The Second Charcoal Fire

Steve Jobs was once the golden boy of Silicon Valley. In his twenties, he co-founded Apple in a garage. Within a few short years, it exploded into one of the most exciting companies in the world.

He was brilliant. Visionary. A little intense.

And by thirty, he had it all.

Then everything fell apart.

Not because of a competitor. Not because the market turned. But because of internal conflict. Jobs clashed with his own leadership team. The board sided against him. And in a move that stunned the tech world, Steve Jobs was fired from Apple.

Fired, from the company he started.

He later described it as devastating — public failure, personal humiliation, the kind of moment that replays in your mind over and over again. He said it felt like the center of his life had been ripped out.

So what do you do when you fall that hard?

For a while, he drifted. But then something unexpected happened. Instead of disappearing, he started again. He founded a small company called NeXT. He invested in a little animation studio that would later become Pixar. Slowly, quietly, he began rebuilding — not from success, but from failure.

And years later, in one of the most unexpected turns in business history, Apple bought NeXT. Which meant the company that once rejected him invited him back.

And this time, everything was different. Jobs didn't just return — he led Apple into its most iconic era: the iMac, the iPod, the iPhone. The man who had once been cast out became the one who would redefine the company's future.

Why that story grips us

Because deep down, we all understand that feeling. Not necessarily being fired from a billion-dollar company, but the experience of failure. The moment where something in your life collapses. A decision you regret. A denial. A compromise. A moment where you think:

I've gone too far. I've ruined this. I can't go back.

And the question quietly lingers: what happens after failure? Is there a way back — not just to where you were, but to something deeper?

In John 21, we meet a man standing in that exact place. Not in a boardroom, but on a shoreline. Not after losing a company, but after denying his Savior. And what happens next is even more surprising than Steve Jobs returning to Apple.

Where we pick up the story

Some background. By this point in John's Gospel, Jesus has been crucified and has risen — and He has already appeared to the disciples twice.

The first time, in John 20:19–23, the disciples were hiding behind locked doors. Jesus showed them His hands, and they were overjoyed.

The second time, Thomas — who had missed the first appearance, and who refused to believe the others when they told him Jesus was alive — finally saw Jesus for himself, and was invited to put his hand into the wound in His side. The wounds were not a sign of defeat. They were the opposite: proof of victory, on display. Thomas moved from doubt to faith.

Peter was present for both of those appearances. He had already seen the risen Jesus, twice. So here is the question worth sitting with before we read John 21: how do you think Peter felt, seeing Jesus alive, knowing exactly what he had done just days before?

1. The Futility of Self-Reliance

Peter's problem was never only that he failed. It's that after failing, he reached for self-reliance instead of grace.

Peter knew Jesus had risen from the dead. This was not a man struggling with doubt. Peter had seen the risen Christ. He had witnessed Jesus appear to the disciples. He had seen the wounds in His hands and His side.

So why, after everything that happened, did Peter say, “I'm going fishing”? Why did he return to his old life?

Because there was something heavier than doubt sitting on Peter's heart. It was shame.

Peter was the man who had confidently declared, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will” (Matthew 26:33). And even more boldly, “Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you” (Matthew 26:35).

Peter believed those words. He truly meant them. But just a few hours later, when Jesus needed him most, Peter denied Him three times. The man who said, “I will die for you,” became the man who said, “I do not know Him.”

Can you imagine what Peter must have felt? He had failed the person he loved most. Perhaps he wondered: can Jesus really forgive me? Can He still trust me? Can I still be useful to Him?

Peter had seen the empty tomb. He believed Jesus was alive. But he was not sure Jesus still wanted anything to do with him.

So Peter went back to what he knew. He went fishing.

Fishing was not just a hobby. It was his old identity — the place where he felt competent, where he knew what to do, where he did not have to face his failure.

But there is an interesting detail: “That night they caught nothing” (John 21:3). The thing Peter returned to for security could not give him what he needed. The thing he thought would bring comfort left him empty.

Perhaps that is where many of us find ourselves. When we carry shame, we often run somewhere. Some of us run into work — we fill every moment with productivity because if we stop, we have to face what is happening inside. Some of us run into distraction — we scroll, we entertain ourselves, we keep our minds busy so we do not have to deal with the pain. Some of us try to numb the hurt through a relationship, a substance, or success — anything that promises relief.

But no matter how far we run, the pain follows. The deepest wounds of the heart cannot be healed by the things we use to escape them.

Peter went fishing. But the empty nets were a reminder:

And that is where Jesus finds Peter. Not after Peter has fixed himself. Not after Peter has proven himself. But on a beach, with empty nets, a broken heart, and a charcoal fire waiting.

2. The Invitation of Grace

Grace does not begin with Peter climbing back to Jesus. Grace begins with Jesus coming to Peter.

