Don’t You Wish Faith Was Easier?
12th Sunday after Pentecost
John 6: 56-69
Don’t you wish faith was easier?
I would have liked to have been there when this particular exchange between Jesus and His disciples took place. I think I would have been uncomfortable, but still – I would have liked to have been there.
The crowd is thinning. When we started the chapter, Jesus and the boys were having to deal with a huge crowd – 5000 men plus women and children, and they were all hungry. The crowd follows them around the lake the next morning, and then Jesus starts thinning the crowd out, just by His teaching. He has a little confrontation with the Pharisees, and we arrive at our passage for this morning. We don’t know for sure, but it looks as though by the end of this chapter, the crowd has thinned down to just the twelve disciples. Just the twelve . . .
The questions were haunting. They still are . . . John tells us that some from the larger crowd were offended by what Jesus was saying. “This is hard. This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?”
I wonder what they thought was so hard? Was it this life of faith to which Jesus calls us, or was it faith itself – faith, as a means to an end?
I wonder if they were they troubled by the notion that they were being invited to participate in the death of Jesus? You do realize that’s what we did here just a little while ago – when we shared communion? You do realize that we acknowledged that we are counting on the death of Jesus for our salvation? You do realize that when we take this meal, that we are saying to the world that we are relying on the broken body and the shed blood of Jesus – that those gifts were enough to purchase our redemption, and that we want to share in His Body and His Blood? You do realize that’s what happens when we take that meal, don’t you? It isn’t a meaningless ritual. It means the same thing as it did the night He gave up His life.
I wonder if they were troubled by the notion that there was something spiritual attached to this life of faith – that their response to Jesus hinged on something more than the physical – that their spiritual response to Jesus would be their sacrifice – their thanks offering to God for their salvation? Jesus basically answers them by saying, “You think this is hard?? What if I were not here? What if I were to ascend back to My Father – back where I was before? What if I weren’t here to help you?”
I suppose I am even more troubled by Jesus second question. The “sideline disciples” – the ones who were always hanging around, but hadn’t really committed to Jesus – they left. Jesus put it out there as plain as He could, and they walked away. Someone suggested that the parallel passage to this one from the synoptic gospels is where Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me,” referring to His insistence that we give up our claims to this earthly life in hopes of claiming a spiritual life. I wonder if that’s the deal they walked away from – the simple idea that the flesh and this life and all that we know – that we must give up those things and move into the realm of the spiritual – in order to find eternal life? I wonder if that’s what sent them packing?
Jesus’ second question haunts us. “Do you also wish to go away?”
Lots of people answer that question with a resounding “YES!!” “What you ask is too hard, Jesus. We can’t do it. We love our lives, or at least the pursuit of our lives. We love our families, and our work, and our play, and our homes, and our possessions – we love our past, our present and our future – and we can’t conceive that you would ask us to leave all that to take up a spiritual life. It’s too hard. What you ask is just too hard!!” Yeah – lots of people answer that one with a great, big “YES!!”
There’s no question about it, Cornerstone!! Faith is hard. This life of faith is hard. I struggle with it. You struggle with it. Everything we know works against it. Right up front, Jesus calls us to find what we are looking for – what we need – by faith. How does that Pauline definition go – “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen?” There’s nothing to hold on to – in fact, the very definition of faith is “letting go.” But everything we know works against that. We are people who possess and rule and accumulate – chasing our dreams of autonomy and self-sufficiency until the day they lay us to rest. We are people who create and convert and manipulate and restructure until our world looks more like we want it to look. We conceive all that we conceive – what was, what is, and what will be – as being substantive – things we can touch and smell and taste and hold. Jesus calls us to leave all that behind – to take hold of a promise – by faith. It’s hard. There’s no question it’s hard. It’s so hard – lots of folks give up. It’s just too hard.
Don’t you wish faith was easier? It shouldn’t be so hard – after all, isn’t faith just “believing?”
There’s a great discussion taking place in cyberspace right now. It started several months ago, and has intensified over the summer. The discussion is centered around three questions – (1) what does someone have to believe to be a Christian, (2) what does someone have to believe to be an orthodox Christian, and (3) what does someone have to believe for a Christian to choose to have table fellowship with that person?
Over the centuries, people have asked and answered these same questions. For example, you listened to the choir sing the “Apostle’s Creed” this morning. Let me remind you of the text of the creed.
I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Creator of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived of the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell.
The third day He arose again from the dead.
He ascended into heaven
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy *catholic church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.
Amen.
Now, when you and I start to list the things we believe, we might list things differently. But I suspect most of us would list the things that we find in the Apostle’s Creed as high on the list of things we believe. We would acknowledge the triune nature of God, as best we understand it. We would comment on the creative and redemptive work of God. We would acknowledge the life that Jesus lived in all of its fullness. We would agree that there is both a heaven and a hell, one of which is in our future. And we would acknowledge that what transpires in this life has something to do with what transpires in the next life. We would list most of those things that are stated in the Creed.
