Under Attack
Commentary
I asked the folks in my congregation once whether they struggled with sin. It was not a question to which I expected public, out-loud answers. But I did want them to contemplate the question individually. And I suggested to them that there were three possible answers: No, no, and yes.
On the one hand, a person could say that they don’t struggle with sin for some good reason: that, by the grace of God at work in their lives, they have been so redeemed and sanctified that they have been thoroughly renewed. I did not expect, however, that any people in my congregation were prepared to make that particular claim.
On the other hand, a person could say that they don’t struggle with sin for some bad reasons. To struggle with sin, after all, suggests a kind of conflict, and it may well be that many people experience little or no conflict with sin. Some may not have a conflict with it because they do not even concede the concept or reality of sin. And so they may think they have no more reason to struggle with sin than I do to struggle with unicorns. Others, meanwhile, do not struggle with sin because they have surrendered to it. There is no fight involved — they willingly live in obedience to the desires of their sinful nature.
Meanwhile, the third possible answer is yes. This, I imagined, was the most common answer among my people. They struggle with sin because, on the one hand, they have not overcome it; and, on the other hand, they are not willing to surrender to it. This is the place where most Christians find themselves. And our three passages invite us into reflecting on that struggle.
The Apostle Peter exhorted the Christians in his care, saying, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul” (1 Peter 2:11 ESV).
To what extent do we operate with that level of spiritual sensitivity? To what extent do we recognize that certain things are waging war against our souls? For if Peter is right, then we ought most certainly to be struggling with sin — not because we choose to go to sin in order to take it on, but because it comes to us and endeavors to defeat us. This is not a war in which pacifism is the Christlike response. No, we must take up arms against those things that wage war against us in a battle with eternal consequences.
As we consider an episode from the story of David, an episode from the ministry of Jesus, and the words of Paul to the Ephesians, we will see the truth of Peter’s statement. And, if we are attentive, we will see more clearly the battle in our own lives and how better to fight it.
2 Samuel 11:26--12:13a
Our dramatic Old Testament lection is all about relationships. Specifically, three relationships. Surprisingly, however, the relationship between David and Bathsheba is not among them. That episode serves as the context for the passage, of course, but it is comparatively flat; it is three other relationships that are robust and compelling.
First, there is the relationship between Bathsheba and Uriah. In a sense, we never actually see the two of them together. We certainly don’t follow the plot of their love story the way we do, say, the relationship between Jacob and Rachel. Yet we are given a sweet portrait of their love in the word picture painted by the prophet Nathan. The comparison to a man and a lamb may be unconventional in our eyes, but it is undeniably a picture of love that cherishes.
Second, there is the relationship between Nathan and David. We know from the story of Herod and John the Baptist that it is a risky business to condemn the behavior of a monarch. And in the preceding story, we surely see evidence of David’s capacity for ruthlessness. Yet still Nathan marches into the king’s presence and has the audacity to tell him a bogus story.
The nature of that bogus story offers further insight into the relationship between prophet and king. Nathan had enough sensitivity to recognize the history and the heart of the man with whom he was dealing. While David seemed to have become hardened to so much, Nathan gambled that there was still a shepherd boy lingering somewhere inside of David. And, sure enough, the heartstring-tugging story about a lamb was sufficient to arouse David’s emotions.
The final insight into the relationship between Nathan and David comes at the moment of truth. Nathan’s story has touched the intended nerve. David pronounced the harsh judgment. And then, in that dramatic instant, Nathan has to summon the courage to point a finger at the king. That Nathan can say, “You are the man” is a testament to the strength and trust of the relationship.
Finally, there is the most important of the three relationships: the one between David and God. Clearly David has betrayed that relationship, and the message of judgment is sobering, indeed. But the larger content of God’s message to David is truly beautiful. The Lord reminds how he has dealt graciously and abundantly with David.
In a sense, God’s word to David is a metaphor for God’s word to the human race as a whole and to Old Testament Israel in general. For in every case, you see, the starting place is the generosity of God’s heart. The story always begins with the goodness of what he has provided and the further goodness of what he has intended. Yet sin and rebellion consistently cost the human characters the good that God has in store.
