SOME TIME AFTER this, Jesus crossed to the far shore of the Sea of Galilee (that is, the Sea of Tiberias), 2and a great crowd of people followed him because they saw the miraculous signs he had performed on the sick. 3Then Jesus went up on a mountainside and sat down with his disciples. 4The Jewish Passover Feast was near.
5When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” 6He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.
7Philip answered him, “Eight months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!”
8Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, 9“Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?”
10Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and the men sat down, about five thousand of them. 11Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.
12When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.” 13So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten.
14After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, “Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world.” 15Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself.
16When evening came, his disciples went down to the lake, 17where they got into a boat and set off across the lake for Capernaum. By now it was dark, and Jesus had not yet joined them. 18A strong wind was blowing and the waters grew rough. 19When they had rowed three or three and a half miles, they saw Jesus approaching the boat, walking on the water; and they were terrified. 20But he said to them, “It is I; don’t be afraid.” 21Then they were willing to take him into the boat, and immediately the boat reached the shore where they were heading.
22The next day the crowd that had stayed on the opposite shore of the lake realized that only one boat had been there, and that Jesus had not entered it with his disciples, but that they had gone away alone. 23Then some boats from Tiberias landed near the place where the people had eaten the bread after the Lord had given thanks. 24Once the crowd realized that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they got into the boats and went to Capernaum in search of Jesus.
25When they found him on the other side of the lake, they asked him, “Rabbi, when did you get here?”
26Jesus answered, “I tell you the truth, you are looking for me, not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. 27Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. On him God the Father has placed his seal of approval.”
28Then they asked him, “What must we do to do the works God requires?”
29Jesus answered, “The work of God is this: to believe in the one he has sent.”
30So they asked him, “What miraculous sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? 31Our forefathers ate the manna in the desert; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’ ”
32Jesus said to them, “I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. 33For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”
34“Sir,” they said, “from now on give us this bread.”
35Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. 36But as I told you, you have seen me and still you do not believe. 37All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away. 38For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me. 39And this is the will of him who sent me, that I shall lose none of all that he has given me, but raise them up at the last day. 40For my Father’s will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.”
41At this the Jews began to grumble about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” 42They said, “Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I came down from heaven’?”
43“Stop grumbling among yourselves,” Jesus answered. 44“No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him, and I will raise him up at the last day. 45It is written in the Prophets: ‘They will all be taught by God.’ Everyone who listens to the Father and learns from him comes to me. 46No one has seen the Father except the one who is from God; only he has seen the Father. 47I tell you the truth, he who believes has everlasting life. 48I am the bread of life. 49Your forefathers ate the manna in the desert, yet they died. 50But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may eat and not die. 51I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”
52Then the Jews began to argue sharply among themselves, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
53Jesus said to them, “I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. 54Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. 55For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. 56Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. 57Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me. 58This is the bread that came down from heaven. Your forefathers ate manna and died, but he who feeds on this bread will live forever.” 59He said this while teaching in the synagogue in Capernaum.
60On hearing it, many of his disciples said, “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?”
61Aware that his disciples were grumbling about this, Jesus said to them, “Does this offend you? 62What if you see the Son of Man ascend to where he was before! 63The Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life. 64Yet there are some of you who do not believe.” For Jesus had known from the beginning which of them did not believe and who would betray him. 65He went on to say, “This is why I told you that no one can come to me unless the Father has enabled him.”
66From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him.
67“You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve.
68Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. 69We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”
70Then Jesus replied, “Have I not chosen you, the Twelve? Yet one of you is a devil!” 71(He meant Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, who, though one of the Twelve, was later to betray him.)
Original Meaning
JOHN 6 CONTINUES the sequence of festivals introduced in chapter 5 (where I outlined the festival sequence in this Gospel). In this case the festival is Passover (6:3), and John expects that we will understand the many stories and themes associated with the feast (whose story can be found in Ex. 1–17).
The Feeding of the Five Thousand (6:1–15)
JESUS HAS RETURNED to Galilee from Jerusalem in the springtime, and the season of Passover is approaching.1 This is John’s second reference to Passover (2:13, 23), which gives us some sense that Jesus observed the requirement of Judaism to recognize and celebrate these feasts. The setting of the story is the Sea of Galilee, which John clarifies for those readers who may not know Israel, calling it also the Sea of Tiberias.2 Tiberias was a new city on the west shore of the sea, founded in about A.D. 26 by Herod Antipas (the regional ruler of Galilee and son of Herod the Great).3
The Sea of Galilee lies in a vast inland basin 650 feet below sea level; it is thirteen miles long and six miles wide (from its widest point, near Magdala). It is fed by the Jordan River system that begins in the far north at Mount Hermon. The sea is surrounded by hills and mountains that reach an elevation of 2,000 feet in the west and over 4,000 feet in the east. At its northwest corner is a fertile plain called the Gennesaret (which occasionally also gives the lake its name, Luke 5:1). East-west valleys pull cool Mediterranean air from the west every afternoon, which collides with the heated desert air of the basin, creating strong winds and frequent storms that swirl over the sea at the base of the eastern cliffs. This is the background of the “storm” miracle of Jesus (6:16–21).
The sea was surrounded by numerous fishing villages, whose harbors have been discovered in the last twenty-five years as the water level has dropped. Villages such as Capernaum, Bethsaida, Magdala, Chorazin, Tiberias, and many others enjoyed a flourishing fishing industry, particularly in the northern half of the lake, where freshwater springs attract numerous fish (near modern Tabgha4). This explains Jesus’ ministry in these villages, his use of fishing as an illustration, and his recruitment of fishermen as followers. But we must also keep in mind that this is a poor society. Galilee was a peasant agrarian society, where farmers were taxed heavily and frequently lost their land to a wealthier elite, who ruled either through the Herodian dynasty or who collected tax revenue for Rome. Jesus’ interest in these people and his sympathy for their needs inspired widespread support for his message.
Jesus is in the region teaching his disciples (6:3; sitting down was common among rabbis, Mark 4:1; 9:35), but even though he is in the western hills, his reputation as a healer (already won in Cana, Capernaum, and elsewhere) brings great crowds to him. Jesus’ compassion leads him to provide food—miraculous food—for all five thousand people. Through this miracle and the following discussion with the people, he hopes to unveil more of his identity, as he did in Jerusalem (ch. 5). After the feeding, Jesus puts his followers on a boat (rejoining them later at sea), and in Capernaum he engages the crowds and his disciples in an intense theological explanation of the meaning of the miraculous sign.
We need to pause and underscore some of the motifs that were well known in the Passover story, motifs that every Jew understood fully as shaping the background to Jesus’ deeds in Galilee. Among Moses’ many miracles in Egypt, two stand out as particularly remarkable: (1) his departure through the sea (Ex. 14), and (2) his miraculous feeding of the people with manna for forty years in the desert (Ex. 16:35; Ps. 78:24). These were potent symbols of God’s preservation of his people: rescuing them from harm and sustaining them in a desert.
