Jesus' Enduring Questions

Jesus’ Enduring Questions: Do you love me? John 21:15-19

During this Lenten season, we’ve been exploring Jesus’ penetrating questions throughout this series, the way Jesus comes to us not first with answers, but with questions that expose our hearts. Let’s consider today’s question found in John 21:1-19

But to get there, we need to feel where the disciples are. It's after the crucifixion. They watched Jesus die on Friday. They spent the weekend in their feelings -- grief, confusion, fear. And then something impossible happened. Jesus appeared to them in the upper room. He breathed on them and imparted the Holy Spirit. He was alive.

But then he left. He disappeared. And now what? The shock of the resurrection is behind them, but they're still trying to make sense of everything. So they return to what they know. They return to what feels comfortable. Peter says, "I'm going fishing," and the others say, "We'll go with you."

This is where we pick up in John 21. This is the third appearance in John’s gospel. And it's a different kind of appearance than the upper room. The upper room was dramatic -- locked doors, sudden presence, the breath of God. This one is quieter. They're out on the water. They've been fishing all night. They've caught nothing.

And then someone calls out from the shore: "Friends, haven't you caught any fish?" They say no. The voice says, "Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you'll find some." They do, and the net fills with so many fish they can't haul it in.

That's when John says it. "It is the Lord."

And Peter -- the moment he hears those words -- he wraps his outer garment around himself and plunges into the water.

I wonder if the reason that Peter plunges into the water ahead of the other disciples was borne of his need to try to make things right with Jesus. He swims the 90 meters instead of waiting in the boat with the others. Does this give us a clue about the condition of his heart, a picture into his mind. Maybe, if I can get a moment alone with him, I can explain why I abandoned him. Maybe, I can finally tell him that I was scared to die. Maybe, just maybe.

Friends, if you are like me, you have people in your life who left before you could make things right again, and you are full of regret, with pain, and sorrow. So, when John said, "It is the Lord." Peter, thought, this is my moment. I can make this right. I can fix what I screwed up. I just need a moment alone with Jesus.

15When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?”

Maybe Peter wanted to start the conversation, to try to make things right, but Jesus has his own questions for Peter.

Let's consider the humanity of Jesus for a moment. He was hurt, not just in death, but he was wounded emotionally. In this way, Jesus shares in our own experiences of betrayal, abandonment, not just by his friends, but also by "his parent."

Where most of us don't see our betrayal and abandonment coming, Jesus had a sense of what was going to unfold, and knew that he needed "ride or dies" to share the burden with and instead of sharing the burden, his friends denied even knowing him.

So, maybe Jesus' question to Simon Peter is about more than just restoring or forgiving Peter, maybe it's a really real question for Jesus. I hear Jesus saying, "Simon, I was hurt by you, betrayed by you, abandoned by you.So, Simon, can I trust myself with you?”

Simon son of John, do you truly love me more than these?

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

Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."

There is so much hope in this exchange, I can hardly contain myself. Jesus, hurt both emotionally and physically, is here before his friend, who betrayed and abandoned him, offering a chance to make things right. There's so much hope here for me because in this exchange I hear that no matter what we’ve done, no matter where we’ve been, no matter what, we have an opportunity for restoration.

16Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

What did Peter know about himself before this interchange on the beach with Jesus? Does this moment help reveal that Peter was trusting himself and his assumptions about how God would act on his behalf? Was he remembering when he rebuked Jesus for saying that he had to die? Peter rebuked Jesus because only failed messiahs died on the cross in Rome. "Never, Lord! This shall never happen to you!" No ambiguity there.

Here's Jesus right here before him having gone through death to the other side. Resurrection.

Maybe when Jesus asks, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Jesus is asking, are you still trusting yourself and your assumption about how God will act, or are you willing to trust me now?

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

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

Instead of this painful exchange between Peter and Jesus, where Jesus unpacks for Peter all of the ways he has let Jesus down, I'd prefer for Jesus to just forgive and restore Peter. But the restoration actually takes some effort.

As we read this story, we are moving back and forth in time. Because of John, we have a lot of insight into this exchange. At this point, I wonder what Simon Peter is hearing when Jesus asks a second time, "Simon Peter, do you love me?" Has he grasped that Jesus is asking him the questions that were put to Simon at the fire when he denied Jesus three times. Or is Peter thinking about all of the times he asserted that he would never fail or abandon Jesus? Or was he remembering when he wept bitterly (Luke 22:62) after Jesus made eye contact with him as he was being led away.

Peter 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?”