After a night of empty nets, Jesus appears on the shore. But notice something interesting: the disciples do not recognize Him immediately. Jesus calls out, “Friends, haven't you any fish?” “No,” they answer. He says, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some” (John 21:5–6).

They obey, and suddenly the net is so full of fish that they cannot even haul it in. John immediately recognizes what is happening: “It is the Lord!” (John 21:7).

Why does this scene feel familiar? Because it is. Years earlier, Peter had experienced something almost identical. In Luke 5, Peter had spent all night fishing and caught nothing. Then Jesus told him to put down his nets. The catch was so large that the nets began to break. That was the moment Jesus first called Peter.

And now, years later, Jesus does it again. Why? Because Jesus is reminding Peter: “Peter, you are not just a fisherman who failed. You are still the man I called.” Jesus is not introducing Himself to Peter for the first time. He is reminding Peter of a story that started long before his failure.

Jesus knows how to get our attention

One of the beautiful things about Jesus is that He does not speak to everyone in exactly the same way. Jesus knows us personally — our history, our memories, the little details that speak directly to our hearts. Sometimes God uses things that are meaningful only to us.

For me, I have noticed how God often uses numbers — especially my birthday — as reminders of His presence. When my family moved into our new house, we had a neighbor. One day, I felt God impress upon my heart that perhaps one reason He placed us there was because of this neighbor. And then God gave me what felt like a very personal confirmation: my birthday fell on the same day as this neighbor's wedding anniversary.

After many years of being neighbors, she became pregnant. During the pregnancy, they discovered the baby had Down syndrome. It was a very difficult moment for her. She struggled to accept it. She wondered if she had the strength to walk through what was ahead. My wife came alongside her during that season — praying with her, encouraging her, walking with her through the fear and uncertainty. Eventually, she chose to keep the baby.

Raising a child with Down syndrome is not always easy. There are challenges and unknowns. But today, she is learning to trust that God will provide the grace and strength she needs for each day.

Jesus knows exactly how to reach each of us. So perhaps the question we need to ask is: what is God's language of love to you? How does He remind you that He sees you? What are the moments where God has gently whispered, “I am here. I have not forgotten you”?

Jesus provides before He corrects

There is another detail in this passage that is easy to overlook. When Peter comes to shore, Jesus has already prepared breakfast: “When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread” (John 21:9).

Jesus could have started with a conversation about Peter's failure. He could have said, “Peter, we need to talk about what happened.” But He doesn't. First, He feeds him.

Why? Because Jesus knows Peter is tired. Jesus knows Peter is hungry. Jesus knows Peter is human. Before Jesus restores Peter spiritually, He cares for him physically.

There is something deeply comforting about this. The God of the universe says, “If you are tired, come and have breakfast. If you are carrying a heavy burden, come to Me.” Jesus does not treat us like machines. He knows our bodies. He knows our limitations. He knows that sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is rest, eat, and receive His care.

This is also why, when we share the gospel with others, we cannot care only about their spiritual needs while ignoring their physical ones. Jesus fed the hungry. Jesus healed the sick. Jesus cared for people's practical needs. Sometimes meeting someone's physical need is what opens the door to speak into their spiritual need. Grace often arrives through very ordinary things: a meal, a conversation, a listening ear, a person willing to walk beside someone in their pain.

Different, yet recognizable

John gives us another fascinating detail: “None of the disciples dared ask him, ‘Who are you?’ They knew it was the Lord” (John 21:12). That is a strange sentence — why would they want to ask?

Because something about Jesus was different. The resurrected Jesus was not simply a resuscitated body. He had entered a new reality. He was the same Jesus, but transformed. They did not recognize Him immediately with their eyes. But they recognized Him through His actions — the miraculous catch, the familiar voice, the breakfast prepared on the shore. They knew: this is Jesus.

Perhaps that is how Jesus often works in our lives. Sometimes we do not recognize Him immediately. But later we look back and realize: He was there. He was guiding me. He was preparing something for me.

Jesus has found Peter. Jesus has fed Peter. Jesus has reminded Peter of his calling. But there is still one thing Jesus needs to do. Before Peter can be sent out to feed the sheep, Jesus must first heal the shepherd.

3. The Restoration of Love

Jesus doesn't heal Peter by avoiding the memory of his failure. He walks Peter right back to it — but this time, with grace.

There is one small detail in this passage we must not miss. John tells us, “When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread” (John 21:9). At first glance, it seems ordinary — Jesus made breakfast, there was fish, there was bread, there was a fire.

But John chooses his words very carefully. The Greek word used for “fire of burning coals” is anthrakia. Interestingly, this word appears only twice in the entire New Testament.

The first time is not here. The only other time is in John 18, on the night Jesus was arrested. Peter was standing in the courtyard of the high priest. Jesus had just been taken away. Peter was afraid. He was watching from a distance. And John tells us: “It was cold, and the servants and officials stood around a charcoal fire (anthrakia) they had made to keep warm. Peter also was standing with them, warming himself” (John 18:18).