But Baptists decided long ago that we are not creedal people. We learned from our previous experience as people of faith that creeds have a bad habit of alienating people from the church. In fact, we learned that dogmatism, in most of its forms, has a way of pushing people out of the church. We learned that orthodoxy creates hierarchies within the church, relegating some members of the body of Christ to positions of secondary and even tertiary prominence, and generally causing division and grief within the body of Christ. We learned all of those things in our faith pilgrimage.
And so, because of our previous experience, we opted for a wider acceptance of people of diverse theological thought. Frankly, we reversed the order of the questions that are currently being asked. We first asked ourselves “what does someone have to believe for a Christian to choose to have table fellowship with that person?” We answered that question like we thought Jesus would answer the question. We’ll sit down at the table with anyone. It doesn’t matter what they believe – our purpose may change because of what that person believes – but there is no limitation to whom we will sit with at table.
It turns out that for most of us, that second question has little merit. We don’t understand an orthodoxy that segregates Christians – either from each other, or from unbelievers. That’s up to Jesus, if He so desires.
Which pretty much leaves us with the first question – what does someone have to believe to be a Christian? We’d like to be able to answer that question – but it really is the question of faith, isn’t it. And faith isn’t easy.
So, Jesus asked His question. “Do you also wish to go away?” It is a haunting question. Most of us have asked that very question of ourselves. “Could I walk away from this life of faith? Do I rely too much on my own abilities and schemes – do I rely on how I live my life as merit for my salvation?”
When the day comes to an end, perhaps we listen more carefully to the words of Simon Peter when he answers. I don’t know if he was answering for the group – he had a habit of doing that, you know. I suspect he was answering first for himself, and secondarily for the group. “Lord, to whom can we go?”
I don’t know that there’s a more honest response. “Lord, if there were a better deal out there, we’d certainly be taking a look at it. But You seem to be the real deal. You have the words of eternal life. We’ve listened to You, over and over. We’ve watched you live Your life out in front of us, and we’ve searched Your heart and ours. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God. You are the One we were looking for. You are it.”
“Where else would we go?”
That may be the most honest answer we can give to this life of faith.
Richard W. Dunn, PhD.
John 6: 56-69
Don’t you wish faith was easier?
I would have liked to have been there when this particular exchange between Jesus and His disciples took place. I think I would have been uncomfortable, but still – I would have liked to have been there.
The crowd is thinning. When we started the chapter, Jesus and the boys were having to deal with a huge crowd – 5000 men plus women and children, and they were all hungry. The crowd follows them around the lake the next morning, and then Jesus starts thinning the crowd out, just by His teaching. He has a little confrontation with the Pharisees, and we arrive at our passage for this morning. We don’t know for sure, but it looks as though by the end of this chapter, the crowd has thinned down to just the twelve disciples. Just the twelve . . .
The questions were haunting. They still are . . . John tells us that some from the larger crowd were offended by what Jesus was saying. “This is hard. This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?”
I wonder what they thought was so hard? Was it this life of faith to which Jesus calls us, or was it faith itself – faith, as a means to an end?
I wonder if they were they troubled by the notion that they were being invited to participate in the death of Jesus? You do realize that’s what we did here just a little while ago – when we shared communion? You do realize that we acknowledged that we are counting on the death of Jesus for our salvation? You do realize that when we take this meal, that we are saying to the world that we are relying on the broken body and the shed blood of Jesus – that those gifts were enough to purchase our redemption, and that we want to share in His Body and His Blood? You do realize that’s what happens when we take that meal, don’t you? It isn’t a meaningless ritual. It means the same thing as it did the night He gave up His life.
I wonder if they were troubled by the notion that there was something spiritual attached to this life of faith – that their response to Jesus hinged on something more than the physical – that their spiritual response to Jesus would be their sacrifice – their thanks offering to God for their salvation? Jesus basically answers them by saying, “You think this is hard?? What if I were not here? What if I were to ascend back to My Father – back where I was before? What if I weren’t here to help you?”
I suppose I am even more troubled by Jesus second question. The “sideline disciples” – the ones who were always hanging around, but hadn’t really committed to Jesus – they left. Jesus put it out there as plain as He could, and they walked away. Someone suggested that the parallel passage to this one from the synoptic gospels is where Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me,” referring to His insistence that we give up our claims to this earthly life in hopes of claiming a spiritual life. I wonder if that’s the deal they walked away from – the simple idea that the flesh and this life and all that we know – that we must give up those things and move into the realm of the spiritual – in order to find eternal life? I wonder if that’s what sent them packing?