In John 6, Jesus appears at Passover, repeating many of these themes. The people are a multitude not unlike those in the desert; Jesus feeds them with “heavenly” bread; and following the feeding, when the disciples are on the sea, Jesus comes to them walking on water. Moreover, the question of Jesus in 6:5 (“Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?”) echoes that of Moses in Num. 11:13, “Where can I get meat for all these people?” In fact, Numbers 11 provides numerous parallels to the present story.5
Verses in Numbers 11 | Content of Numbers 11 | Parallel in John 6 |
11:1 | people grumbling | 6:41, 43 |
11:7–9 | description of the manna | 6:31 |
11:13 | “Give us meat to eat” | 6:51ff. |
11:22 | “Would they have enough if all the fish [Gk. opsos LXX] in the sea [Gk. synago] were caught for them?” | 6:9 (opsarion, fish), 12 (synago, gather) |
These parallels offer some intriguing conclusions. This Passover story of Jesus makes direct connections with prominent Old Testament motifs that tumble over one another in rapid succession. They provide a growing impression that in some fashion the hero of Passover, Moses, has now been superceded by Jesus, who not only provides “bread from heaven” but is himself “the bread of life” (6:35).
This feeding miracle must have had widespread fame and was locked into the collective memory of early Christianity as a key event in Jesus’ life. The Synoptics record the feeding of the five thousand (Matt. 14:13–21; Mark 6:35–44; Luke 9:10–17) as well as another feeding of four thousand (Matt. 15:32–38; Mark 8:1–9). John’s account is so close to that of Mark 6 that some believe John is using either Mark’s story or the same source as Mark.6 Nevertheless, John provides insights no other Gospel possesses. Jesus not only wants to provide food, but he wishes to test the developing faith of Philip (John 6:5; cf. 1:44; 12:21–22). Philip’s response indicates that he does not yet grasp Jesus’ miraculous ability. He exclaims that “eight months’ wages” for a common laborer would not provide enough to feed that crowd (6:7). As in 4:31ff., food and incomprehension come together for the disciples.
But Andrew, Peter’s brother, locates a young boy (paidarion) who can possibly help.7 This boy is carrying five barley loaves and two salted fish. Only John mentions that the bread is barley, which is a signal of the poverty of this crowd. Barley was considered the bread of the poor and this lad has five pieces of it—much like five round loaves of today’s pita bread. Luke 11:5 implies that three such pieces might make a meal for one person. These details are important because in 2 Kings 4:42–44 is another Old Testament miracle, where Elisha feeds a hundred men with twenty barley loaves and is assisted by a paidarion or young servant. As with the twelve baskets left after Jesus’ miracle,8 Elisha had baskets of food left over.
What is happening here? These images and motifs from the Old Testament suggest that Jesus is fulfilling and recreating images from Israel’s sacred past. He is a figure who harks back to great historic figures (Moses and Elisha) who knew God’s power intimately. Unlike the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus alone distributes the bread and the fish (6:11), although we can assume with Mark that Jesus needed assistance with so many eager and hungry people (Mark 6:41). John’s point is to underscore that Jesus is the provider of food, the source of life for these people (as thus far we have seen him be the source of rebirth, living water, and healing).
The crowd interprets Jesus’ miracle as messianic. He has just recreated the miracle of Moses! To identify him as “the Prophet who is to come into the world” (6:14) is no doubt a reference to Deuteronomy 18:15–19, which prophesies that a prophet like Moses will some day return; this was viewed in Judaism as a messianic promise. The Jews at the Dead Sea community of Qumran expected a prophet to come in their messianic vision (1QS 9:10–11; 4QTest 5–8). For many, Moses had become the image of the ideal Messiah, unifying images of king and prophet.
Most disturbing is what happens next. Mark concludes the feeding miracle with a cryptic ending, “Immediately Jesus made his disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. After leaving them, he went up on a mountainside to pray” (Mark 6:45–46). The impression we get is that Jesus is fleeing the scene and urging his disciples to do the same. Bethsaida was in the political region of Philip (on the eastern side of the Jordan inlet to the sea), so he is removing them from the grasp of Herod Antipas.
It is not until we read John 6:15 that we get the full picture. “Jesus, knowing that they intended to come and make him king by force, withdrew again to a mountain by himself” (italics added). This reflects a crass misunderstanding by the crowd. The verb used here (harpazo) means “to seize.” In Matthew 11:12 it describes what violent people will do to the kingdom, in 12:29 how one must “tie up” a strong man before his property can be plundered, and in 13:19 how Satan will “snatch away” what is sown in a convert’s heart. Here in John, the crowd wants to force Jesus to define his mission and work politically, to become a king who will rival the Herodians or the Romans. Jesus wants no part of such a kingship. He will not be tempted by “the kingdoms of this world” (Matt. 4:8).9 Thus he must flee and must push his disciples out to sea in order to preserve himself and his work from the political ambitions of the crowd.
Jesus Walks on the Water (6:16–24)
WHILE JESUS LEAVES for the mountains of upper Galilee (near Mount Meron?), the disciples set sail, heading for the lake’s northeast shore. After rowing three or four miles, a storm catches them in the middle of the lake. As noted above, such east/west winds are common on this sea, and fishermen watched for them carefully. Their fear of the rough water, however, was surpassed by their terror at seeing Jesus walking to them on the water (6:19). Again, we have another motif from the Old Testament—a water miracle—that reminds us of the moment when Moses led Israel through the water (Ex. 13–15). Psalm 77 describes this moment in Israel’s life and explains that it was in fact God who led them.
The waters saw you, O God,
the waters saw you and writhed;
the very depths were convulsed. . . .
Your path led through the sea,
your way through the mighty waters,
though your footprints were not seen.
You led your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron. (Ps. 77:16, 19–20)
When Jesus arrives at the boat, he identifies himself with a term that was sure to evoke further images of the Exodus story: “It is I” (Gk. ego eimi). As in 4:26 (see comments), this may be a mere form of self-identification.10 But it may imply more. The verb to be (eimi) possesses no predicate here and thus reflects God’s divine name given to Moses on Mount Sinai (Ex. 3:14).11 Even Jesus’ call not to fear echoes Moses’ response on the mountain when he learned God’s name and saw the burning bush: “At this, Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God” (Ex. 3:6). Jesus approaches and even though he is now providing an awesome and overwhelming presentation of his powers, they need not fear.
While Mark says that Jesus stilled the storm when he entered the boat (Mark 6:51), John 6:21 almost implies that they barely were able to get him into the boat when they reached their destination. Many interpreters suspect that here we have yet another miracle as Jesus leads his disciples to their port. Barrett thinks that Psalm 107 may provide the background imagery for this scene. This psalm describes the terror of mariners caught in a storm being heaved by waves and suffering the disorienting confusion of fear and physical nausea.
For he spoke and stirred up a tempest
that lifted high the waves.
They mounted up to the heavens and went down to the depths;
in their peril their courage melted away.
They reeled and staggered like drunken men;
they were at their wits’ end.
Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble,
and he brought them out of their distress.
He stilled the storm to a whisper;
the waves of the sea were hushed.
They were glad when it grew calm,
and he guided them to their desired haven. (Ps. 107:25–30)
Again, Jesus is fulfilling the role of God—feeding, protecting, rescuing, and guiding his followers despite the natural calamities that surround them.
