Anthraxian, not symbolic, not figurative. Anthraxian
means burning coals, actual heat, actual fire.
If you don't know the word, you don't know the
text. Today, we are walking into something simple
and unsettling at the same time. The questions
Jesus asks, not the answers, not the miracles,
the questions. Because when Jesus opens his mouth,
he doesn't always thunder. Sometimes he just
looks at you and says, who touched me? What do
you want? Do you love me? And those questions
have a way of slipping past your defenses. They
don't argue. They don't coerce. They wait. And
somehow in the waiting, they reveal what's really
going on inside us. Now picture this. You're
pulling into a small town church parking lot,
gravel crunching, fellowship hall lights already
on, folks who have known each other for 30 years,
still don't have it all figured out. Real people,
real failures, real longings, scared to name.
And somewhere in the middle of that room, Jesus
is still asking questions. So pull up a chair.
Bring your honest answer. And I'll see you on
the other side. Stories in the Bible where Jesus
is like, what do you guys want for dinner tonight?
We don't ever see conversations. We don't ever
see chit -chat. But man, do we see Jesus asking
questions all over the place. Very interesting.
Tons of them. We could do questions that Jesus
asked of people forever. We're not going to do
that today. We're only going to look at three
of them. The last one, I think, is super cool.
And I hope when we get there, you'll see what
I see in it. But let's just begin. We're going
to look at three different questions today that
Jesus asks of people and why. Okay, so let me
start by setting the scene by asking you a question.
You ever walk into a room and the smell hits
you before the light does? Maybe it's your grandma's
kitchen. Bacon grease and coffee and the old
linoleum getting warm from the stove. Man, you
haven't been in that kitchen in over 20 years.
But one whiff of cast iron and you are six years
old again. Standing there in your socks waiting
on a biscuit. Smell doesn't ask permission. It
breaks and enters. I want you to keep that in
mind today. This is my little hidden Easter egg
of the sermon today. Because this sermon has
a smell. Charcoal, smoke, fish on a fire. And
if you have ever failed somebody you loved, I
mean really failed them. The kind of failure
that keeps you up at three in the morning, you
know what that smell is like. We're going to
end up today on the shore with that charcoal
fire, but not yet. First, I need to tell you
something that in a way is a little bit embarrassing.
I used to think that Jesus asked questions because
he needed information. Like he was wandering
around the Galilee. like a substitute teacher
who hadn't read the lesson plan. Who touched
me? What do you want from me? Do you love me?
But here's the thing. Jesus doesn't ask questions
because he doesn't know the answer. He asks questions
because you don't. And once that hit me, everything
changed. Because if his questions aren't for
his sake, but for mine, then every question Jesus
asks is a mirror. Every question becomes a surgery.
Every question is mercy, dressed up like curiosity.
I want to walk you this morning through three
moments where Jesus asked a question. By the
time, again, we get to that last one, you might
realize he's not just asking them. He's asking
you. Think about this. A command grabs you by
the collar. A declaration thunders down from
the mountain. But a question, a question opens
the door and then just stands to the side. And
the God who spoke the cosmos into existence.
He told Moses to take his shoes off because the
dirt was holy. That God shows up in skin and
sandals and chooses to ask questions. Not demands,
questions. A command says move. A question says
come closer. He could have commanded his way
through every encounter in the Bible. He had
the authority. He spoke and dead men walked.
But instead, he asks. Which means he honors your
will enough to let you answer. Because Jesus
is not in the coercion business. He's in the
awakening business. This morning's text comes
to us from the Gospel account according to John,
the 21st chapter. I will begin reading verse
5. This is the text we're building towards later
in the sermon, but let it sit in your chest.
We'll come back to it. When they had finished
breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, Simon,
son of John, do you love me more than these?
And he said to him, Yes, Lord, you know that
I love you. He said, Feed my lambs. A second
time he said to him, Simon, son of John, do you
love me? He said, Yes, Lord, you know that I
love you. He said to him, Tend my sheep. He said
to him a third time, Simon, son of John, do you
love me? Peter was grieved. Because he said to
him the third time, do you love me? And he, that's
Peter, said to him, Lord, you know everything.
You know that I love you. Jesus said to him,
feed my sheep. Sends a reading of the word this
morning. Now let's get walking. Now, with the
first question, we're standing in a crowd in
Galilee. It's the first century, and it's packed.
