

She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).

Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

- John 20:11-18

The historian Jaroslav Pelikan once said this: "If Christ is risen, nothing else matters. And if Christ is not risen, nothing else matters".

Either the resurrection changes everything, or nothing ultimately has meaning. If Christ is not raised, then death wins. Injustice stands. Love loses. Even the best human life - a healer, a teacher, a forgiver - is crushed. Why? Because that's how the world works. Didn't you know? Contrary to what Martin Luther King Jr. suggested, the arc of history doesn’t bend toward justice after all.

But if Christ is raised, then history itself has been split open. The future renewal of all things - where death is defeated - has broken into the present. The resurrection isn’t a comforting idea; it’s a total reordering of reality.

In John 20, Mary finally recognises the risen Jesus, and she clings to him. Of course she does. She thought she had lost him forever. This is relief, restoration, a return to what was.

Strangely, Jesus says, “Don’t hold on to me.” Why does he say that? It sounds so cold. But perhaps Mary is trying to get her old life back, while Jesus is offering her a completely new one.

The resurrection is not a rewind; it’s a revolution. The past hasn’t been undone. The pain was real. The cross still happened. But something entirely new has begun—what the Bible calls New Creation. Not a patched-up life, but a transformed life. So “don’t hold on” is actually an invitation. Don’t cling to what was. Don’t reduce Jesus to comfort or familiarity. Step forward into something you don’t yet understand.

That lands uncomfortably. Most of us don’t want a new world—we want our world, just fixed. Safer. Happier. More in control. But resurrection life doesn’t work like that. It asks you to loosen your grip - on your past, on your sin, on your pain, and on your assumptions about what a good life looks like.

And then you are propelled outwards: go! Mary is comforted - but so much more. She is sent. She becomes the first witness - the apostle to the apostles - stepping into a future with no map. That invitation is for us, too. If Christ is risen... don’t hold on to the old world, to your old self. If you can let go, you can step into the New Creation, here and now.