Jesus’ second question haunts us. “Do you also wish to go away?”
Lots of people answer that question with a resounding “YES!!” “What you ask is too hard, Jesus. We can’t do it. We love our lives, or at least the pursuit of our lives. We love our families, and our work, and our play, and our homes, and our possessions – we love our past, our present and our future – and we can’t conceive that you would ask us to leave all that to take up a spiritual life. It’s too hard. What you ask is just too hard!!” Yeah – lots of people answer that one with a great, big “YES!!”
There’s no question about it, Cornerstone!! Faith is hard. This life of faith is hard. I struggle with it. You struggle with it. Everything we know works against it. Right up front, Jesus calls us to find what we are looking for – what we need – by faith. How does that Pauline definition go – “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen?” There’s nothing to hold on to – in fact, the very definition of faith is “letting go.” But everything we know works against that. We are people who possess and rule and accumulate – chasing our dreams of autonomy and self-sufficiency until the day they lay us to rest. We are people who create and convert and manipulate and restructure until our world looks more like we want it to look. We conceive all that we conceive – what was, what is, and what will be – as being substantive – things we can touch and smell and taste and hold. Jesus calls us to leave all that behind – to take hold of a promise – by faith. It’s hard. There’s no question it’s hard. It’s so hard – lots of folks give up. It’s just too hard.
Don’t you wish faith was easier? It shouldn’t be so hard – after all, isn’t faith just “believing?”
There’s a great discussion taking place in cyberspace right now. It started several months ago, and has intensified over the summer. The discussion is centered around three questions – (1) what does someone have to believe to be a Christian, (2) what does someone have to believe to be an orthodox Christian, and (3) what does someone have to believe for a Christian to choose to have table fellowship with that person?
Over the centuries, people have asked and answered these same questions. For example, you listened to the choir sing the “Apostle’s Creed” this morning. Let me remind you of the text of the creed.
I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Creator of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived of the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell.
The third day He arose again from the dead.
He ascended into heaven
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy *catholic church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.
Amen.
Now, when you and I start to list the things we believe, we might list things differently. But I suspect most of us would list the things that we find in the Apostle’s Creed as high on the list of things we believe. We would acknowledge the triune nature of God, as best we understand it. We would comment on the creative and redemptive work of God. We would acknowledge the life that Jesus lived in all of its fullness. We would agree that there is both a heaven and a hell, one of which is in our future. And we would acknowledge that what transpires in this life has something to do with what transpires in the next life. We would list most of those things that are stated in the Creed.
But Baptists decided long ago that we are not creedal people. We learned from our previous experience as people of faith that creeds have a bad habit of alienating people from the church. In fact, we learned that dogmatism, in most of its forms, has a way of pushing people out of the church. We learned that orthodoxy creates hierarchies within the church, relegating some members of the body of Christ to positions of secondary and even tertiary prominence, and generally causing division and grief within the body of Christ. We learned all of those things in our faith pilgrimage.
And so, because of our previous experience, we opted for a wider acceptance of people of diverse theological thought. Frankly, we reversed the order of the questions that are currently being asked. We first asked ourselves “what does someone have to believe for a Christian to choose to have table fellowship with that person?” We answered that question like we thought Jesus would answer the question. We’ll sit down at the table with anyone. It doesn’t matter what they believe – our purpose may change because of what that person believes – but there is no limitation to whom we will sit with at table.
It turns out that for most of us, that second question has little merit. We don’t understand an orthodoxy that segregates Christians – either from each other, or from unbelievers. That’s up to Jesus, if He so desires.
Which pretty much leaves us with the first question – what does someone have to believe to be a Christian? We’d like to be able to answer that question – but it really is the question of faith, isn’t it. And faith isn’t easy.
So, Jesus asked His question. “Do you also wish to go away?” It is a haunting question. Most of us have asked that very question of ourselves. “Could I walk away from this life of faith? Do I rely too much on my own abilities and schemes – do I rely on how I live my life as merit for my salvation?”
When the day comes to an end, perhaps we listen more carefully to the words of Simon Peter when he answers. I don’t know if he was answering for the group – he had a habit of doing that, you know. I suspect he was answering first for himself, and secondarily for the group. “Lord, to whom can we go?”
I don’t know that there’s a more honest response. “Lord, if there were a better deal out there, we’d certainly be taking a look at it. But You seem to be the real deal. You have the words of eternal life. We’ve listened to You, over and over. We’ve watched you live Your life out in front of us, and we’ve searched Your heart and ours. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God. You are the One we were looking for. You are it.”
“Where else would we go?”
That may be the most honest answer we can give to this life of faith.
Richard W. Dunn, PhD.
posted by the sojourning pilgrim | 7:15 PM
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