Questions surface the next day when the crowd discovers that although Jesus did not accompany the men on the boat, he nevertheless arrived with them at their destination (John 6:22–23). More boats arrive at the site of the feeding from nearby Tiberias, and when Jesus is not found, the people, charged with excitement, travel to Capernaum to see if he can be located.12 Their arrival in the village of Capernaum introduces Jesus’ major “Bread of Life Discourse” (6:25–58), in which he defines carefully his relation to the miracle and its deeper meaning. In 6:22–34 he speaks directly to those who witnessed his miracle the day before. Then in Capernaum others who have not seen the miracle join the audience; they too ask for a sign (6:30–31). It is easier to understand the discourse if we see it in three parts (6:25–34, 35–50, 51–58) with a concluding episode that shows the difficulty Jesus’ followers had with the teaching.
Bread from Heaven (6:25–34)
THE FULL FORCE of Jesus’ sermon comes alive if we keep in mind certain details. Jesus is in the Capernaum synagogue (6:59), and it is Passover. At this time the Jewish community has been studying the Scriptures that pertain to the departure from Egypt (through the sea) and the flight into the desert. Following an initial question about how Jesus arrived here (6:25)—and it is not at all unlikely that we should see this as a two-level question, one material (he came by boat) and another spiritual (he came from heaven, 6:33; cf. 7:28)—discussion then turns to the central event, Jesus’ feeding miracle and its meaning.
Some scholars have effectively shown how Jesus’ words serve as a commentary on “he gave them bread from heaven to eat” (6:31). What was this Passover bread? Where did it really come from? Will it return? The quote from 6:31 is possibly from Psalm 78:24 (but has affinities with Ex. 16:4, 15). The complex of ideas involved a fascination with the manna miracle. Judaism understood that there was a storehouse or “treasury” of manna in heaven that had been opened to feed the people during the era of Moses. The Israelites had been fed with “bread from heaven.” This treasury would be reopened with the coming of the Messiah: “The treasury of manna shall again descend from on high, and they will eat of it in those years” (2 Bar. 29:8). This would be a messianic second exodus, in which blessedness would rain down from on high.13 An early Jewish commentary on Exodus 16:4 says, “As the first redeemer caused manna to descend . . . so will the latter redeemer cause manna to descend” (Midrash Rabbah Eccles. 1:9).
As Jesus teaches in the synagogue, he desires to lift his hearers above a material understanding of his miracle. He argues that their efforts should be focused not on the loaves and fish, but on the greater food that lasts forever (6:26–27). Initially it is not the gift that is important, but the Giver (Jesus, the Son of Man), on whom God has set his seal (6:27). This mark on Jesus likely alludes to the Spirit, which we learned in 1:32ff. and 3:34 rests on Jesus powerfully, endorsing his ministry. To “work” as God would have it begins with believing in Jesus (6:28–29).
But the synagogue audience offers a challenge. If it is true that in the days of Moses the treasury of manna was opened, and if it is true that Jesus is making some messianic claim, then what sort of sign can Jesus give to validate his word? Can he reopen the treasury (6:30–31)? Is he claiming that he has recreated the messianic miracle of Moses?
Jesus’ interpretation of the manna follows rabbinic lines perfectly. First, the true source of the manna was not Moses but God. It is God who sends bread. Furthermore, the manna story goes beyond mere bread; it is a spiritual metaphor for how God feeds us his word. Deuteronomy 8:3 may well have entered Jesus’ debate: “[God] humbled you, causing you to hunger and then feeding you with manna, which neither you nor your fathers had known, to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.”14
If God is truly the source of true heavenly bread and if Jesus has been sent by God, the shocking turn in 6:33 should come as no surprise. The bread of God is a person (“he who comes down from heaven”), a person who gives life to the world. With a stroke of genius, Jesus has done precisely what he has done throughout the Gospel: He exploits some feature of Jewish belief and ritual and reinterprets it to refer to himself. He is the manna from God’s treasury for which Israel has been waiting. He has been sent by God as manna descended in the desert.
The response of the crowd in 6:34 forms a climax in precisely the same way as did the response of the woman in 4:15. She had been looking for water and Jesus reinterpreted it as a spiritual gift. When Jesus described his gift, she remarked, “ ‘Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.’ ” The crowd in Capernaum now say the same thing. “ ‘Sir,’ they said, ‘from now on give us this bread.’ ” Bread and water—two potent symbols of God’s wisdom and blessing in Judaism—are now distributed by Jesus, the true gift from God.
“I Am the Bread of Life” (6:35–50)
JESUS NOW PRESSES the logic of his case to the next level: “I am the bread” of Passover, the heavenly manna, the contents of God’s divine treasury. Jesus is “living bread,” as once before he offered “living water.” This famous saying (“I am the bread of life”) heads the list of what we call the “I-am sayings” in John. We have already noted those places so far where Jesus uses “I am” without a predicate, implying some absolute use that echoes God’s name in Exodus. But there are seven places in the Gospel where Jesus provides a clear predicate noun to describe himself, and they take on features that sound like solemn pronouncements.
• I am the bread of life (6:35; cf. 41, 48, 51)
• I am the light of the world (8:12; cf. 18, 23)
• I am the gate for the sheep (10:7, 9)
• I am the good shepherd (10:11, 14)
• I am the resurrection and the life (11:25)
• I am the way and the truth and the life (14:6)
• I am the true vine (15:1, 5)
In each of these sayings Jesus is taking a motif from Judaism (often in the context of a miracle or major festival discourse) and reinterpreting it for himself. He now supplies that which Judaism sought in its activities and stories. As the people yearned for the heavenly bread and as the rabbis reinterpreted this bread to mean the wisdom or life-sustaining presence of God, so now Jesus is that precious gift (cf. 6:48, 51). As in chapter 4 Jesus’ water banishes thirst, so now Jesus’ bread banishes hunger (6:35b).
With remarkable candor, Jesus announces his disappointment with the crowd. This has happened before in Galilee (cf., e.g., 4:46–54). On Jesus’ second visit to Capernaum he experiences the same thing. The crowd is either twisting Jesus’ mission (6:15) or demanding more evidence (6:30), but they are not willing to come to Jesus and confess their thirst (6:35). In 6:36 Jesus says that their first step must be belief, but they refuse to take it. Such belief is not a leap into the darkness, for they have had the opportunity to see (“you have seen me”). Hence their decision is a willful refusal to act on what God has set before them.
Throughout 6:37–40 Jesus speaks confidently about the success of his work and the fulfillment of his mission. The confusion of the crowd in Capernaum and the refusal of some to believe will not frustrate him. He is not worried, for the success of his efforts depends entirely on the Father, who is at work in him. Indeed Jesus’ entire mission is to conform his life to the will of the Father (6:38). It is God who has sent him (6:39) and who has gone before him, sovereignly calling people to come to him (6:37, 44). The darkness of the world is so severe that God alone must penetrate it in order to free people to see Jesus clearly. The people are in darkness; later we will see some of Jesus’ disciples in the same state (6:59–66), including Judas Iscariot (6:70–71).
