At sunrise on Easter Sunday, Steve unpacks a Greek word — anthrakia — which means charcoal fire. It appears only twice in the entire New Testament, both times in John's Gospel, both times with Peter standing nearby.

The first is the night of Peter's denial. It's cold, there's a charcoal fire burning in the courtyard, and Peter warms his hands at it while he disowns Jesus three times. That smell — charcoal smoke — becomes the smell of his worst moment, the night he became someone he didn't recognise.

The second is the resurrection beach scene in John 21. Peter has gone back to fishing, broken and unresolved. At dawn, the risen Jesus appears on the shore — and He has a charcoal fire burning. Same word. Same smell. John chose it deliberately.

Jesus doesn't meet Peter with a lecture on failure or a theological discussion about grace. He cooks breakfast. And that smell hits Peter before Jesus says a single word.

The sermon's heart is this: Jesus doesn't redeem us by pretending our worst moments didn't happen. He walks back into them with us. The charcoal fire that once smelled like shame now smells like forgiveness — because Jesus lit it that way on purpose.

Easter, Steve argues, isn't just an empty tomb. It's a risen Jesus who spent His first free morning going looking for the one who failed Him worst — and cooking him breakfast when He found him.

He is risen. And He is here.