Preached on Sunday, August 25, 2024, the Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, at Trinity Cathedral, Little Rock.

This morning, we take up our fifth and final portion of the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel, and this week, John’s Gospel has some questions for us.

Now, my theology teacher, Kate Sonderegger, frequently tells her students, “You know, there’s nothing like a good question.” And she’s right. There really isn’t anything like a good question. That’s why I love theology, why I cherished each one of Dr. Sonderegger’s classes, and honestly, why I love teaching in congregations––the questions are just that good. For you see, good questions provoke us. They make us think. They poke and prod us. They keep us up at night, and they keep us thinking during the day. Good questions live with us.

The God of Holy Scripture knows this, I think, which is why the Bible is full of so many good questions. Remember how, in the book of Genesis, the serpent asks, “Did God [really] say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” (Genesis 3:1). The Psalter is full of good questions, perhaps most famously: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:1). Remember the Holy LORD’s question in the book of Isaiah: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8). And remember Paul’s question to the Church in Rome: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31b). There’s just nothing like a good question.

Well, in today’s passage from John’s Gospel, Scripture poses to us three really good questions, and all three focus on the Christian life, what we Christians call “discipleship.”

The first question comes from the many disciples following Jesus, all those folks who were fed amongst the five thousand, and who kept on listening to what Jesus really meant by all that bread. They ask: “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (John 6:60). There’s something about the living bread, Jesus, that causes us to flinch. That’s a theme we’ve heard in each of these five Sundays of listening to John 6. Jesus is the bread that comes down from heaven, not like that of old, which nourishes, but only for a season. No, this bread puts an end to all need for nourishment. Our task is to consume this bread, to eat of his flesh and blood, to welcome Christ into our selves in the most intimate way, as Dean Meaux so beautifully reminded us last week. But for some reason, that’s offensive. We complain against it all. On a surface level, it offends us because of all this talk of flesh and blood, but really, the offense cuts deeper than even that. It’s offensive because it demands a radical dependence upon God: faith in Him, trust in Him––not ourselves––becoming available to God’s Word to us. And so, no surprise, many of His disciples said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (John 6:60).

Then comes the second question, this time from Jesus. After a number of His disciples turn away and go elsewhere, He asks the remaining twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” (John 6:67). Now, there’s a question that really does live with us. Watching others turn away from the offense and rigor of the Gospel, choosing to go elsewhere, just begs the question: Do we also wish to go away? Just as the Christian life is characterized by that first question––who can accept all this?––so is the Christian life characterized by this second one, living with that pestering thought that maybe––just maybe––we might be better off with those who let it all go. And these days, that question feels a bit more persistent, doesn’t it? Not only is there much in the Gospel that’s difficult to understand and to accept, but also, there are so many people who give us reason to think we might as well turn away from it. There are so many people who were fed amongst the five thousand, but who turn away when they find out more about what this is all about. Would we go, too?

But then comes the third question, this time from Simon Peter. Peter asks, “Lord, to whom can we go?” (John 6:66–68a). Now, for Peter, it’s a rhetorical question. He jumps in with the answer. “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68–69). This whole section of John’s Gospel, this sixth chapter, uses bread and flesh and blood to teach us of God’s gracious provision. In Christ, God provides for and satisfies our longing, once and for all. And, strangely, all of that offends us. It gives us reason to turn away. But in light of Simon Peter’s question, it’s our hope that, ultimately, where we land is this: a life with God is not just one option among many, but really, the only option. A life with God isn’t for us just a good bet, or even the best but, but the only bet, the only one on which we can wholeheartedly rely. There really isn’t anywhere else we can go. And to put it rather bluntly, that’s the goal of Christian discipleship: that we come to a place where we realize that there’s really nothing else worth pursuing but a life with God, the only One on whom we can depend.

I know that some of you have experienced getting to that point, asking with Peter that third question, “Lord, to whom can we go?” Just in my three months here, I’ve heard stories from a number of you about how you have come to realize, one way or another, that a life with God isn’t just one option among many, but more profoundly, the only option. Once leaving this faith for a time, you found yourself back here. You tried to go elsewhere, physically or spiritually, but here you are again––living testimonies to just what this passage in John’s Gospel is getting at, that Jesus Christ really is the One Who has the words of eternal life.

We shouldn’t be surprised when the going gets tough in the Christian life. We shouldn’t be surprised when the Christian life offends us, or when the Christian life is just plain difficult to accept. We shouldn’t be surprised when we would very much like to join others who turn away from this life and go elsewhere. And yet, we shouldn’t be surprised when we discover that a life with God really is the only life worth living, the only life-giving option. All of this––all three of these questions we ask ourselves––give shape to the rigorous rhythm of the Christian life, this pilgrim’s way of discipleship.

And remember, Scripture frames this whole Christian life in terms of questions––really good questions! “Who can accept this? Do you also wish to go away? Lord, to whom can we go?” Scripture poses these questions to us. And it’s my prayer for all of us here that these questions really do live with us––provoking us, poking and prodding us, keeping us up at night, lingering with us during the day. May such questions work upon us and may they lead us to ever deeper delight in the living Lord, the Holy One of God. In the words of the Psalmist: “Happy are the people…whose hearts are set on the pilgrims’ way” (Psalm 84:1a, 4b). Amen.