In the face of that tragedy, however, Wesley sings the gospel truth: “Ye who have sold for naught your heritage above shall have it back unbought, the gift of Jesus’ love.”1
Ephesians 4:1-16
Paul does not make it easy for a preacher. Any passage selected from one of his epistles is so chock full of meaningful content that it leaves the preacher with an impossible task. You and I stand before an abundant smorgasbord with the recognition that neither our plates nor our stomachs can accommodate all that is there. And so we will settle for the main dish.
The main thrust of this selected passage is found in the apostle’s opening exhortation: “Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called.” That suggests an either-or scenario. Either a person is walking in a way that is worthy, or they are walking in a way that is unworthy. Those were the two choices for the Christians in ancient Ephesus, and those are the two choices for you, for me, and for the people in our pews. And so we mine the passage for what it tells us about the two ways — and, by extension, what it tells us about ourselves and the way in which we are walking.
First, there are the descriptive hints Paul gives us to illustrate the way that is worthy of our calling. Interestingly, the first set of descriptors he uses all point to our relationships with other human beings — humility, gentleness, patience, maintaining unity, and bearing with one another in love. If the text had been cut off at the end of verse 1, what would we expect would follow? What comes first to our minds when we imagine a life that is worthy of God’s call on our lives? Paul does not begin where some of us might. He does not begin with doctrine or with piety. The matter of first importance is how we conduct ourselves toward one another.
We recognize echoes of Jesus’ own teachings here. We remember, for example, his dramatic instruction for the worshiper at the altar to press the pause button on worship in order to go back home and make things right with a brother. We remember that he was unwilling to answer the “great commandment” question with a single commandment, but opted instead to make love of neighbor inseparable from love of God. And we remember that he told his followers that their telltale hallmark would be their love for one another.
Central to the apostle’s picture of how it ought to be among the followers of Jesus is the theme of unity. And that oneness is not a detached ideal, but is rather a natural extension of “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all.” In other words, our oneness does not originate with us but with the Lord.
The love, unity, and peace which are meant to characterize the people of God are a product of the grace of Christ at work within us. Then the apostle ties what is meant to take place among us to the work of Christ, just as he did for the Christians in Philippi in the famous Christ hymn of chapter 2. What we are and what we share begins with him.
Next comes a brief excursus on what we refer elsewhere to as the gifts of the Spirit. Fuller explication of these is found in 1 Corinthians and Romans, but we see them referenced here in the functional role that they play with respect to helping the church. And, specifically, we recognize that these roles within the life of the church are meant to help the church walk in a way that is worthy of our calling.
The way that is unworthy, meanwhile, is implicit in the positive descriptions that the apostle has given to the way that is worthy. In other words, we might simply take the opposites of what Paul has already said in order to help us see and recognize the look of the unworthy way. Such living would be arrogant and harsh, impatient and selfish, and above all it would be marked by disunity.
But the apostle does not leave us to imagine the opposite of the positive picture he has painted. Instead, he lays out some of the details of the unworthy way, and it is framed especially in terms of spiritual immaturity. There is a way that we are meant to be growing; there is a final form that we are meant to be becoming. But in contrast to that, there is a fickle and unstable childishness. Here, then, is where the issue of doctrine is raised. For it is those who are not walking in the worthy way that so easily fall prey to false and faddish doctrines.
Paul will not end his exhortation on a sour note, however. The calling to which we are called is high and beautiful. And so he does not conclude this discussion with the sorry portrait of the spiritually immature, but rather reminds us again of the characteristic love and unity that God has in mind for his people.
Taken all together, then, we are invited — both individually and corporately — to reflect on the two ways that Paul has described. One way pleases, honors, and takes its cue from the Lord. The other, however, is so different from his own character, heart, and will that it is unworthy of the calling to which we have been called.
John 6:24-35
Only a few events prior to Holy Week are reported by all four gospels. One of those select episodes is the story of the feeding of the five-thousand. Yet while all four gospel writers include that event, only John offers the follow up which is our Gospel lection for this week.