You can imagine Peter standing there, having denied the Lord three times, having seen all the things he did, heard all the things he did, having participated with Jesus in his public ministry: having seen the miracles, perform some himself, walked on water, seen the transfiguration all of that is coming back to Peter… Peter is realizing that he is ruined, he is broken, it invokes an emotional response, of course Peter is hurt… he has seen what he has done, maybe it's only after the third time does he finally get it… he sees how he has walked away… how he let his fear rule him…

I believe it takes three times before Peter is able to access the pain and hurt he caused Jesus.

So Peter answers the Lord, "you know all things…" It's his plea, "I can’t say it any better, I don’t know how to express it anymore, I get it. I see the pain I caused you. I am sorry that I have walked away, you know that I love you."

Jesus says, “feed my sheep.”

I understand Peter‘s fear of state sponsored violence because of who he is, because of where he is, and because of who he associates with. But Jesus in the resurrection says to Peter, and to us, you don’t have to fear death. For Peter the inevitability of death was the thing that seemed unmovable in his life. God, in Jesus through the resurrection, says death is nothing to be afraid of. Go back into the world with a very dangerous gift: hope in the power of God.

Resurrected Jesus meets us where we are. He walked along the road, he had breakfast with his those who betrayed him. There isn’t a place that you “should” be to meet Jesus, there is only the place you are, and the way Jesus is present for you in that moment. There is nothing about you, your family, your relationship status, your education, your finances, your appearance, your lifestyle, that puts you off limits to Jesus showing up and asking,"do you love me?"

We've been exploring Jesus' penetrating questions throughout this series, the way he comes to us not first with answers, but with inquiries that expose our hearts. Like God in the garden, moving toward Adam when Adam was hiding, Jesus approaches us with questions that give us a clear chance to practice honesty and find intimacy with him. And today, he asks one of the most unsettling questions in the Gospels:

"Why do you call me, 'Lord, Lord,' and do not do what I say?"

Let's sit with this for a moment, because it's more layered than it first appears. The repetition, kyrios, kyrios, carries both authority and intimacy. This isn't formal, liturgical language. It is personal, even desperate. These aren't outsiders Jesus is addressing. These are people who know him, claim him, call on him. They show up. They listen. They use all the right words.

And their words are correct. That is the thing we need to understand. Jesus isn't saying their theology is wrong. Their confession, "You are Lord," is exactly right. They have what the early church would come to call orthodoxy, right belief. They know who Jesus is. They can name it. They can sing it. They can say it with conviction, even with tears. But Jesus sees something missing.

The word he uses for "do," poieite, is present tense, ongoing, habitual action. He is not asking for one dramatic moment of obedience. He is asking about the shape of a life. He is asking about orthopraxis, right practice, consistent behavior that flows from what we say we believe. And here is the tension Jesus is naming, one of the deepest struggles of the spiritual life. It is entirely possible to believe the right things and not live them. You can sing "Jesus is Lord" on Sunday and ignore him on Monday. You can feel moved in worship and remain unchanged in your relationships. You can be right about Jesus and still resist him.

Now watch what Jesus does next. He does not give a lecture. He tells a story about two builders. And do not miss this. Both builders hear his words. Both are in the room. Both are part of the community. Both are building something with their lives. This is not a story about believers and unbelievers. It is a story about two kinds of disciples.

The first builder comes, hears, and puts Jesus' words into practice. The Greek word for "comes," erchomenos, suggests ongoing relationship, not occasional visits. This person is in consistent, intentional connection with Jesus. And they dig down deep, eskapsen, costly, intentional work. They go beneath the surface, beneath what is convenient, beneath what is quick, and they lay their foundation on rock.

The second builder hears the same words. Maybe they are even taking notes or sharing insights afterward. Maybe they feel inspired in the moment. But they do not dig. They build on the surface. They go with what is convenient. The same words are heard, the same houses are built, but the outcomes are completely different when the storm hits.

So what is the difference? It is not simply doing more religious activities or trying harder. The difference is something deeper than behavior. It is what I would call orthopathy, right heart. Orthopathy is the kind of heart that actually wants to dig. Orthodoxy says, "Jesus is Lord." Orthopraxis says, "So I live differently." Orthopathy says, "I actually want to follow him." It is the posture of the heart that connects belief to action.

It is the affection, the reverence, the longing for God that makes obedience more than duty. It makes it response. It is why one builder digs and the other does not. Not because one has more willpower, but because one has been captured by the reality of who Jesus is. The builder who digs deep is not just more disciplined. They are more oriented. Their love for Jesus makes the digging worth it. Their reverence for his words makes obedience feel like life rather than obligation.