Shoulder to shoulder, dust and sweat, somebody's
lunch. Jesus right in the middle of it, and somewhere
in the back, a woman. Mark doesn't give her a
name. He actually gives her a number, 12 years.
Enrousai, hematose, that's Greek, and it means
a flow of blood from her. And under the purity
laws, because of her affliction, everything she
touches becomes unclean for 12 years. She hasn't
been touched. Not a handshake, not a hug. Twelve
years of people stepping back when she stepped
forward. She'd spent everything she had on the
doctors. And Mark says it only got worse. Broke.
Bleeding. Alone. And she comes up behind Jesus
in the crowd and touches the hem or the tassel
of his garment, just the fringe. And the dunamis,
the power, goes out of him, Jesus. She feels
it. He feels it. And Jesus stops. He's on his
way to heal a dying girl. There's a clock ticking.
And he stops. Who touched me? Peter. I love Peter
for this. Peter says, Lord, everybody's touching
you. But Jesus knows the difference between a
crowd bumping into you and a soul reaching out
for you. He asks because she's trying to stay
anonymous. She wants the healing without the
exposure. And I get it. Because if she stays
hidden, she gets to control the story. She can
tell people she just got better. She can avoid
the eyes. But if she steps forward, she becomes
known. Becoming known. Well, becoming known means
that we have to give up the version of the story
that we have been telling ourselves for those
last 12 years. And Jesus won't let her do that.
She comes forward, shaking, tells him everything.
And he looks at her and he calls her daughter.
That is the only time in the four Gospels Jesus
ever calls anyone that. She is the only one.
Because the question was never about who touched
him. It was about who she was willing to become
when she stopped hiding. And some of us are doing
the exact same thing. You want grace without
being known. But here is what I have learned,
my friends. Hidden healing still carries with
it shame. It's public restoration that carries
dignity. Now, different scene, Jericho, roadside.
There is a man named Bartimaeus, Bartimaeus,
and it means the son of honor. And the son of
honor, Bartimaeus, sitting in the dirt, begging.
His name is basically a monument to what his
family used to be. He hears Jesus and coming
and starts, I mean, just hollering. Son of David,
have mercy on me. And the crowd tells him to
shut up. The Greek word that Mark uses there
is rebuked. And it is the same word when Jesus
rebukes storms or demons. Think about that. They
are treating this blind beggar the way Jesus
treats unclean spirits. And he yells louder,
Jesus stops, and Bartimaeus throws off his cloak,
which is probably everything that he owned in
the world, his blanket, his shade, his whole
identity as a beggar, and he comes. What do you
want from me, is the question. Now the man is
blind. Everybody can see that. The answer seems
obvious. But Jesus doesn't assume. He dignifies
him. Because if Jesus heals without asking, Bartimaeus
is just a project. He's something that was just
happened to. But by asking, Jesus is making him
a participant. He is giving him his own voice
back. Think about this. Bartimaeus could have
asked for money. That is a very reasonable ask
for a beggar. He could have asked for food, a
better spot on the road. He asked for sight,
the most radical option on the table. And I think,
lovingly, some of us may be stuck right now because
we won't do that. We won't name what we actually
want. We circle around it. We dress it up in
spiritual language. We say things like, thy will
be done. And look. Sometimes that is holy surrender,
but sometimes, sometimes that is spiritual cowardice.
Sometimes it's just, I'm too scared to say it
out loud because if I name it God and you don't
come through, then I have to deal with that.
And Jesus is looking right at you. What do you
want? Not what sounds good. Not what fits on
a prayer card. What do you actually want? See
where this is going? First he pulls you out of
hiding. Then he makes you name your desire. And
finally, on the shore, in the smoke, he rebuilds
your love. All right. Now we have come to the
shore of the Galilee. And I want to slow down
here. Because this room is different than the
other two. The first room was packed. Second
room was loud. This one is quiet. Morning. That
silver light on the water just after dawn. And
the disciples had been fishing all night, nothing
to show for it. And a voice from the shore tells
them to cast on the other side. And suddenly
the net is so full that they can barely haul
it in. Peter jumps in the water and swims to
shore. And when he gets there, what he finds
is a charcoal fire. There it is. Now John. is
really specific about this. The Greek word, anthracion,
a charcoal fire. Listen to this. John uses this
anthracion. He uses this word only twice in the
whole of his gospel. Here, in the dawn, on the
shore, And there's one other time. Chapter 18
of the Gospel account, according to John, the
courtyard of the high priest. The night Peter
denied Jesus three times. John wants you to smell
it. He wants Peter to smell it. Because it is
the same charcoal. It is the same smoke. It is
the same heat on your face that Peter felt that
night. He looked at a servant girl and said,
I do not know him. And Jesus doesn't open with,
so Peter, let's talk about what happened that
night. He doesn't hand Peter a performance review.