I confess that I harbor a rather sentimental fondness for the crowds in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They come from all over. They pursue Jesus. They demonstrate their faith in him. And they provide the context for so many of Jesus’ teachings and the setting for so many of his miracles.
Yet a careful reading of the text reveals a somewhat less rosy picture of those crowds. Their understanding is often limited. Their devotion is perhaps uneven. And their motivation may be largely self-interest.
That final point is highlighted by Jesus in his dialogue with the crowds of John 6. Following the miraculous feeding of the multitude, the people sought Jesus once again. They crossed the Sea of Galilee, and when they found him, he challenged them, saying, “You are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.”
That is a fascinating and troubling indictment, and we will explore some of the implications below. For the present moment, however, let us simply acknowledge the sad absurdity of the scene. The people of first-century Galilee have in their midst Jesus Christ — the incarnate Son of God — and they are preoccupied with salivating over bread.
There will come a day when all of creation will see clearly. And on that day, Paul tells us, every knee will bow and every tongue confess. On that day, we will fall down in adoration and cast our crowns before him. On that day, we will give him his due. But in the myopia of our present fallenness, we so often “esteem him not.” And the crowds clamored after him, not so that they might have him, but so that they might have bread. Pathetic.
Jesus puts plainly before them the nature of their choice — that which perishes versus that which endures. And it is at this juncture that we cannot keep the crowds of John 6 at arm’s length. For while we suppose that we would know better than to follow Jesus across a lake simply for bread, we recognize that the choice between the temporal and the eternal is always before us. It is riches on earth versus riches in heaven. It is cracked cisterns versus living water. It is the willing spirit encumbered by the weak flesh.
Meanwhile, a brief remark by Jesus within the pericope makes a provocative contribution to a perennial debate. “This is the work of God,” he said, “that you believe in him whom he has sent.” How might we factor that into our theology of the relationship between faith and works?
Finally, the episode concludes with one of the “I Am” statements for which the fourth gospel is famous. “I am the Bread of Life,” Jesus declares. “Whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” This bold and familiar statement brings clarity to several matters.
First, we are reminded of the principle that lesser things point us to greater things. The love we feel for our children, for example, gives us a muted glimpse into the love of the heavenly Father. The oneness we experience in marriage or in Christian fellowship become stepping stones from which to view the oneness of the Trinity. And the experience of physical hunger and thirst followed by satisfaction offers us an accessible metaphor for our spiritual needs and solutions.
Second, it is possible to be on the right track and still miss the point. The crowds of John 6 were pursuing Jesus because of their physical hunger and because he had provided bread. Ah, so near but yet so far! For they should have been coming to him because of their spiritual hunger and because he is the bread.
And, finally, we are reminded that which lasts and that which does not. All of the various things we do to satisfy our various physical needs and appetites prove to be very temporary solutions. We awaken in the morning quite refreshed from a night’s sleep, but we are tired again a dozen or so hours later. We walk away from a big meal joking that we can’t imagine wanting to eat again, yet not too many hours will pass before we’re opening refrigerator and cupboard doors. Over against such temporal and fleeting satisfaction, however, Jesus promises to offer — to be! — lasting satisfaction for our deepest needs.
Application
We noted above Peter’s warning about “the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.” Unlike the Gnostic heretics and many other Greek philosophies, however, scripture does not categorically reject the flesh as the seat of evil within the human creature. Rather, scripture affirms that God created the physical world and created us as physical beings. We are also told that, in the end, God’s final victory in our lives is not the abandonment of the body but the resurrection of the body. And, in the meantime, the incarnation declares to us that God himself put on flesh. In light of all that, therefore, we must be careful not to dismiss the flesh as altogether bad, and certainly not irredeemably so.
The appetites of the body — food, drink, sleep, and sex — these are all good gifts within their proper places. Yet each one can become the venue of spiritual and moral failure. We think of the drowsy disciples in Gethsemane, as well as Proverbs’ amusing caricature of the drunk. And in the particular Old and New Testament stories we’re considering this week, we see further evidence of the principle. David infamously misplaced sexual desire, and the crowds of John 6 allowed their appetite for physical bread to eclipse their recognition of the Bread of Life.