The determinism of these verses is sometimes softened by 6:37b: “Whoever comes to me I will never drive away.” But it is a mistake to view this as a promise that points to Jesus’ reception of anyone who comes to him confessing belief. The verb here is “cast out” (Gk. ekballo), and it refers regularly to something that is already “in” (see 2:15; 9:35; 12:31). Therefore the idea is not about Jesus’ welcoming people, but about Jesus’ keeping people whom the Father has given into his care. John 6:37b is about the protecting, nurturing capacity of Jesus. This interpretation is confirmed by 6:38: Jesus will not lose a single one of those who have come to him (cf. 10:1–18).
This theme of the sovereignty of God is important throughout the Fourth Gospel and will return at some length in 12:37–43. But it occurs regularly in incidental places, such as 10:29 (“My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one can snatch them out of my Father’s hand”) and Jesus’ prayer in chapter 17 (vv. 2, 4, 6, 9, etc.). John affirms with ease both God’s sovereign control and the responsibility of individuals. Note the balance found in 6:40: The Father’s will is that everyone will look upon the Son, believe, and have life eternal. But the stress here is that God’s will cannot be frustrated despite the darkness of the world, which cannot defeat him (1:5). Above all, those who have come into Jesus and believe will never be lost. The one exception is Judas Iscariot, whom Jesus did choose to be among the Twelve (see 6:70–71).
The sayings that began at 6:35 serve the larger program of the Bread of Life Discourse because they place in abstract what Jesus has been saying parabolically all along. God is the supplier of divine bread, and whoever eats of it will live forever. The identity of this “bread of life” is actually Jesus, just as the object of faith now should be Jesus (6:35, 40).
But this is the great turning point that the synagogue audience cannot bear.15 It is one thing to say that we should have faith in God and be fed by him, but it is quite another for Jesus to say that he is the source of that meal, the object of believing vision. The “grumbling” described in 6:41, 43 (and 51) is reminiscent of the “murmuring” of the Israelites against Moses in the desert,16 and it completes yet one more Passover theme. But this time there is a Johannine literary twist. The crowd misunderstands Jesus just as people and crowds have misunderstood him in most of the discourses since chapter 2. Unenlightened vision sees merely a man, the son of Jewish parents (6:42) coming from a commonplace Jewish family. That Jesus and his family were well known in Capernaum may even suggest that they were living there (2:12).
After Jesus’ firm exhortation to stop grumbling (6:43), it is interesting that he does not defend himself against their complaint (“How can he now say, ‘I came down from heaven’?”) but instead returns to the problem of their spiritual receptivity. The idea of Jesus’ divine origin and descent (supplied to us as readers in ch. 1) is impossible for the crowd unless God in some fashion illumines them. John 6:44 parallels 6:37 (emphasizing God’s sovereignty) but now is followed by an explanation of what this “drawing” means. John 6:45 echoes Isaiah 54:13 (or Jer. 31:33–34), where the prophet foresees a rebuilt Jerusalem (following the Exile) where intimacy with God will be regained. Jesus looks at this prophesy and sees its relevance. God must move the inner heart of a person before he or she can see the things of God. And this takes place on God’s initiative (cf. 5:37).
From this point, Jesus repeats the major themes found in the introduction to the discourse: 6:48 matches 6:35; 6:49–50 match 6:31–33. All of this is reinforcement because in the final clause of 6:50 Jesus introduces a deeper nuance on the bread motif. This bread that reminds us of Moses, this bread that is now disclosed as Jesus Christ himself—this bread must be consumed (as, of course, any bread must be). Jesus stretches the bread analogy by announcing, “But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which a man may eat and not die.” When Jesus disclosed the identity as this heavenly bread (himself), it scandalized his audience (6:41). Now he will scandalize them again, for this bread must be eaten (6:50). This “eating” uses the Greek aorist tense: It is a singular event, a decision to believe and appropriate the gift of eternal life.
The Flesh and Blood of the Son of Man (6:51–58)
THE FIRST TWO thoughts of 6:51 repeat what we have already seen: Jesus is the living bread that came down (aorist tense), referring to his incarnation, and one must eat this bread (aorist tense), referring to the decisive moment when one believes. But it is in the third sentence of the verse where Jesus makes a pivotal statement, “This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” When Jesus refers to his “flesh” (Gk. sarx), we are at once reminded of 1:14, where sarx was used to describe the comprehensive life of the Son.17
But sarx is a surprising, even graphic word that runs deeper than 1:14, and it will become the unifying thread of this portion of the discourse.18 Jesus is flesh offered in sacrifice. The gift of this bread, this flesh, will come with his death. The second half of this sentence tells us that this flesh will be given for the life of the world. Jesus is giving himself. The word “for” (Gk. hyper) occurs regularly in sacrificial contexts in this Gospel (John 10:11, 15; 11:51–52; 15:13; 17:19; 18:14) and means here that the gift of Jesus is nothing other than a sacrifice, a blood sacrifice, a temple sacrifice, that will benefit the world. This thought parallels 1:29, 36, where Jesus was described as the “Lamb of God,” referring once more to a sacrificial victim.19
If Jesus’ audience was amazed that he miraculously fed the multitudes, they were startled when he described himself as the heavenly bread from God. Now they are aghast as he makes the next step. Earthly bread—heavenly bread—Jesus as bread—Jesus as bread to eat—Jesus as sacrifice. It is all too much, and so their grumbling turns to argument (6:52).20 Once again, the traditional form of the Johannine discourse comes into play and the crowd misunderstands what Jesus is saying: “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” Of course, Jesus is not proposing religious cannibalism. Earthly symbols must be converted into spiritual truths. How, then, are we to understand this life-giving meal? What deeper spiritual truth needs to be uncovered?
Jesus’ answer in 6:53–58 has proven difficult for almost every commentator. When Jesus refers to “eating my flesh and drinking my blood,” he uses imagery that steps far beyond Passover. In fact, it is almost incomprehensible from within a Jewish theological framework. Some writers, such as Brown, follow a long line of patristic and medieval commentators (as well as many modern writers) who think that these words refer to the Eucharist. Carson believes that a secondary reference to the Eucharist is inevitable.21
Two issues compel this result: (1) Drinking blood was looked on as forbidden in Old Testament law (Gen. 9:4; Lev. 3:17; Deut. 12:23), and to eat someone’s flesh refers to hostility toward them (Ps. 27:2; Zech. 11:9). The only Judeo-Christian setting where such words make good sense is the Christian Eucharist. (2) It is significant that John does not record the words of institution later in the Upper Room Discourse. When we look at his language here (beginning in 6:51), it echoes Luke’s language at the supper: “This is my body given for you” (Luke 22:19).22
But writers such as Morris are firm in their rejection of this interpretation. “This is the section of the discourse that is claimed most confidently to refer to the Holy Communion. The language of eating the flesh and drinking the blood is said to be explicable only, or at least naturally, in terms of the sacrament. But is this so? Surely not!”23 Morris is quick to point out that the Johannine saying refers to eating flesh while the Synoptic (and Pauline) sayings always refer to “body” (“This is my body given for you”).24 For Morris, the language is symbolic of the assimilation of God’s revelation and wisdom.
