Sermon for June 29, 2025 - St Peter and St Paul, Apostles

Called—Still Called—Always Called

Beloved in Christ, today we gather to celebrate two giants of our faith: Saints Peter and Paul. Their names are etched into the foundations of the Church, and yet their stories are not those of flawless saints but of very human disciples. Peter: the bold, impetuous fisherman who denied Jesus three times. Paul: the fierce persecutor of the early Church, breathing threats and violence until Christ struck him down on the road to Damascus.

These men are not examples of perfect faithfulness. They are examples of transformative grace. They remind us that discipleship is not about having it all together, but about responding—again and again—to the voice of the Shepherd who calls us by name.

In our Gospel reading from John 21, we find the risen Jesus speaking with Peter on the shore of the Sea of Galilee. Peter has gone fishing—perhaps unsure what to do now, perhaps slipping back into the familiar life he knew before he ever met Jesus. But Jesus meets him there. He feeds him. And then he turns to him with that haunting, healing question: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?”

Not once, but three times Jesus asks. And each time, Peter responds, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” It is a moment of redemption—of undoing the three denials. But more than that, it is a moment of commissioning. Jesus doesn’t simply restore Peter; he sends him out: “Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”

This is the call to discipleship—not just to believe in Jesus, but to follow him, to serve his people, to lay down our lives in love for others as he did.

And here’s the thing: Jesus does not wait for Peter to be perfect. He does not wait for him to sort out his guilt or to get all the answers right. He calls him in the midst of his weakness and woundedness. Because discipleship is not a reward for the righteous; it is the invitation that makes us new.

And so it is with us. Christ meets us in our failures, our regrets, our confusion. And still he asks: “Do you love me?” Not, “Do you understand everything?” Not, “Have you been perfectly faithful?” But simply, “Do you love me?” And if our answer—however fragile—is “Yes,” then the call is the same: “Feed my sheep.”

Our reading from Ezekiel brings a stunning and tender image of God’s own heart. “I myself will search for my sheep,” says the Lord. “I will seek them out... I will rescue them... I will bring them into their own land... I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak.”

This is the Shepherd God—the one who does not abandon his people but goes in search of them. It is no accident that Jesus uses the language of sheep and shepherd with Peter. He is entrusting Peter—and by extension, the Church—with the work that God has always been doing: seeking the lost, healing the broken, feeding the hungry, strengthening the weak.

Peter and Paul do not become leaders of the Church because they are better than others. They are entrusted with this mission because they have been found by the Shepherd. They have experienced what it is to be rescued. Peter from his shame. Paul from his violence. Both are caught up into God’s greater story—not because they were worthy, but because they were willing to follow.

And that, too, is discipleship. Not heroism, not moral perfection—but willingness. Willingness to be found. Willingness to follow. Willingness to love.

If Peter’s story is one of redemption from denial, Paul’s is one of radical transformation. Paul was not seeking Jesus. He was seeking to stamp out the movement Jesus had started. And yet it is precisely there, on that road to Damascus, that the risen Lord confronts him. Not with wrath, but with mercy. “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” And even then, Jesus does not reject him. He calls him.

Paul’s life becomes one of tireless mission. He travels farther than any other apostle. He writes words that shape Christian theology for two millennia. But he never forgets who he was. He calls himself “the least of the apostles.” He says, “I am what I am by the grace of God.”

Peter, forgiven. Paul, transformed. Neither perfect. Both called.

This is important for us to hear. Because so many of us struggle to believe we can be useful to God. We remember our sins, our doubts, our shortcomings. But today’s feast reminds us that none of that disqualifies us. In fact, it may be the very place where grace gets in.

You are not too far gone. You are not too ordinary. You are not too broken. If God could use Peter and Paul, he can use you. In your workplace. In your family. In your friendships. In this parish.

So what does this all mean, practically, for us as followers of Jesus?

First, it means we are called. Not just once, but daily. Not just when we’re at our best, but especially when we’re at our worst. Christ calls us—“Do you love me?”—and if we can answer even weakly, he entrusts us with his mission.

Second, it means we are sent. Just as Peter is told to feed the sheep, and Paul is sent to the Gentiles, we too are sent into our communities. We are sent to be signs of God’s love, truth, and compassion in a world that is hungry for hope. That might look like caring for a neighbour, advocating for justice, mentoring a young person, or simply praying faithfully. No act of love is too small.

And third, it means we are never alone. The same Shepherd who sought us out walks with us still. The same Spirit that filled Peter at Pentecost and carried Paul through beatings and imprisonments is available to us now. We do not do this work in our own strength. We do it in the power of God’s grace.

Peter struggled with fear and failure. Paul wrestled with pride and violence. Yet both became apostles—because grace met them where they were.

That same grace is available to you. Jesus is still asking, “Do you love me?” And if your heart stirs at all, say yes. Say it again tomorrow. Say it with trembling hands and uncertain feet.

And then listen—because the next words are always: “Follow me.”

Amen.