Kenzie King

Jesus looked around at the people who had followed Him into the temple, at the wide-eyed, greedy faces of brilliant scholars, theologians, mothers, and laborers who would do anything to be freed from the tyranny of Rome. They were fighting for equality. For justice. They had been oppressed by the Roman government for far too long, and they hoped this young carpenter’s son would be the solution to all of their worries. Jesus inhaled deeply and slowly as He made eye contact with them, settled back into His seat, and made Himself comfortable.

These people had gone to see Him on the mountain the day before. They had piled into boats, crossed the Sea of Galilee, and come up the mountainside in droves. They had heard about this man named Jesus. He had healed the sick and caused the blind to see, and if He could do the impossible, surely He could lead their people out of oppression. At the very least He might be able to offer them something, anything, to quiet the discontentment that stormed over them. They had marched up toward the place where He reclined. The higher they climbed the more the wind whipped around them, and they were suddenly aware that their hearts were not the only things thundering: their stomachs were empty, and they needed food.

Jesus had called His disciples to Him, asked them to bring Him what they had, and began to make enough dinner for the thousands of people from a small boy’s lunch. Awe and wonder consumed them as they ate and were filled. We knew it! He’s the one! He will rescue us! They pushed in around Him, Just a little bit closer! This must be the one who speaks with God! Let us crown Him. He will lead us to victory, and we will take control of our city and our nation once again. If God is on His side we will not be defeated, and He will be our king!

 But Jesus was not just one who spoke with God. He was not a prophet. He was God. He was God among them, God with them, God here on their behalf. He had tried, over and over again, to explain why He was there, but the more He tried, the more they insisted on misunderstanding Him. They didn’t get Him. They couldn’t wrap their minds around His meekness or why He continually declined to take the power and authority they offered Him in their eager, misguided hands. 

Refusing to be made king this way, He had fled from them further up into the mountainside. Once they were all asleep, He had crossed over to the other side of the Sea of Galilee into Capernaum. When the sun rose, it did not take the people long to realize where their king-elect had gone. They followed Him, the sails of their boats swollen like hungry bellies that would not be satisfied with only one meal.

Jesus watched now as they approached Him. He knew they did not truly want to know Him. They just wanted to be rescued by Him and to be led by Him into battle so they could conquer Rome. The people climbed the steps to the synagogue where He sat, and His disciples watched Him settle into His seat and make Himself comfortable. He didn’t have to say it. The disciples already knew: Jesus would choose them anyway. He would choose to enter into the questions and the doubts of these people again.

“I am the fulfillment of everything you seek,” He began as He leaned forward. He cleared His throat from the dust settling around them and the people quieted their feet. They stilled before Him, waiting, anticipating what would come next. They whispered amongst themselves, This is it. Today will surely be the day of our salvation!

“I am the bread that never leaves you hungry. I am the drink that never leaves you thirsty. I will never reject those who believe in me, but to believe in me means you must believe that I have been sent from Heaven to do the will of the Father. If you will eat of my flesh, partake in my body that will be given for each of you, and drink my blood that will be poured out on your behalf, then you shall enter the kingdom of heaven.”

The crowd became uncomfortable. Some of the men who were leaning against the walls began shifting from one foot to the other, and even the children crossed their arms. You could feel the tension rising and the offense settling in their bones. The people leaned over to one another and began to whisper from the corners of their mouths, the same mouths that had eaten what He had miraculously provided them the day before, Who does He think He is? His father was nothing. A no one. You’re telling me this guy thinks He is GOD? How dare He even suggest that?

Their eyes turned into slits as they peered at Him suspiciously and He continued, “Some of you will not believe or have faith in me. But do not look for another way. The words I have spoken to you are the only way. There is no other entrance into true, abundant life.”

Awkwardly, those in the back of the room began to file out. Even those who had called themselves His disciples began to complain, What does that even mean? How can He expect anyone to live up to that? To follow that? That is difficult. Harsh. Offensive.

They were disappointed that Jesus would not rule over them, deliver them, or at the very least, make bread appear again and feed them breakfast. The things He said were always controversial, but this didn’t even make sense. What kind of leader expects them to eat His flesh and drink His blood? No. That was where they drew the line. One by one they began to leave Him. They did not understand Him. He wasn’t who they wanted Him to be, so they left.

