A Call to Tend the Flock
Have you ever missed something important because you were too busy checking things off your to-do list? Have you ever looked back at a moment and thought, Jesus was there—and I didn’t see Him?
In John 21, we find a scene that is both hauntingly familiar and startlingly transformative. The disciples, disoriented after the resurrection, go back to what they know: fishing. It's understandable. When the world no longer makes sense, we return to routine. They spend the night casting nets but catch nothing. Then, as dawn breaks, a stranger on the shore calls out, “Friends, have you any fish?” They don’t recognize Him. It’s Jesus.
This moment is deeply human. The disciples, still recovering from the trauma of the cross and the shock of resurrection, fall back into familiar rhythms. Like many of us, they are overwhelmed, perhaps even numb. And so they miss Him—at first. It’s only in the abundance of fish, in the breaking of bread over a charcoal fire, that their eyes and hearts are opened. They recognize the sacred in what had seemed so mundane.
We, too, often miss Jesus in our daily lives. Overwhelmed by calendars, obligations, and endless noise, we walk past the sacred moments—encounters that could become holy—without a second glance. Jesus appears not just in thunderous miracles, but in the quiet voice of a friend, the stranger in need, the rhythm of shared meals, the hum of ordinary tasks.
The progressive theological lens reminds us that the divine is not far off, but deeply with us—in our bodies, in creation, in community. Jesus is not only found in worship services or on mountaintops, but in the office break room, in the classroom, in the hospital hallway, at the kitchen sink.
But the story doesn’t end with recognition. It moves to recommissioning. Around that charcoal fire (a mirror to Peter’s denial just chapters earlier), Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” Each “yes” is met with a command: Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.
Jesus doesn’t just call Peter back to personal devotion—He calls him into communal care. This is the heart of progressive discipleship: not merely believing rightly, but living lovingly. Jesus doesn’t say, “Do you love me? Then read more scripture.” He says, “Do you love me? Then take care of people.”
In a world rife with exploitation, violence, and indifference, the resurrected Christ is calling us—again and again—to tend the flock. This means centering our lives on radical compassion, justice, and inclusion. It means recognizing that our spiritual lives are inseparable from the way we treat the most vulnerable among us. Our love for Christ is measured not in sentiment, but in action.
So, what does it look like to live out this call today?
It looks like standing up for marginalized communities, feeding not only literal hunger but addressing systemic injustice.
It looks like reclaiming sacred rhythms, creating space in our day for reflection, prayer, and presence.
It looks like reimagining our vocations—not just in church, but in every space—as sacred opportunities to nurture life and love.
We won’t always get it right. Like Peter, we may falter. We may forget. But Jesus keeps showing up—in our failures, in our ordinary days, in our unanswered emails and messy kitchens. He calls us by name and gently redirects us: “Do you love me? Then feed my sheep.”
May we have eyes to see Him—and hearts to respond.
In God’s grip,
Pastor Chuck Church