The builder who stays on the surface still has intact orthodoxy. They can say "Lord, Lord" and mean it in the moment. But something in the heart has not caught up to the confession. The belief is real, but it has not gone deep enough to reshape how they live.

And this is where Jesus' story becomes urgent, because he does not say if the storms come. He says when. The storm might look like a diagnosis you did not expect, a relationship that fractures, a moment when your faith feels thin, or a season where what you believed does not seem to hold. Both houses face the same storm. One stands, and one collapses completely. The storm does not create the problem. It reveals what was already true about the foundation.

This is why the integration of orthodoxy, orthopraxis, and orthopathy matters so much. This is not a theological exercise. It is storm preparation. What sustains you is not just what you believe about Jesus, and not just your habits of obedience, but whether your whole self, mind, heart, and life, has been built on the rock of who he is.

Now let me be clear, because this can start to sound like a spiritual performance review, and that is not what Jesus is doing. Remember the context. Jesus has just been teaching about God's radical, indiscriminate grace, blessing the poor, the hungry, and those who mourn. He has taught us to love enemies, to not judge others, and to deal with the log in our own eye before the speck in someone else's.

This is not legalism. This is love. The foundation of rock is not our moral achievement. The foundation is Jesus himself, the solid ground of God's unchanging love for us in Christ. We do not dig deep to earn his affection. We dig deep because of his affection. Orthopathy, right heart, is not something we manufacture through effort. It is something the Spirit cultivates in us as we remain connected to Jesus.

And that is the good news inside this challenging passage. The rock is already there. You do not have to go find it. Jesus is inviting you to build on what is already solid, his word, his character, his faithfulness. The digging is simply clearing away the sand we have been building on instead.

From that secure foundation, we can risk honesty. We can acknowledge the gap between our confession and our practice without drowning in shame, because our identity is not based on our consistency. It is based on his faithfulness.

So Jesus' question stands before us today. Why do you call me "Lord, Lord," and do not do what I say? It is not an accusation. It is an invitation.

Maybe your orthodoxy is strong, but your orthopraxis has drifted. You know what is true, but you have not been living it. That is not condemnation. That is the starting place for grace. Maybe your practices are there, but your heart has gone cold. The doing is present, but the delight is missing. Jesus wants to meet you there too.

Or maybe you just feel the gap, the exhausting space between who you say you are and how you actually show up. Jesus is not asking for instant perfection. He is asking for honesty and a willingness to start digging.

Digging might look like forgiving someone you have been avoiding. It might look like telling the truth where you have been managing appearances. It might look like returning to prayer, not out of obligation, but to reconnect your heart.

The rock is already there. You do not have to find it. You just have to decide what you are going to build your life on.

Summary of Church Survey

What suggestions do you have to help A2CC grow and mature?

1. Top response: Deeper community and relational connection
2. Strong themes: More serving in our neighborhoods and cities together, Increased spiritual depth and Christ-centered formation, Clearer communication and increase in clarity on why/how things operate as they do

What do you appreciate most about A2CC

1. Top response: our diversity, particularly that together we reflect the

diversity of God’s kingdom

1. Strong themes: authenticity and “come as you are” culture, justice oriented church and servant leadership

Other insights…

What are the top practices that have impacted your life with God:

Top responses: personal prayer, reflection and worship (76%) and serving others (72%).

Next most common: spiritual friendships (60%), time spent in nature (54%)

I know what our church values & what we’re attempting to do and be in God’s world – 60% said yep & I can explain it to someone else; 37% said generally yes, but I couldn’t explain it; 3% said I don’t know what we value or where we’re going

Two Easter Invitations that might require planning:

1. Participating in the Easter Offering. Every financial gift given to A2CC between 3/29 - 4/5 will go toward supporting neighbors who’ve immigrated
2. Hosting a meal on or near Easter. Invite people in your circles to share a meal, trusting that generous hospitality is a means by which grace spreads.

Matthew 16:13-18

When Jesus came to the area of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” They answered, “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

And Jesus answered him, “You are blessed, Simon son of Jonah, because flesh and blood did not reveal this to you, but my Father in heaven! And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overpower it.”

Jesus has taken them to this specific place to ask very important questions in this culminating moment. The geography is adding a particular oomph to his words.

• Cesarea Philippi: known for worship of Greek god Pan, worship of Ceasar, home to “the gate of hell”

What if there are multiple meanings here…

• The church will be built through Simon Peter (whose new name means rock) and other ordinary people like him who believe Jesus is the Christ
• The church will be built on the actual rock they’re standing on and places like it– in the spiritually darkest places, the places furthest from religious life.