He cooks him breakfast. And then he asks, Simon,
son of John, do you love me? Now, I don't want
to get overly academic, but there's another important
thing here in the Greek you've got to see to
make this story come alive, okay? Because the
English just flattens this out. I need to stay
here for just a second and actually explain what's
going on because it changes the complexity of
the entire story. The first two times Jesus asks,
he uses the word agapeo. That's the big one.
That's covenant love. Total commitment. The,
I will die for you. that Peter claimed at the
Last Supper. And both times when Peter responds,
he uses a different word, philio. That's the
affection word, the friendship word. It's warm,
but it's smaller. Jesus says, Do you agape me?
Peter says, you know I philo you. And the third
time, and guys, this is the part that gets me.
Jesus changes the word. The third time, he doesn't
say agapeo again. He says phileas. He comes down
to Peter's word. Sit with that for a second.
Peter can't say agape yet. He's not there yet.
He knows it. Jesus knows it. And Jesus doesn't
say to Peter, well, come back when you are. He
says, all right. Then we'll start with Filio
and we'll go from there. He doesn't demand the
love Peter can't give yet. He takes the love
Peter's got. And that right there, that is grace
first. That is God meeting you in the smaller
world and then building on. Peter is grieved
because Jesus has to ask him three times. And
the scripture says it is a deep, cutting sadness.
Not because Jesus is punishing him, but because
being asked three times the same number as those
denials makes you feel the full weight of what
you did and what is being given. back to you.
And Peter finally says, Lord, you know everything.
You know I love you. And that is the moment Peter
stopped pretending. That is the moment Peter
stopped performing. No more big promises from
Peter. He just falls back on what he knows Jesus
already knows. And every time Peter answers him,
Jesus doesn't grade him. He commissions him.
Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.
Three denials. Three restorations. Not punishment.
Architecture. Jesus is rebuilding Peter from
the inside out. Love precedes assignment. Grace
precedes the mission. Identity precedes responsibility.
Jesus never says, prove it. He says, feed. Love
expressed becomes the job. And here's what I
keep coming back to. Jesus doesn't argue people
into change. He questions them into revelation
of the truth. Who touched me? Come out of hiding.
What do you want? Name your desire. Do you love
me? Anchor your identity. Exposure, desire, love.
You follow that path and you move from hiding
to honesty to purpose. And that is not some three
-point spiritual plan. That's just plain old
discipleship. And some of you are at the first
question. You've touched the hymn, but you're
trying to slip out the back, hoping no one sees
you. Some of you are the second. You know God's
close, but you're scared to death to name what
you actually want. Some of you, some of you,
are the third. You're sitting in the smoke of
your own failure, convinced the story is over.
And Jesus is cooking you breakfast. Whatever
question he might be asking you right now, my
friends, it is not a trap. It is an invitation.
He's not trying to catch you. He's trying to
free you. If he asks, who touched me? Step forward.
If he asks, What do you want? Say it. If he asks,
do you love me? Answer him. And then listen.
Because every honest answer has a calling attached
to it. Feed my sheep. And when the smoke of failure
rises again this week, and it will, Remember,
the same fire that exposes you is the fire that
feeds you. Go and be asked. Go and answer. Go
and feed. In the name of the Father who asks,
the Son who waits, and the Holy Spirit who gives
you courage to answer. Amen. Amen. If something
today stirred and you don't rush past it, sit
with it. Let the question linger a little longer
than it's comfortable because Jesus doesn't ask
questions to shame you. He asks to wake you.
If you felt exposed, that might be grace doing
its quiet work. If you felt seen, that's not
accident. It's mercy finding you in a crowd.
And if one of those questions followed you around
the room, What do you want? Do you love me? Don't
dodge it. He's not trying to trap you. He's trying
to free you. And listen, if you heard something
today that might hit a little different, maybe
something you hadn't considered before, something
that made you lean in just a little bit, throw
that old like in the offering plate. That just
lets us know you were here and that it mattered.
And if you want to keep walking with us through
the Lenten season all the way to Easter morning,
don't just drift. Tithe that subscribe, not out
of guilt, out of hunger, because we're headed
somewhere together. And until then, friend, be
blessed.