The idea of a good thing becoming bad when not in its proper place reminds me of a rather unappetizing definition of dirt that I learned as a teenager. If a hair is in your ice cream, the man explained to me, then the hair is the “dirt.” If, on the other hand, there is a little ice cream in your hair, then it’s the ice cream that is the “dirt.” It is not the thing itself that is innately bad, you see; it is anything out of its proper place.
And so it is with our physical appetites. When given free rein to become disproportionately important to us (see John 6) or to exceed their ordained boundaries (see 2 Samuel 11), they become “the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.”
Paul reminded the Ephesians to live a life worthy of their calling. One senses that his exhortation is generally positive — not scolding or corrective. In the passages from 2 Samuel and John, however, Nathan and Jesus respectively also extend reminders of a higher calling, though with a necessarily corrective tone.
It is unclear how well the John 6 crowds responded to Jesus’ correction. But in the case of David, we have a truly positive example set before our eyes. He was, after all, sovereign, and he had already demonstrated in dealings with both Bathsheba and Uriah his willingness to exercise his sovereignty for selfish ends. He could, therefore, have silenced the unwelcome correction from the prophet. Instead, he let a tough message penetrate his heart, he humbled himself, and he repented.
Do you struggle with sin? The stories and teachings set before us this week remind us of the subtle and ever-present threats and attacks made against us. They invite us to keep in proportion and in bounds the natural appetites of our flesh. They remind us of the high calling toward which we live. And David’s specific example reminds us that we all need correction from time to time, and victory and blessing belong to those who respond to correction with tender hearts and humble repentance.
Alternative Application(s)
John 6:24-35 — “Animal Kingdom”
Our family lives far enough out of town that we have a bit of a “country” feel around us. Accordingly, we enjoy frequent glimpses of animal life around us. In addition to the birds, bunnies, and squirrels that frequent our yard, we often see deer in the field across the street. And we don’t have to drive very far before we can see farms with their cows and their horses, their sheep and their goats.
I observe that all of these creatures — from the baby bunny that I saw out my window this morning to the large animals on nearby farms — have a conspicuous feature in common. Almost every time I see them, they’re eating. The bunny was nibbling away on some leaf, the birds are jockeying for position at the bird feeder, and the deer, cows, and horses all seem to live life with their heads down and their mouths in the grass. Grazing, grazing, forever grazing.
And it’s not just wildlife. The two domesticated dogs in our own house demonstrate the same priorities. When they hear certain telltale sounds in the kitchen, they come running with an eagerness that would imply that they are underfed. At the regular times when they are accustomed to being fed, when we bring out their food dishes, they jump and wag as though we had been starving them. And even when it is not feeding time, they sniff around here and there, both inside and out, finding things to eat.
It seems to be an animal preoccupation. It seems that way until I drive into town and see how we human beings function. There is a one-mile stretch of road, which represents the shopping area nearest our home. In that single mile, we find three supermarkets, four pizza places, a bakery, three sports bars, two Mexican restaurants, a Chinese restaurant, a Japanese restaurant, a sub shop, and two ice cream places. In one mile. And I wonder how different we are from the rabbits and cows and goats.
I don’t think eating is a bad thing, mind you. It’s clearly part of God’s design for the present, and we see that it figures significantly in his portrait of the eschatological future, as well. There are numerous references to a great feast in the kingdom, and the New Jerusalem prominently features a marvelous, continuously fruitful, fruit tree. And yet, from Eve in Eden to the Corinthians at the Lord’s Supper, we see evidence across the whole of scripture that eating can be problematic for people.
The issue I have in mind is not about nutrition or obesity, though those are obviously important. The issue is that we are both spirit and flesh, and each has its needs and each has its place. But the risk is that our flesh side will become dominant. That, like Esau, we will forfeit more important and more valuable things just to satisfy the flesh. That, like the Israelites in the wilderness, our cravings will eclipse our faith. That, like the crowds of John 6, we will overlook the Bread of Life because we are so focused on the bread for our stomachs.
Jesus said to the devil, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4 ESV). And he said to his disciples, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work” (John 4:34 ESV). So let us take our cues from our Lord: give thanks for the food that nourishes our bodies, but always keep it in its proper place.