Jesus is saying…

I am more powerful than any other god, I am more powerful than any force of darkness, I am more powerful than any evil in or around you. My church, the global community of everyone who is in Christ, will not be stopped by darkness or evil.

Today, how would you answer Jesus asking you, “Who do you say I am?”

We continue sitting with Jesus' enduring questions that expose reality and invite us to repentance this Lenten season. Dave contrasts the two banquets in Mark 6—Herod’s feast of power and violence, and Jesus’ feast of compassion and life—to show how God’s kingdom confronts evil differently.

Jesus invites his followers to become “under-shepherds” who both resist external injustice and cultivate soft, compassionate hearts, refusing the false choice between social action and personal holiness. By asking, “What do you have? Go and see,” Jesus calls us to offer what we have to him so he can multiply it into a kingdom banquet of care for the vulnerable.

We’re grateful for you and the gifts of God that you bring with you into this space.

As a church, we want to live in God's unfolding story, being transformed by Jesus, learning to belong to each other across our differences, as God invites us into freedom, joy, and boundless generosity.

We pray that whether this is your first time with us this morning, or you've been a part of our community/ for a while, that you will feel the invitation of the Holy Spirit to join in with our vision.

If you are looking for a church home, we would love to become your church home, and I in particular, would love to become one of your pastors.

In the garden, when Adam was hiding in shame, God did not thunder condemnation from a distance. God moved toward him and asked a question: "Where are you?" Not because God lacked information—but because Adam lacked honesty. The question was an invitation. An invitation to come out of hiding. To tell the truth. To return.

Today we are launching our Lenten sermon series, and throughout this season, we plan to sit with the questions of Jesus. Not to extract answers. Not to perform spiritually. But to let Jesus ask us what he asks—because Jesus does not question in order to trap us. He questions in order to restore us.

We're about ten days into Lent now. Maybe you've already broken your Lent promise. Maybe you never made one to begin with. Maybe you're wondering if this whole thing is just spiritual gymnastics that doesn't really change anything.

But what if Lent isn't about subtraction—it's about exposure? What if it's about letting Jesus ask us the question that cuts through our performances and gets to the heart of what we actually want?

In John chapter one, two disciples begin trailing behind Jesus. They are curious. Hungry. Searching. And Jesus turns, sees them following him, and asks a question that is both simple and disarming: "What do you want?" That is the first recorded question Jesus asks in John's Gospel. Not "What do you believe?" Not "Are you morally qualified?" Not "Do you understand the Trinity?" He asks, "What do you want?" Discipleship begins in desire.

Many of us were taught to distrust our desires. We were warned that desire is dangerous, that holiness means suppressing what we want. But Jesus does not shame their desire; he surfaces it. Desire is not the enemy of the spiritual life. Disordered desire is. Beneath our surface wants—success, comfort, security, influence—there is a deeper ache: to be seen, to be known, to belong, to matter, to be loved. The question is not whether you desire. The question is what you believe will satisfy you.

If Jesus stood in front of you this morning and asked, "What do you want?" how would you answer? Would you give the church answer? "I want to grow." "I want to be closer to God." But if we're honest, sometimes what we want is control. Sometimes we want to win. Sometimes we want to preserve our way of life. Sometimes we want safety more than we want surrender. Sometimes we want to be right more than we want to be loving. Lent is the courage to let that surface without pretending.

The disciples' response is interesting. They don't articulate their desire directly. They say, "Rabbi, where are you staying?" It's almost indirect, almost shy. And Jesus responds, "Come and see." He does not give them a lecture. He offers proximity. "Come and see." And John tells us they went and stayed with him that day. The beginning of transformation is not information; it is staying. Lent is an invitation to stay. To slow down long enough to notice what actually drives us. To resist numbing ourselves. To pay attention.

Here's the thing about Jesus's question: it's not meant to be answered immediately. It's meant to work on us, to follow us home, to sit with us in the quiet moments, to surface in our prayers and our conversations with friends. "What do you want?" is not a question you answer once and move on. It reshapes as you grow, deepens as you mature, reveals new layers as God strips away old ones. This is why Lent is forty days, not four. The questions that matter can't be rushed.

After Andrew spends the day with Jesus, the first thing he does is go find his brother Simon and say, "We have found the Messiah." When you encounter something real, you share it. Not out of obligation, but out of overflow. Desire clarified becomes witness. If we allow Jesus to reorder our desires this Lent, it will shape how we show up in our homes, in our relationships, in our neighborhoods, in this city. We will not show up driven by fear or scarcity. We will show up as people who have found something better. And people who have found something better are not defensive; they are generous.