Certainly as Jesus speaks these words, their graphic and shocking character stun the audience. Regardless of their theological meaning, they are graphic, compelling, and confusing. This eating and drinking give eternal life (6:53, 54, 57, 58) and form the basis of the interior, intimate experience one may have with Christ (6:56). Nothing in Old Testament history compares, not even the experience with Moses and manna (6:59). Other religious bread does not address mortality; only this bread, this flesh and blood, this sacrifice, can give eternal life.
Some Disciples Fall Away (6:59–71)
IF JESUS’ REVELATION that he himself was bread made the crowds grumble (6:41), this new revelation offends Jesus’ own disciples (6:61).25 For them this is not simply a difficult teaching (6:60) but is something unacceptable, a disclosure beyond their comprehension. It recalls the great turning point in the Synoptic Gospels, where Jesus’ true identity is unveiled at Caesarea Philippi (Peter: “You are the Christ,” Mark 8:29), immediately after which Jesus discloses his coming sacrificial death. In Mark, the Twelve can barely comprehend it. They try to talk Jesus out of it, and then they wrestle with their fate in light of it. The same is true here in John 6. This difficult teaching sifts Jesus’ followers: Some of them fall away and refuse to follow him any longer (6:66) while one other disciple likely finds in this a catalyst for his own personal rebellion and betrayal (6:70–71).
These are the deeper things of Jesus, and only with divine help can anyone comprehend them. Therefore Jesus points to yet one more feature of this coming hour. If his death brings offense, what of his ascension (6:62)? If the first idea of death was scandalous, this further idea will be even harder. An earlier mention of “ascending” (3:13) used the metaphor of “lifting up” in a clever literary pun: The Son of Man will be “lifted up” to the cross, and the Son of Man will be “lifted up” into heaven. For John, Jesus’ movement toward the cross (his glorification) is also his movement “heavenward,” returning to the glory he enjoyed from the beginning (17:5). This full glorification is thus the complete picture of Jesus’ death (cross, resurrection, ascension) that the disciples must now understand. Not only will he die, but he will return to heaven. It is through this complete work of Christ that life can be given to the world.
There is an important gift, however, a vital endowment, that will be a part of this life-giving work. The “flesh” that is of no avail in 6:63 recalls the literal flesh of 6:53 (cf. 3:6). Jesus clarifies that taking his words literally (“eat my flesh; drink my blood”) is not the point. If eucharistic symbolism is at work, it is not a mechanical sacramentalism that Jesus has in mind, for the life-giving gift is the Holy Spirit. This thought parallels Jesus’ message to Nicodemus and the woman of Samaria: What they need cannot be found in the material things of this world. They require new birth, living water. Moreover, Jesus is giving a signal that here in the course of his glorification, when the Son of Man ascends, a gift will be provided that will facilitate belief and give life. Jesus will say this explicitly at the Feast of Tabernacles (7:37–39) and later give its fulfillment in 20:22.
With some of his following now collapsing, Jesus turns to the Twelve to inquire if they wish to depart as well (6:67). This is clearly a turning point for Jesus. The mystery of his person and work has now been laid out in full. For Peter this difficult exchange provides an opportunity to give a courageous confession: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.” In the Synoptics, this title “Holy One” appears only among demons (Mark 1:24; Luke 4:34). But it is a potent and unusual title—one used throughout the Old Testament (thirty times in Isaiah) for God (“the Holy One of Israel”), who defends his people and redeems them (Isa. 41:14; 43:14–15).
Jesus recognizes the confession not simply as a tribute to Peter’s courage but also as evidence of God’s supernatural movement in his life (cf. Matt. 16:17, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by man, but by my Father in heaven”). These deeper things cannot be embraced by anyone, only by those whom God has enabled (John 6:65) and called (6:70). This is a profound and important thought for John, and one we will meet again and again in his Gospel. God’s entry into the world in Christ is not the only act of grace; God must also empower men and women to see it and embrace it. Humanity cannot defeat the darkness that holds it in its grip; only God possesses this sort of power.
Bridging Contexts
UNLIKE MANY COMMENTATORS, I have chosen to keep this lengthy chapter unified because of the many connecting themes that knit together its paragraphs. John has written this chapter (and the others) with a literary mastery that should not be missed. To read, for instance, the feeding of the five thousand in isolation from the closing theological debate in Capernaum is to miss the sweeping interpretation Jesus gives to the miracle. Or to forget that the entire chapter is included under John’s heading of “Passover” is to miss its many nuances to Passover and its many symbols embedded in the story, as I have pointed out above.
Encouragement and warning. Throughout the story, we are presented with the idea of sustenance, material and spiritual. As with the other miracle stories, the discussion moves from the obvious (bread on a hillside), to the symbolic (“I am the bread of life!”), to the spiritually mystical (“You must eat my flesh and drink my blood!”). Each step of the way misunderstanding and incomprehension trail the discussions. The attitude of the crowds depicts the passion that fuels such a quest for food—whether common or spiritual food—and how important it is to see what it means to be “fed by God.” But once the discovery is made, once the crowds determine that Jesus is a supplier of this food, once they grasp the potential and power of religion when it is in their hands, they move to exploit it to their own ends. They come to “make him king by force.”
Thus, we are encouraged and warned simultaneously. We are encouraged to come and feed at the meal served by Jesus, to learn ultimately that the bread he offers is more than bread; it is life itself hidden in his sacrificed life. But we are also warned, because misapprehension and confusion can overtake us and we may unwittingly find ourselves grasping after religious things (bread, a religious king, sacraments) that in themselves are misdirected. As 6:63 says it, “The flesh counts for nothing.” The chapter begins with Jesus testing his disciples about food: Would they understand the implications of his presence here, his capacities, his goals? The passage then ends with some disciples grumbling in offense, others falling away, and Judas making plans for betrayal. There is a deep revelation of Christ at work here that divides the audience.
A glimpse of God. The first elementary episodes of revelation should be seen as twin pictures of what it means to obtain a glimpse of God and not understand it. The feeding miracle (6:1–15) can be viewed as a commonplace act of compassion by Jesus—and indeed it was. The crowds are hungry, they need food, and as we have seen in other times, Jesus responds to people’s needs. This alone is a subject worthy of our attention in the twenty-first century.
But John wants to show us something more than the mere satisfaction of hunger. He wants us to look beyond the obvious fulfillment of Passover motifs that the feeding supplies. The climax of the story is unsettling and perverse: The crowd fits Jesus into their religious categories (“This is the prophet!”) and decide that they can control, promote, and fashion something religiously constructive out of this event. They want Jesus for their own ends; they want to pursue a political agenda (revolution? social upheaval? dissent?), and Jesus must flee. In the end the picture is penetratingly clear: They have no clue what they have just witnessed. In their arrogance they wish to exploit it like a marketing company exploits a new household invention.
The second elementary episode (6:16–21) takes us to the lake, where we once again see Jesus’ compassion, this time for his disciples. They are working against the waves, trying to cross the lake as Jesus had ordered. Jesus comes to help, and once again we see his heartfelt concern for his friends. But John wants to take us further again. Like the crowd, the disciples do not understand what they see. But to their credit, they are afraid. They know an epiphany when they see it even though they cannot comprehend it completely. It is beyond their grasp and all they can do is remain with Jesus, hoping to gain clearer sight as things progress.