1 Charles Wesley, “Blow Ye the Trumpet, Blow,” UMH #379.
On the one hand, a person could say that they don’t struggle with sin for some good reason: that, by the grace of God at work in their lives, they have been so redeemed and sanctified that they have been thoroughly renewed. I did not expect, however, that any people in my congregation were prepared to make that particular claim.
On the other hand, a person could say that they don’t struggle with sin for some bad reasons. To struggle with sin, after all, suggests a kind of conflict, and it may well be that many people experience little or no conflict with sin. Some may not have a conflict with it because they do not even concede the concept or reality of sin. And so they may think they have no more reason to struggle with sin than I do to struggle with unicorns. Others, meanwhile, do not struggle with sin because they have surrendered to it. There is no fight involved — they willingly live in obedience to the desires of their sinful nature.
Meanwhile, the third possible answer is yes. This, I imagined, was the most common answer among my people. They struggle with sin because, on the one hand, they have not overcome it; and, on the other hand, they are not willing to surrender to it. This is the place where most Christians find themselves. And our three passages invite us into reflecting on that struggle.
The Apostle Peter exhorted the Christians in his care, saying, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul” (1 Peter 2:11 ESV).
To what extent do we operate with that level of spiritual sensitivity? To what extent do we recognize that certain things are waging war against our souls? For if Peter is right, then we ought most certainly to be struggling with sin — not because we choose to go to sin in order to take it on, but because it comes to us and endeavors to defeat us. This is not a war in which pacifism is the Christlike response. No, we must take up arms against those things that wage war against us in a battle with eternal consequences.
As we consider an episode from the story of David, an episode from the ministry of Jesus, and the words of Paul to the Ephesians, we will see the truth of Peter’s statement. And, if we are attentive, we will see more clearly the battle in our own lives and how better to fight it.
2 Samuel 11:26--12:13a
Our dramatic Old Testament lection is all about relationships. Specifically, three relationships. Surprisingly, however, the relationship between David and Bathsheba is not among them. That episode serves as the context for the passage, of course, but it is comparatively flat; it is three other relationships that are robust and compelling.
First, there is the relationship between Bathsheba and Uriah. In a sense, we never actually see the two of them together. We certainly don’t follow the plot of their love story the way we do, say, the relationship between Jacob and Rachel. Yet we are given a sweet portrait of their love in the word picture painted by the prophet Nathan. The comparison to a man and a lamb may be unconventional in our eyes, but it is undeniably a picture of love that cherishes.
Second, there is the relationship between Nathan and David. We know from the story of Herod and John the Baptist that it is a risky business to condemn the behavior of a monarch. And in the preceding story, we surely see evidence of David’s capacity for ruthlessness. Yet still Nathan marches into the king’s presence and has the audacity to tell him a bogus story.
The nature of that bogus story offers further insight into the relationship between prophet and king. Nathan had enough sensitivity to recognize the history and the heart of the man with whom he was dealing. While David seemed to have become hardened to so much, Nathan gambled that there was still a shepherd boy lingering somewhere inside of David. And, sure enough, the heartstring-tugging story about a lamb was sufficient to arouse David’s emotions.
The final insight into the relationship between Nathan and David comes at the moment of truth. Nathan’s story has touched the intended nerve. David pronounced the harsh judgment. And then, in that dramatic instant, Nathan has to summon the courage to point a finger at the king. That Nathan can say, “You are the man” is a testament to the strength and trust of the relationship.
Finally, there is the most important of the three relationships: the one between David and God. Clearly David has betrayed that relationship, and the message of judgment is sobering, indeed. But the larger content of God’s message to David is truly beautiful. The Lord reminds how he has dealt graciously and abundantly with David.
In a sense, God’s word to David is a metaphor for God’s word to the human race as a whole and to Old Testament Israel in general. For in every case, you see, the starting place is the generosity of God’s heart. The story always begins with the goodness of what he has provided and the further goodness of what he has intended. Yet sin and rebellion consistently cost the human characters the good that God has in store.