Oh, how deeply and tenderly Jesus loved each of them as He watched them go.

He looked at the 12 men who remained with Him. 

“Are you going to leave me too?” He asked them.

Peter looked at Him, at this man named Jesus who did the miraculous and looked on people with compassion. This man who always kept His word and forgave generously, hoped unceasingly, and was so, so slow to anger. Peter felt a stirring in his Spirit, and he knew. This man was not just Jesus, The Son Of Joseph. He was Jesus, The Christ, The Son Of The Living God. 

“Lord!” Peter stammered, “It is you! You are our only hope. We don’t fully understand this either. What you have said is hard to swallow, but we have believed and confidently trusted because we have experienced that you are The Christ. You are the Son of the living God! To whom else shall we go?” (John 6, my summary)

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I began to call myself a follower of Jesus when I was a small child. It didn’t really come as a surprise to anyone. I’d known about Him, talked about Him, even told other people He loved them for as long as I’d been able to talk. Making Him my “Lord” wasn’t that far of a jump. It was the most logical, obvious thing for me to do next.

But in the years that immediately followed my decision to become a Christian, I experienced the deaths of many I loved, struggles with my own mental health, and I started to realize that not everyone was born with the same innate ability to see injustice that I was. Those were years when all I brought before the throne of God was a swinging fist full of accusations directed right at Him. I would lie in bed awake at night, unable to fall asleep because all I could think about were how many children were lying in orphanages, how many women were being sold into sex slavery, or how many wars were displacing people from their homes. I wanted Justice. I was severely depressed for most of high school, and couldn’t seem to drag myself out of the shadows. I wanted Freedom. I was just like the scholars and theologians who came to Jesus because they wanted deliverance from Rome, because they wanted to be taken out of their sorrow, not because they actually wanted to get to know Him.

On top of all of that, there were commands He gave that were just too much for me to swallow. 

“Take up your cross and follow me.”
Um? No thank you. Didn’t sound super fun when you had to do it.

“Greater love has no man than this: to lay down his life for his friend.”

Okay well. I never really liked them very much in the first place. So.

“Partake in my body and my blood. Following me will mean there is suffering. You get to know me in my suffering.”

Difficult. Harsh. Offensive. Don’t want to do that. 

Yet, I never found myself able to leave Him altogether. What was it about Jesus that was so difficult to understand, yet so utterly unique and wonderful that I couldn’t dream of leaving Him?

I heard the story from John 6 for the first time when I was 13, and I have held onto it ever since. 

I remember being stunned by the phrase Peter utters at the end;

 “To whom else shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life.” 

Yes. Finally. The words I’d been looking for. What I had always known but never been able to verbalize was that Jesus was not just a good teacher. He was God. He was God with me, God here on my behalf. I didn’t get to decide who I WANTED Jesus to be. I had to believe that He was who He said He was, and that following Him would lead me into real, authentic life.

What I have continued to learn about Jesus as I’ve gotten older is that His word is good, even when I don’t fully understand it and even when it feels offensive and harsh. If He makes a promise, He keeps it. If He says He is with me, He means it. He is trustworthy. True. Capable of everything He says He can do. He has only ever responded to me with tenderness in His tone. He miraculously healed my body from years of depression in an instant. He healed every wounding word ever spoken over me and has bound it with His truth. He looked past my charm and resilience and entered into my suffering when no one else understood me or saw my brokenness. He helped me carry the years of sorrow and loss so that it wouldn’t crush me. There was never a moment where He allowed me to walk alone. Who else would love me with a love like that? 

I’ve spent almost my entire life with Him, loving Him, adoring Him, wanting to obey Him. There were moments of deep hurt and anger with Him too, but I can honestly say every breath I’ve taken has been one where I’ve known I was His. I can testify that a life lived in His presence is a life that flourishes and abounds, even in sorrow. I don’t always understand Him, and I’m not going to pretend like I do. Sometimes I think the things He has to say are stupid and weird and inconvienent. But the thing about Jesus, the thing about Jesus, is that when I have allowed myself to get over how offensive He may sound, I realize His words have only ever led me into abundant life.  Every single day I think I’m finally starting to understand His love and then I realize, it only gets better. To whom else could I run to? Who else but this Jesus, the one who loves me and died on my behalf, the Christ, the Son of the living God?