Together these two episodes provide an intriguing bridge to bring this chapter to us today. They provoke questions about religious apprehension and the wrong use of spiritual things. They also describe how disciples should act when their ignorance is no different than that of the crowd, and how disciples should act with appropriate reverence when they see divine things at work. To their credit, the crowd goes in pursuit of Jesus, and it seems that in the end they give up their agenda of the previous day and now ask for the same thing the Samaritan woman found herself requesting: nourishment, spiritual nourishment (6:34). Have they been humbled? Have they redefined what they want from Jesus?
The subsequent Capernaum discourse (6:22–59) supplies one of the most open and candid discussions by Jesus concerning his identity and mission. Passover images tumble over one another again as Jesus increases the complexity and difficulty of ideas: He is the bread of life that descends, bread that must be consumed, bread that will be given in sacrificed flesh. The meaning of this leaves everyone in shock. Religious questions (6:25) turn to grumbling (6:41), which in turn leads to sharp argument (6:52). In the end even his closest followers admit that the sayings are hard (6:60), and soon some begin falling away in disbelief. Mixed into these responses are assurances from Jesus that only God can supply the sort of faith and vision that will enable a person to grasp such things. “Everyone who listens to the Father and learns from him comes to me” (6:45). Jesus knows who will believe (6:64) and knows as well that it is God who is sovereignly at work, opening hearts and eyes to see these deeper things.
Surely John wants us to reflect on our human capacity for comprehending the true meaning of what has happened when God was at work in Christ. These things are beyond our reach, and at best we are called to do no less than Peter: stand where there is life despite its utter incomprehensibility. “To whom shall we go?” he asks (6:68). Eternal life can be found nowhere else but here in Jesus.
This is yet another theme to be brought into our century. If it is God who alone gives divine insight into the meaning of his Son (“No one can come to me unless the Father has enabled him,” 6:65), what does this mean for the average Christian experience? If distortion and fear accompany our best efforts to understand the deeper things of God, what is the human role in evangelism or teaching in the mission of the church? If God unlocks the human heart, how do I participate, how do I encourage this divine work? John raises tantalizing questions in this story, but does not provide obvious answers.
Fed by God. To summarize, the unifying subject of the chapter turns on one idea: What does it mean to be fed by God? We are reminded of material feedings (Jesus with the five thousand, Moses with his multitudes at Passover) but then exhorted that these feedings have nothing to do with the deeper things of life. The Israelites still died in the desert; Jesus’ hillside gathering will still go hungry the next day. The same is true today. The pursuit of bread—spiritual or otherwise—is a universal compulsion of human civilization. It often takes wrong turns. But for those who are most intuitive, who sense the deeper realities of life and possess a more profound vision, they understand that this pursuit must engage religious interests. The human spirit cannot be denied in the quest for life, for meaningful life today.
Thus the question remains: How am I fed by God? How can I find bread that lasts forever? How can I discover transcendence or spiritual nurture? How can I discover God in a way that will not diminish before my next meal? The obvious answer is that we should find this in Jesus. But it is not so easy. People twist and distort religion, manipulating it to their own ends. Religious forms are developed and promoted (sacramental forms?); still, these do not reach the desired goal. Even Christians reach a point of exhaustion when the traditional forms of religious experience become tired.
In the end, being fed by God is beyond our natural comprehension. It is utterly mysterious and will evoke feelings of fear and confusion and in some cases anger. These are divine things, heavenly realities that lie beyond our abilities. We should not complain or grumble about them. It is God alone who can supply divine insight. Our task is simply to stand and receive, to engage, to be open to the work of the Spirit as he permits us glimpses into realities too deep for us.
Therefore we watch. For some, this critique of religion and engagement of everything that religion was meant to be are too much to bear. For some—particularly the purveyors of religious traditions—this demolition and rebuilding are unacceptable. Some flee. Others argue. Still others join Judas and plot to destroy that which would threaten them.
Consequently the chief themes I need to take from this text could be organized around four headings: (1) The pursuit of bread: What are the perceived needs of society and the attempts to satisfy hunger? (2) The religious pursuit of bread: How is religion employed in this pursuit? How have the things of Jesus been distorted in this quest? (3) Being fed by God: What does God desire for us? Are religious forms such as the Eucharist impediments to a deeper experience with him? What is God’s role in the pursuit of bread? (4) Rebellion: What are the predictable reactions of many who find this revelation intolerable? What sinful reflexes are at work among those who grumble and work to stop God’s work to feed his people?
Contemporary Significance
WHEN BRENDA ENTERED my office, I had no idea that she would stay for an hour and bare her soul. Before she was born, her father was converted in part through the writings of Francis Schafer. He went to Dallas Seminary in the 1970s but found himself to be at odds with the school because midway through his M.Div. program he began speaking in tongues.26 He was permitted to graduate only if he did not make this experience well known. The family migrated to charismatic communities and finally settled in the Assemblies of God.
Brenda was nurtured on evangelistic sermons and an open display of charismatic gifts. But the family also missed the rigor of Schafer’s intellectualism that had been reinforced at Dallas. They migrated again back into the mainstream of evangelicalism and reached a spiritual cul-de-sac. Cavalier criticisms of their secret charismatic spiritual history were heard regularly; evangelistic hymns and hard-hitting, soul-winning sermons replaced prophesy and healings. Despair and cynicism settled over the family like a damp fog. Today her father rarely goes to church.
Brenda wept when she told me that now, as a young woman, all of it seemed hollow to her: the sermons, the Bible, the Lord’s Supper—all of it. Even speaking in tongues (which she did less and less) seemed artificial. She desired to be fed by God, but her deepest fear was that nothing could reach her heart, nothing could penetrate her cynicism. She had seen it all. And she had watched Christian leaders with bravado use their own style of religion to defeat their competitors in the Christian marketplace of ideas. She had watched the healers, the revival preachers, the moral majority, and almost every other religious configuration. Now she was tired. She simply wanted to be with God, to find out if there was any way to be fed once more, to see if there was any new dance that she had not already seen. She was hungry, but had reached that level of despair in which a person doubts the existence of food.
Two weeks later, Brenda entered a nearby Catholic monastery as a temporary guest. She returned radiant and transformed.
The pursuit of bread. The needs of the crowd in Galilee were obvious. In some way they represent the needs of humanity from the beginning of time. We need the things necessary for survival (“Give us this day our daily bread”). And if those needs go unmet, if hunger goes ignored, then the pursuit of any higher virtue (religious or otherwise) collapses. This is why Jesus rightly makes sure that the crowd is fed. It is ethically responsible to care for the body before nurturing the soul.
This is the outlook that fuels ministries such as Venture Middle East.27 This ministry is a behind-the-scenes evangelical work that parallels the efforts of giants such as World Vision. Its president, Leonard Rodgers, carries aid for the physical needs of people into areas that are dangerous, where the gospel has barely penetrated and where World Vision with its high profile cannot enter.