In the face of that tragedy, however, Wesley sings the gospel truth: “Ye who have sold for naught your heritage above shall have it back unbought, the gift of Jesus’ love.”1
Ephesians 4:1-16
Paul does not make it easy for a preacher. Any passage selected from one of his epistles is so chock full of meaningful content that it leaves the preacher with an impossible task. You and I stand before an abundant smorgasbord with the recognition that neither our plates nor our stomachs can accommodate all that is there. And so we will settle for the main dish.
The main thrust of this selected passage is found in the apostle’s opening exhortation: “Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called.” That suggests an either-or scenario. Either a person is walking in a way that is worthy, or they are walking in a way that is unworthy. Those were the two choices for the Christians in ancient Ephesus, and those are the two choices for you, for me, and for the people in our pews. And so we mine the passage for what it tells us about the two ways — and, by extension, what it tells us about ourselves and the way in which we are walking.
First, there are the descriptive hints Paul gives us to illustrate the way that is worthy of our calling. Interestingly, the first set of descriptors he uses all point to our relationships with other human beings — humility, gentleness, patience, maintaining unity, and bearing with one another in love. If the text had been cut off at the end of verse 1, what would we expect would follow? What comes first to our minds when we imagine a life that is worthy of God’s call on our lives? Paul does not begin where some of us might. He does not begin with doctrine or with piety. The matter of first importance is how we conduct ourselves toward one another.
We recognize echoes of Jesus’ own teachings here. We remember, for example, his dramatic instruction for the worshiper at the altar to press the pause button on worship in order to go back home and make things right with a brother. We remember that he was unwilling to answer the “great commandment” question with a single commandment, but opted instead to make love of neighbor inseparable from love of God. And we remember that he told his followers that their telltale hallmark would be their love for one another.
Central to the apostle’s picture of how it ought to be among the followers of Jesus is the theme of unity. And that oneness is not a detached ideal, but is rather a natural extension of “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all.” In other words, our oneness does not originate with us but with the Lord.
The love, unity, and peace which are meant to characterize the people of God are a product of the grace of Christ at work within us. Then the apostle ties what is meant to take place among us to the work of Christ, just as he did for the Christians in Philippi in the famous Christ hymn of chapter 2. What we are and what we share begins with him.
Next comes a brief excursus on what we refer elsewhere to as the gifts of the Spirit. Fuller explication of these is found in 1 Corinthians and Romans, but we see them referenced here in the functional role that they play with respect to helping the church. And, specifically, we recognize that these roles within the life of the church are meant to help the church walk in a way that is worthy of our calling.
The way that is unworthy, meanwhile, is implicit in the positive descriptions that the apostle has given to the way that is worthy. In other words, we might simply take the opposites of what Paul has already said in order to help us see and recognize the look of the unworthy way. Such living would be arrogant and harsh, impatient and selfish, and above all it would be marked by disunity.
But the apostle does not leave us to imagine the opposite of the positive picture he has painted. Instead, he lays out some of the details of the unworthy way, and it is framed especially in terms of spiritual immaturity. There is a way that we are meant to be growing; there is a final form that we are meant to be becoming. But in contrast to that, there is a fickle and unstable childishness. Here, then, is where the issue of doctrine is raised. For it is those who are not walking in the worthy way that so easily fall prey to false and faddish doctrines.
Paul will not end his exhortation on a sour note, however. The calling to which we are called is high and beautiful. And so he does not conclude this discussion with the sorry portrait of the spiritually immature, but rather reminds us again of the characteristic love and unity that God has in mind for his people.
Taken all together, then, we are invited — both individually and corporately — to reflect on the two ways that Paul has described. One way pleases, honors, and takes its cue from the Lord. The other, however, is so different from his own character, heart, and will that it is unworthy of the calling to which we have been called.
John 6:24-35
Only a few events prior to Holy Week are reported by all four gospels. One of those select episodes is the story of the feeding of the five-thousand. Yet while all four gospel writers include that event, only John offers the follow up which is our Gospel lection for this week.
I confess that I harbor a rather sentimental fondness for the crowds in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. They come from all over. They pursue Jesus. They demonstrate their faith in him. And they provide the context for so many of Jesus’ teachings and the setting for so many of his miracles.