And then something remarkable happens. When Andrew brings Simon to Jesus, Jesus immediately speaks identity over him: "You are to be called Cephas"—Peter, the rock. Jesus sees who Simon will become before Simon even knows who he is right now. He calls him by a name he hasn't earned, toward a future he can't imagine. The name is a promise, not an instant transformation. It will take years of walking with Jesus—years of failure and forgiveness—before Simon grows into the name Peter.

But this begins with honesty. Some of us have followed Jesus for years without ever answering this question truthfully. We followed for belonging. We followed because it was expected. We followed because it was culturally stable. We followed because we were afraid not to. Lent is not about shame; it is about courage. The courage to say, "Jesus, I want you—but I also want comfort." "I want your kingdom—but I also want control." "I want love—but I also want to win." And the good news is this: when you tell the truth, Jesus does not recoil. He says, "Come and see.”

In a few minutes, we're going to come to the communion table. And I want you to hear Jesus asking his question here too: "What do you want?" God is a God of the Real, not the Ideal. Don't come to this table with spiritual performance. Come with your actual hunger, your real questions, your half-understood desires.

As we begin this series, we will sit with Jesus's enduring questions. Why are you so afraid? How many loaves do you have? Who do you say I am? Why do you call me Lord and not do what I say? Do you love me? These are not abstract theological puzzles. They are diagnostic questions. They expose fear, scarcity, loyalty, hypocrisy, love. And if we let them—if we allow Jesus to ask us these questions in their context and answer them honestly—they will shape how we show up in our daily lives and neighborhoods. They will make us a transformed people.

So today, we begin here. Jesus turns toward you. He sees you. And he asks, "What do you want?" Not what should you want. Not what do you think I want you to say. What do you want? Let that question linger this week. Pay attention to when you feel most alive and when you feel life draining out of you. That will reveal something about your desires. And then bring it into the light. Because the same God who moved toward Adam in the garden is moving toward you now—not to condemn, but to restore. Not to shame, but to invite. And the invitation is simple: come and see.

Amen.

Before Genesis 3– God is creating, naming and blessing. There is abundance and enough.

Genesis 3:1-13

Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’” “You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves. Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. But the Lord God called to the man, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.” And he said, “Who told you that you were naked?Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?” The man said, “The woman you put here with me—she gave me some fruit from the tree, and I ate it.” Then the Lord God said to the woman, “What is this you have done?” The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”

This snake is “arun”.Modern English translations translate that Hebrew word as crafty, which for many has a negative connotation. Many biblical scholars would argue that a better translation of this into contemporary language would be something closer to “wise, smart or skilled”.

Did God really say… wonders the snake. His first words put God’s words on trial. If he was really interested in getting clear about what God said, why didn’t the snake just go talk with God himself? No, no. There is something more than information that the snake is after.

Then the deception continues. The snake says, “You’re not going to die. God’s telling you a lie. God knows that when you eat this fruit, your eyes will be opened and you’ll become like God.”

The accusation is so thick here: God is holding out on you, God is keeping something good from you, God cannot be trusted…

But friends, here’s the tragic, ironic reality:

• The snake said that eating this fruit would make them like God. Wait a second, whose image are they made in?
• Eve and Adam are already like God– they are made in God’s own image! The snake tricks them into trying to take for themselves something they already possess.

Then their eyes are opened. Instead of being naked and unashamed like they were in chapter 2, their nakedness now fills them with shame. They take leaves, perhaps from the very tree they just ate from, and they make clothes for themselves.

God shows up for an afternoon stroll. How does God show up?

• God comes with three questions– Where are you? Who told you? What is this you have done?
• God’s questions are about: Absence, Authority, and Agency
• God comes with questions that expose reality and offer a pathway for restoration. Each question is an opportunity for the humans to practice the honesty that leads to repentance and intimacy with their Creator.

Adam and Eve are stuck in their shame: they hide and they blame

As we move into Lent this year, a season for repentance, for some of us, the questions God asked Adam and Eve would be a beautiful starting point for considering how we might practice repentance and create room to be with God on purpose this Lent, for the first time or the 40th time. Where are you? Who told you? What is this you’ve done?

I want to call us to be radically honest with God about what’s not working in our lives, where we are addicted, disengaged, bitter, hoarding, controlling, and taking, so that we can practice genuine repentance that leads to restored intimacy with God. The God who comes looking for us, every day, wondering if we might like to take a walk together.