As the founder of Youth For Christ in Lebanon, Len went on to direct the ministries for World Vision in the Middle East. But then he decided to take a plunge into ministry “behind the lines.” He is building wheelchair factories today on the doorstep of Afghanistan in Muslim countries that have overwhelming needs. Muslim amputees from land mines build chairs and use them and, in their joy, hear that Len follows Jesus. His “family-to-family” support program links American families with poverty-stricken Christian families in Arab countries where persecution and devastation are commonplace. Funneling money through Arab pastors, Venture Middle East has helped countless people. In the aftermath of the Gulf War, he has carried millions of dollars of medical supplies by truck to the people of Iraq, impoverished by a United Nations embargo.28 This is bread. This is the Galilean bread distributed by Jesus, and it calls for the church to pursue similar ministries of care and relief.
If bread is what we need to survive in order to feel well and wholesome, the pursuit of bread becomes complicated when people determine that their needs include things unnecessary for true life. It would be as if the crowd asked Jesus for an ice cream break. Would he serve this too? Christians in the West are familiar with this theme, but we have difficulty diagnosing it in ourselves. Living in a consumer society fueled by sophisticated advertising and relative affluence, we have been given the means and the motivation to pursue countless forms of bread. If I simply possess this car or that cologne, my self-image will be healed and my sense of safety and well-being renewed. Once we possess these things, of course, their seductive appeal evaporates, and we move on to new targets of gratification.
Christians are not exempt from the seductions of the material culture around us. We define the “bread” we need with lives of remarkable indulgence. One Christian minister came to head a significant evangelical ministry recently and enjoyed a salary package that included a $125,000 annual paycheck, a custom-built home, a luxury car, a private parking space, and a renovated office suite. It was breathtaking. But remarkably—this is the real point—few in the ministry questioned it because the notion of “comfort and success” had permeated the corporate culture of the organization. The quest for bread had become twisted beyond recognition.
This explains the crowd’s initial zeal when Jesus supplies such bread miraculously. On one level, it was the right thing to feed them. But on another level it is as if the Sony Corporation had pulled up to the local high school and began distributing an endless supply of stereo equipment. The men in suits would be awarded messianic status. And in a short length of time, the scene might become ugly. The abundance of the miracle overwhelmed everybody.
The religious pursuit of bread. But more thoughtful persons down through the ages have always argued that the material things of life do not provide the secret to true happiness. Even among those people who embrace an utterly pagan worldview, deep spiritual instincts lead them to explore everything from meditation to philosophy. For the average person, the pursuit of religion is an inevitable dimension of their pursuit of life.
The crowd in Galilee put a religious spin on the miracle of Jesus: “This is the prophet who is to come into the world.” When they relocated him on shore at Capernaum, they peppered him with questions about their own religious heritage with Moses and how Jesus fit in. In the end the people wanted to see a religious figure here, not simply a supplier of bread.
When the human instinct for religion is unleashed, it rarely reaches its true goal. One evening recently I returned home from watching the film Seven Years in Tibet (starring Brad Pitt), only to find a full review of the movie announced on the cover of Time. The magazine’s interest was not simply in this movie, but in the increasing interest in Buddhism in America. Writers cleverly demonstrated how Buddhist language has been spilling into the American vernacular and how New Age interests are now intersecting with ancient Asian religious systems. The message was clear: Americans are as religious as ever, and now they are seeking “religious bread” wherever they can find it, particularly in Asia.
There is another way we can look at the crowd’s attempt to “take Jesus by force” (6:15). They come to kidnap him, to promote him as a hero, to make him a religious figure in their own image and serve their agenda. When Christians pursue “spiritual bread,” they likewise are tempted to make Jesus serve their religious agenda. When this happens, Jesus is “taken by force” in the church. He is exploited and manipulated, forged into a “poster boy” for this campaign or that venture. In the present story, the agenda is purely political: The people want a king and Jesus will do just fine. If this prophet can overthrow Rome’s domination of Israel, with the crowd’s help Jesus just may be successful.
Conservatives have often criticized the violent use of Jesus among more liberal Christians who wish to baptize their politics with his image. Conservatives point to forms of “liberation theology” that work to emancipate women or minorities or the poor. These social concerns are good and legitimate, but as this work progresses, it seems as if the emphases of Jesus fall to the background and political agendas of social justice take center stage.
In some cases, the complaint is accurate. I was flying home recently from a conference accompanied by a theology professor from the University of Chicago. He was deeply involved in the National Council of Churches and the World Council of Churches. Over two hours he explained to me the history of these two organizations and how they built an ecumenical consensus by eliminating potentially divisive doctrinal statements. In the end, all that remained in these groups was a commitment to social justice without any undergirding commitment to uniquely Christian theology. Jesus’ name remained on the flag, but his words were strictly edited.
But conservatives have likewise tried to take Jesus by force. Since the 1970s evangelicals have discovered a new political consciousness. To their delight, they have power and respect in arenas where once they were excluded. Ralph Reed, for instance, has given stature to evangelicals in Washington unlike few in the past. We are now a powerful electoral force. But evangelicals have taken “Jesus by force” as well. We identify social platforms, national security interests, and moral crusades, and we baptize them in the name of Jesus. Many of us have difficulty being critical of these agendas since for the most part we agree with them. Isn’t Jesus against socialism? Doesn’t he abhor Saddam Hussein? Wouldn’t Jesus endorse free market capitalism?29 Would he not take a hard line against Islam? Isn’t he against the gay lobby? Wouldn’t he march on Washington against abortion?
Before we know it, we are carrying a flag with a cross, singing crusader songs, and laying siege to secular Jerusalems throughout our society. One important ministry in Colorado Springs understands the sort of power that can be harnessed when 3.5 million religious radio listeners suddenly are told to send letters to Congress. Washington insiders remark that in a matter of days the capitol is flooded with mail. Nervous leaders find themselves consulting Christians in Colorado to learn Jesus’ view on sex ethics or the family or religious freedom. That’s power. Raw power—particularly when the budget of this organization exceeds that of the largest Protestant denomination in the United States (the Southern Baptist Church).
To test the union of religion and politics among evangelicals, one simply has to contradict a thoroughly endorsed theme. When a magazine like Sojourners or a speaker like Tony Compolo dares to challenge the assured political conclusions of the church, it is interesting to see what happens. The merits of the case are not debated; rather, one’s fidelity to Jesus is placed in question because Jesus supports the item under debate.
I had an interesting experience with this type of mentality in the early 1990s. I wrote a book entitled Who Are God’s People in the Middle East? What Christians Are Not Being Told About Israel and the Palestinians.30 In it I openly questioned whether the church was right in giving unquestioned political support to Israel, given Israel’s notorious record of human rights abuses and theft of Palestinian land. Jews who wrote to me helpfully debated the shortcomings of my arguments. But evangelicals who wrote (and there were many) instead questioned how someone could claim to follow Jesus, believe in the Bible, teach at Wheaton College, and still hold these views. Jesus was on the side of Israel, not the Palestinians. Thus, in their eyes, this set me against Jesus, for of course he is politically a hawk when it comes to Middle East politics.31
When Jesus is taken by force to serve as a pawn in our religiously sanctioned political program, we are no different than the crowds in Galilee.