The same word. The same kind of fire.

Now we come to one of the most tender conversations in all of Scripture. Jesus turns to Peter and asks, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” (John 21:15).

In the Greek, Jesus uses the word agape — the highest form of love, a self-giving, sacrificial, unconditional love. So Jesus is asking: Peter, do you love me with total, self-giving devotion?

Peter answers, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” But the word Peter uses is not agape. It is philo — a brotherly love, a deep affection, but not the same as total surrender.

Peter is no longer the man who says, “I will die for you.” He has been humbled. He cannot bring himself to claim that kind of love anymore. In a sense, Peter is saying: Lord, I care for you deeply. But I cannot claim more than that.

Jesus asks a second time: “Simon son of John, do you agape me?” Again, Peter answers, “Lord, you know that I philo you.” Same pattern. Jesus asks for the highest love. Peter responds with a lesser one.

Then comes the third question — but this time, Jesus changes the word: “Simon son of John, do you philo me?” (John 21:17). He comes down to Peter's level. It is as if Jesus is saying, “Peter, can you even say that you love me as a friend?”

And this is where Peter breaks. John tells us Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time — not just because it was repeated three times, but because Jesus had lowered the question. It touched the very place of Peter's failure.

So Peter replies, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.” Peter no longer appeals to his own strength. He appeals to Jesus' knowledge. He is saying: Lord, I don't even trust my own heart anymore — but You know me. You know what is there.

Grace meets us where we are

There is something incredibly beautiful happening here. Jesus does not demand from Peter what Peter cannot give. He meets him exactly where he is. Peter cannot say agape. So Jesus accepts philo.

This is grace. Jesus is not looking for perfect words. He is looking for a real heart.

Three denials. Three restorations.

Each time Peter says, “I love you,” Jesus responds: “Feed my lambs.” “Take care of my sheep.” “Feed my sheep.”

Three denials. Three restorations. But notice what Jesus is doing. He is not just forgiving Peter — He is reinstating him. Jesus entrusts His people to Peter. The man who failed publicly is now called to lead publicly. The man who denied Jesus is now called to care for Jesus' flock.

The scandal of grace

If we were writing the story, we might say: let Peter prove himself first. Let him serve quietly for a few years. Let him rebuild his reputation.

But Jesus does the opposite. He restores him fully. Why? Because our standing with God is not based on our performance. It is based on His grace.

What do we do when we fail?

We run back to Him. Not away from Him. We do not clean ourselves up first. We do not try to fix everything before returning. We come as we are.

And what if we fail again? Then we do the same thing again. We run back to Him. Again. And again. And again. Because His grace is not exhausted by our repeated failure.

Our true identity

This is something we must understand deeply. Your identity is not “the one who failed.” Your identity is a child of God. You are accepted, not because you are strong, not because you are consistent, not because you always get it right — but because of the grace of God, through Jesus Christ. Because of His sacrifice. Because of His love.

And there will be moments when the enemy whispers, “Look at you. You failed again. This is the tenth time. You call yourself a Christian?” In those moments, we do not argue based on our performance. We answer based on our identity:

Yes, I have failed. But I am still a child of God. He is still my Father. And nothing can separate me from His love.

On that beach, beside a charcoal fire, Peter thought his story had ended in failure. But Jesus was not finished. The same Jesus Peter denied is the One who restores him.

4. The Freedom from Comparison

When we do not understand who we are in Christ, we go looking for our acceptance and significance somewhere else. Often, it shows up as comparison. We look at someone else and envy their talent, or quietly wish we could be as popular as them, or as eloquent as them.

Jesus gives a prophecy about the way Peter would die (John 21:18–19). We know from history that Peter was martyred, and that he chose to be crucified upside down. Peter finally was able to agape Jesus. He died a sacrificial death.

In verse 21, Peter asks about John: “Lord, what about him?” Peter wanted to compare himself to John. Jesus' reply was simple: “What is that to you? You must follow me” (John 21:22).

God has given each of us something. All He requires is that we are faithful to Him with what He has given us. To the one He gave one thousand talents, He does not require the same as the one who was given five thousand. We are equally loved. In the eyes of God, He loves both the same.

We can be secure in Christ. God did not make a mistake when He created you. We do not have to compare ourselves to others. Jesus tells us: follow me.

Run toward grace

Let me conclude by saying this: our identity is in Christ, as children of the Most High God. That does not depend on our performance. The Father loves you. If you have been wondering whether He will receive you — because you have failed Him, or because you are ashamed of what you have done — there is good news. He is waiting for you.

Run towards grace.

Because of Jesus' death on the cross, His blood secures our salvation — we are secure in Him. And because “God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:6), our significance and authority are in Christ. Notice the tense — raised, and seated. Past tense. This isn't a promise about the future. We already have this authority and significance, now.