Yet a careful reading of the text reveals a somewhat less rosy picture of those crowds. Their understanding is often limited. Their devotion is perhaps uneven. And their motivation may be largely self-interest.
That final point is highlighted by Jesus in his dialogue with the crowds of John 6. Following the miraculous feeding of the multitude, the people sought Jesus once again. They crossed the Sea of Galilee, and when they found him, he challenged them, saying, “You are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.”
That is a fascinating and troubling indictment, and we will explore some of the implications below. For the present moment, however, let us simply acknowledge the sad absurdity of the scene. The people of first-century Galilee have in their midst Jesus Christ — the incarnate Son of God — and they are preoccupied with salivating over bread.
There will come a day when all of creation will see clearly. And on that day, Paul tells us, every knee will bow and every tongue confess. On that day, we will fall down in adoration and cast our crowns before him. On that day, we will give him his due. But in the myopia of our present fallenness, we so often “esteem him not.” And the crowds clamored after him, not so that they might have him, but so that they might have bread. Pathetic.
Jesus puts plainly before them the nature of their choice — that which perishes versus that which endures. And it is at this juncture that we cannot keep the crowds of John 6 at arm’s length. For while we suppose that we would know better than to follow Jesus across a lake simply for bread, we recognize that the choice between the temporal and the eternal is always before us. It is riches on earth versus riches in heaven. It is cracked cisterns versus living water. It is the willing spirit encumbered by the weak flesh.
Meanwhile, a brief remark by Jesus within the pericope makes a provocative contribution to a perennial debate. “This is the work of God,” he said, “that you believe in him whom he has sent.” How might we factor that into our theology of the relationship between faith and works?
Finally, the episode concludes with one of the “I Am” statements for which the fourth gospel is famous. “I am the Bread of Life,” Jesus declares. “Whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst.” This bold and familiar statement brings clarity to several matters.
First, we are reminded of the principle that lesser things point us to greater things. The love we feel for our children, for example, gives us a muted glimpse into the love of the heavenly Father. The oneness we experience in marriage or in Christian fellowship become stepping stones from which to view the oneness of the Trinity. And the experience of physical hunger and thirst followed by satisfaction offers us an accessible metaphor for our spiritual needs and solutions.
Second, it is possible to be on the right track and still miss the point. The crowds of John 6 were pursuing Jesus because of their physical hunger and because he had provided bread. Ah, so near but yet so far! For they should have been coming to him because of their spiritual hunger and because he is the bread.
And, finally, we are reminded that which lasts and that which does not. All of the various things we do to satisfy our various physical needs and appetites prove to be very temporary solutions. We awaken in the morning quite refreshed from a night’s sleep, but we are tired again a dozen or so hours later. We walk away from a big meal joking that we can’t imagine wanting to eat again, yet not too many hours will pass before we’re opening refrigerator and cupboard doors. Over against such temporal and fleeting satisfaction, however, Jesus promises to offer — to be! — lasting satisfaction for our deepest needs.
Application
We noted above Peter’s warning about “the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.” Unlike the Gnostic heretics and many other Greek philosophies, however, scripture does not categorically reject the flesh as the seat of evil within the human creature. Rather, scripture affirms that God created the physical world and created us as physical beings. We are also told that, in the end, God’s final victory in our lives is not the abandonment of the body but the resurrection of the body. And, in the meantime, the incarnation declares to us that God himself put on flesh. In light of all that, therefore, we must be careful not to dismiss the flesh as altogether bad, and certainly not irredeemably so.
The appetites of the body — food, drink, sleep, and sex — these are all good gifts within their proper places. Yet each one can become the venue of spiritual and moral failure. We think of the drowsy disciples in Gethsemane, as well as Proverbs’ amusing caricature of the drunk. And in the particular Old and New Testament stories we’re considering this week, we see further evidence of the principle. David infamously misplaced sexual desire, and the crowds of John 6 allowed their appetite for physical bread to eclipse their recognition of the Bread of Life.
