Ernest Hemingway tells of a fabled personal ad in a Spanish newspaper: “Paco meet me at Hotel Montana at noon Tuesday All is forgiven Papa.” That Tuesday, says Hemingway, authorities had to muster a whole squad of police to contain the crowd of 800 Pacos who showed up at the Hotel Montana.

Most of us carry burdens from our past that we would like to be relieved of, failures we’d like to have forgiven us — a failure of nerve, of will, of action. Maybe it’s guilt we think we’ve put behind us that every so often rears its ugly head and whispers, “You don’t deserve to be a disciple of Jesus. Look at you! Remember what you did.”

Maybe there is a very painful memory or a set of circumstances for which we were not actually responsible, but which now causes us to think that this part of our past somehow disqualifies us from being His disciple in the present and future.

For the disciple Peter, the haunting problem from his past was guilt over his fear and failure. Peter, like many of us, needed a new past.

Nicknamed Petros (today we might call him “Rocky”), Peter had confidently declared, “Lord, I will lay down my life for You. … Even if everyone else denies You, I, Peter, will not.” Jesus had responded, “Before the rooster crows, you will deny Me three times.”

One dark night when Jesus needed support, Peter slept. Then later, around a charcoal fire at the high priest’s house, the same Peter who had volunteered to lay down his life for Jesus denied three times his connection with his Lord, Master and friend.

Sorrowfully, Peter withdrew in shame — not only from that moment, but also from his calling. Even after Jesus’ resurrection, Peter returned to Galilee and his former occupation. But he had been called to something more than the business of fishing. Peter had been called to follow Jesus, and to fish for men and women. Perhaps Peter no longer felt worthy of that calling or qualified to be a disciple.

He needed a new past — and a new past is what the risen Jesus gave him.

Peter and his fellow fishermen had been out all night, unsuccessfully casting their nets. In the early morning light, they saw someone on the beach but couldn’t quite make out who it was. The shadowy figure called to them, “Do you have any fish?” They did not. “Guys, cast your nets on the other side of the boat and you’ll catch fish,” hollered the man on the beach. Peter and his helpers followed the stranger’s suggestion and caught so many fish that they couldn’t haul in their nets. John exclaimed to Peter, “It’s got to be the Lord!”

Impulsive as usual, Peter jumped into the water and rushed to Jesus, who had prepared a charcoal fire on the beach. Three years earlier on that same lakeshore (maybe even on the same beach), Jesus had called Peter to be His disciple. But then, while warming himself at a charcoal fire near the high priest’s house, Peter had denied his friend and Lord. Now, by another charcoal fire where they first met, Jesus invited Peter to breakfast on the beach. Through a loving verbal exchange, Jesus gave Peter a new past … and in so doing, a new future as well.

Some of us dislike messing around with the experiences in our past. It’s over and done, or so we’d like to think. Why go back there and feel bad all over again? But maybe to experience a new past in our lives, we must go back.

It has been only in my 50s that I have gone back, opened up, looked at and felt some things in my past. I had a good childhood, without abuse or serious mistreatment. But for much of it I was raised not by my missionary parents but by a boarding school staff. Much of this experience was positive, and as an adult I have been reluctant to view it as negative in any way. All those “other people” were emotionally traumatized by being missionary kids and going to boarding school. But me? I’m tough! I thrived on boarding school!

But I have begun to remember how painful it was to leave after spending time at home with my parents. My mother has reminded me how physically ill I used to become for a day or two before that dreaded day of separation. The scene crystallized in my mind is that of a little boy on a railway station platform, waiting for a train that will take him 300 miles away from home.

Now, many years later, I have become aware of some of the negative feelings I experienced, and I’m beginning to understand why parting from people I love can be so hard for me. I am also beginning to comprehend why any feeling of being emotionally abandoned is so intense, even panic-producing for me. And, precisely because I am now willing to go back to my past — with Jesus — back to being that little boy on the railway station platform, I think I am becoming a better husband, a more whole person … maybe even a better pastor.

Sometimes preachers and authors imply that if we can just experience a climactic breakthrough, a hard cry, then all will be forgiven and the past will be made new. But more important is the process of healing. I find that I need to revisit my failures and old fears, and affirm that Jesus has graciously, lovingly forgiven me and that my failures are held against me no more.

I need to go back to that painful memory or image in my past and recognize Jesus right there with me, on the beach … by the charcoal fire … on the station platform. Jesus’ presence there takes the sting away from the past so that I can live more fully in the present — in the light of His resurrection.

I should return to the past whenever I sense a need to do so. And Jesus always will be there, giving me a new past ... and a new future too.