Being fed by God. I need to come back to Brenda and her quest for God. She was tired of Christian politics and revivals and was cynical of religious forms that no longer captured her imagination. She had witnessed people taking Jesus by force. She was identifying hollow façades and was worried that there was no mystery, no presence, no possibility of discovering anything beyond her own being. Even the Bible had lost its power. God’s voice had been silenced by religion.
When Brenda approached the monastery, she was apprehensive. She had called ahead and they said there was room; but she had never seen a nun up close, nor had she genuinely penetrated this foreign Catholic world. The grounds were beautiful, large, and private, with many places for contemplation. The buildings were old but good. A sister answered her knock at the door, but she didn’t wear the expected black and white habit. It was her face that said everything. Brenda was among people who knew God, who knew what she needed, and who knew how to nurture her. She was taken to her simple room and told she could stay “as long as you need to.” She asked about costs and was told no money was required.
In the silence and simplicity and beauty of that place, Brenda’s soul was restored. Fellow pilgrims (priests and sisters) who had walked the road of faith far longer than Brenda spoke to her gently about their discoveries of knowing God. And they loved her. The clutter of her religious history began to dissipate. She began to hear God’s voice speaking words of affection and assurance. She realized how many religious habits she had acquired when she only needed a pure and pristine walk with Jesus. He was the bread of life. Her earlier life was filled to the brim with religious bread in abundance, but there had been little life in it.
All Christian traditions, Protestant as well as Catholic, provide forms and traditions that are designed to feed us, to nurture us. Refugees from Catholic parishes have appeared on many Protestant doorsteps, just as Brenda entered the monastery. Being fed by God is so simple that in a world congested with busyness, it has become hard to understand. Like the pursuit of joy, the more we run after it with strategies and plans, the more it seems to flee. It is not gained by ministry accomplishments, righteous efforts, or the intellectual mastery of the Bible. Being fed by God requires a conversion of thinking, a discovery that God is eager to give life and renewal to anyone who can listen in simplicity and piety.
I think, for instance, of the life of Cardinal Joseph Bernardin of Chicago, who died November 14, 1996. His book, The Gift of Peace, completed just before his death, is a testimony to the simplicity of a life lived in utter dependence on God. “Giving up and trust” were the themes of his life, and in his story there is a profound renunciation of things superficially religious and an embrace of everything divine.32 When he died, Christians throughout Chicago (Catholic and Protestant) knew that a great life was passing.
John does not provide simplistic answers to the question of the divine life. But he does make one comment. While religious forms might be useful, they dare not replace the immediacy of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Most commentators agree that John is at least making a veiled allusion to the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper in chapter 6. Yet curiously, his treatment of it is similar to his veiled allusion to baptism in chapter 3, which he makes and then moves on, providing a critique that is anchored in an understanding of the Spirit. In John 3 references to “birth by water” drop away, and we learn that it is only the Spirit that gives renewal. In John 6, Jesus finally remarks that “the Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing” (6:63). The sacrament itself is simply a vehicle to communicate divine life to the worshiper. It is used rightly when Christ is identified and the Spirit is experienced in all his glory and power.
The consumption of Jesus described so explicitly in 6:52–58 springs from the eucharistic language of the church (which Jesus is anticipating), and now it becomes a metaphor for the interior life one should have with Christ. This is truly mystical spirituality, which echoes what we heard in chapter 4 concerning worship: Neither Jerusalem nor Samaria can provide the appropriate form of worship. This worship is to be done in Spirit and truth. Again, John is challenging religious forms and replacing them with an immediacy of spiritual experience mediated through the Holy Spirit. For John, the spiritual life is not simply a life of confession and obedience, but a life of encounter.
Does this mean that religious forms should be discarded? Some interpreters have seen John as strictly antisacramental, going so far as even to exclude any account of the Lord’s Supper in the Upper Room. Some pastors want to promote this sort of spirituality, creating worship and experience untethered to religious forms and rituals. One major church in California even removed the Lord’s Supper from worship altogether so that people would not become confused or dependent on it.33 But this sort of response finds no sympathy from John. The apostle provides a critique of sacramental worship that has lost any connection with the life-giving Lord present in the church through the Spirit. I believe he would have us use the sacraments correctly so that they become true vehicles of encounter and not fossilized instruments of religiosity.
Rebellion. I am naive if I think that the confusion, anger, and outrage of the disciples at the end of the chapter is something unique to them, as if they have some deficit, some blindness, or some spiritual malady that makes them incapable of embracing the profundity of Jesus’ revelation. Hearts that are religiously inclined can become angry when the formulas change, when things don’t show up as predicted, when conventions become upset. It is a religious rebellion that in some fashion disguises itself as piety, as light—but in the end is darkness nonetheless. I assume that as a follower of Christ I bear pure light into a world of darkness. But the truth is that Christ’s brilliance makes every light (even my own) appear as darkness.
Christ may have things to say that we cannot accept. We may hear ourselves saying, “This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?” (6:60). We have built our religious structures and justified them with verses from the Bible. We have forged coalitions of people like us who are sensible, biblical, and theologically orthodox. We have a history to protect, an agenda to promote, a vision to foster, and any who impede our progress—no, God’s progress—deserve our militancy.34
I must forever keep in mind that Judas Iscariot’s traitorous act is born when Jesus reveals the deeper things about himself. Was this man not a coworker with Jesus for three years? Did Jesus not choose each of the Twelve, including Judas (6:70)? Judas worked miracles in Galilee and preached for Jesus. He evangelized villages and brought converts into the fold. Even his fellow apostles did not detect anything unusual in him (13:29). He was not chosen by Jesus simply so that he would play the role of betrayer. Something happened, some overwhelming despair engulfed him, some virus-strength cynicism settled in his heart—and he decided to stand against the man in whom he believed. In the end, it was a decision he regretted profoundly (Matt. 27:5). Perhaps he liked the way things were in Galilee, and when they arrived in Jerusalem and Jesus disclosed his identity as the Messiah and Son with abandon, he simply couldn’t bear it. The Jesus Movement, he concluded, might do better without Jesus.
Do the grumbling disciples and the fiercely rebellious Judases live today in the ranks of the church? Arming ourselves against God, we may not want to hear any new thing Jesus may have for us.
I realize that for some readers, my story of a young evangelical woman spiritually rescued in a Catholic monastery will offend. Does God really work through the Catholic Church?35 When Christian leadership worked to support the civil rights of blacks in America in the 1960s, some of us grumbled. Does God speak for political activism? When the charismatic renewal was born in the 1970s, many of us were angry. Can this be God’s inspiration? When Christians spoke up for justice in South Africa and Palestine in the 1980s, many of us complained. It can be as small as introducing a contemporary worship service at church and as large as promoting women in ministry. But when God tries to lead us into things outside our zone of comfort, we bathe our objections in religious language and rebel.36
Even the line of thought in these paragraphs will inspire frustration. When evangelicals rebel, they are defending what is true, aren’t they? But this is just the point. Each of us—evangelicals included—produce our own set of religious assumptions and defend them in the name of God. We become inquisitors and crusaders, pursuing what we think is a divine work. But Jesus and his mission are more complex and profound than any Christian tradition. With Peter we must always be willing to relinquish our position, to hold our assumptions loosely, and to say in faith, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (6:68).