The idea of a good thing becoming bad when not in its proper place reminds me of a rather unappetizing definition of dirt that I learned as a teenager. If a hair is in your ice cream, the man explained to me, then the hair is the “dirt.” If, on the other hand, there is a little ice cream in your hair, then it’s the ice cream that is the “dirt.” It is not the thing itself that is innately bad, you see; it is anything out of its proper place.
And so it is with our physical appetites. When given free rein to become disproportionately important to us (see John 6) or to exceed their ordained boundaries (see 2 Samuel 11), they become “the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.”
Paul reminded the Ephesians to live a life worthy of their calling. One senses that his exhortation is generally positive — not scolding or corrective. In the passages from 2 Samuel and John, however, Nathan and Jesus respectively also extend reminders of a higher calling, though with a necessarily corrective tone.
It is unclear how well the John 6 crowds responded to Jesus’ correction. But in the case of David, we have a truly positive example set before our eyes. He was, after all, sovereign, and he had already demonstrated in dealings with both Bathsheba and Uriah his willingness to exercise his sovereignty for selfish ends. He could, therefore, have silenced the unwelcome correction from the prophet. Instead, he let a tough message penetrate his heart, he humbled himself, and he repented.
Do you struggle with sin? The stories and teachings set before us this week remind us of the subtle and ever-present threats and attacks made against us. They invite us to keep in proportion and in bounds the natural appetites of our flesh. They remind us of the high calling toward which we live. And David’s specific example reminds us that we all need correction from time to time, and victory and blessing belong to those who respond to correction with tender hearts and humble repentance.
Alternative Application(s)
John 6:24-35 — “Animal Kingdom”
Our family lives far enough out of town that we have a bit of a “country” feel around us. Accordingly, we enjoy frequent glimpses of animal life around us. In addition to the birds, bunnies, and squirrels that frequent our yard, we often see deer in the field across the street. And we don’t have to drive very far before we can see farms with their cows and their horses, their sheep and their goats.
I observe that all of these creatures — from the baby bunny that I saw out my window this morning to the large animals on nearby farms — have a conspicuous feature in common. Almost every time I see them, they’re eating. The bunny was nibbling away on some leaf, the birds are jockeying for position at the bird feeder, and the deer, cows, and horses all seem to live life with their heads down and their mouths in the grass. Grazing, grazing, forever grazing.
And it’s not just wildlife. The two domesticated dogs in our own house demonstrate the same priorities. When they hear certain telltale sounds in the kitchen, they come running with an eagerness that would imply that they are underfed. At the regular times when they are accustomed to being fed, when we bring out their food dishes, they jump and wag as though we had been starving them. And even when it is not feeding time, they sniff around here and there, both inside and out, finding things to eat.
It seems to be an animal preoccupation. It seems that way until I drive into town and see how we human beings function. There is a one-mile stretch of road, which represents the shopping area nearest our home. In that single mile, we find three supermarkets, four pizza places, a bakery, three sports bars, two Mexican restaurants, a Chinese restaurant, a Japanese restaurant, a sub shop, and two ice cream places. In one mile. And I wonder how different we are from the rabbits and cows and goats.
I don’t think eating is a bad thing, mind you. It’s clearly part of God’s design for the present, and we see that it figures significantly in his portrait of the eschatological future, as well. There are numerous references to a great feast in the kingdom, and the New Jerusalem prominently features a marvelous, continuously fruitful, fruit tree. And yet, from Eve in Eden to the Corinthians at the Lord’s Supper, we see evidence across the whole of scripture that eating can be problematic for people.
The issue I have in mind is not about nutrition or obesity, though those are obviously important. The issue is that we are both spirit and flesh, and each has its needs and each has its place. But the risk is that our flesh side will become dominant. That, like Esau, we will forfeit more important and more valuable things just to satisfy the flesh. That, like the Israelites in the wilderness, our cravings will eclipse our faith. That, like the crowds of John 6, we will overlook the Bread of Life because we are so focused on the bread for our stomachs.
Jesus said to the devil, “Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God” (Matthew 4:4 ESV). And he said to his disciples, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work” (John 4:34 ESV). So let us take our cues from our Lord: give thanks for the food that nourishes our bodies, but always keep it in its proper place.
1 Charles Wesley, “Blow Ye the Trumpet, Blow,” UMH #379.
