On Needing the Eggs--July 24, 2020

On Needing the Eggs--July 24, 2020

[Jesus said:] "For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by the Father." Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, "Do you also wish to go away?" Simon Peter answered him, "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 6:65-69]

We keep coming back to Jesus, even when he says things that shake us up and challenge us, because, well, we are more fully alive because of him.  More so than anybody else in our lives, any other voices, any other loves, his is the one we really can't do without.  Others come and go in our lives, perhaps, and we learn how to get along with the changes of those comings and goings.  But Jesus?  Somehow, I just can't walk away from his voice, his presence, his love, even when he has difficult things to say--like Simon Peter says it, "Where else would I go, right?"

And maybe it's because Jesus has proven to us time and again that he will be there for us, and that he does have our interests at heart, that we can trust him in those times when he says things that make us uncomfortable... or challenge us... or provoke us... or even upset us, that we can stop, catch our breath, and take in what he has to say.  I know I have a hard time with that from others--when someone says something that challenges me or criticizes me or causes pain for me, I withdraw to lick my wounds.  I want to dig my heels in. I want to get defensive.  I want to find a million ways the other person is wrong, or doesn't know what they are talking about, or needs to check their sources and their facts, or some other excuse for why I don't have to deal with what they are making me come face to face with.  We are all like that to some degree or another, I suspect.

But with Jesus, somehow, I am learning to let him say what needs to be said--and I am coming to recognize that when he says something to me, it's not because of his need to get something off his divine chest, or to vent something, or to deal with his own issues, but because I need to hear what he has to say.  That means learning to let down our defenses.  It means allowing Jesus to get in beneath the armor plating we put up.  It means, too, that I need to keep working on immediately protesting my "rightness" every time someone says something that challenges my way of seeing the world.  (I know, in this age of social media and angry internet trolls, we can all convince ourselves that it is each of our job to single-handedly vanquish all opposition to our own points of view, but it just might be that Jesus is speaking through someone who disagrees with you on something, and instead of immediately attacking with vitriol, maybe it is worth starting with asking, "What can I learn from this person... and what about their words is provoking such a strong reaction from me?")

Sometimes I just need Jesus to jar me out of complacency--and in those times, as uncomfortable as it can be, I need Jesus to show me the ways I have been indifferent or apathetic to the sufferings of others because I can't relate to them.  In those times, I need Jesus unsettling voice to make me listen to the concerns of others that I have been ignoring (or have tuned out because I'm engrossed in my rectangle of technology).  Sometimes I need Jesus to unmask the idols I have been suckered into worshiping.  And it can be difficult to let him point out to me the ways I have traded my allegiance to him for some other loyalty--to nationalism, or to racism, or to political partisanship, or to my bank account, or to my own status and reputation, or the quest for "greatness."  Nobody ever wants to have to see the ways they have been duped into giving their hearts to an empty-promise-making idol rather than the living God.  But when Jesus confronts me about those things, I need to learn to listen, instead of insisting I am right.  And I need to listen, even when the message doesn't come from an angel or a beam of light or a vision in the night, but from another person, someone who is surely fallible in plenty of ways, but who has a point and a perspective I need to listen to.

Respectable Religious people are great at inventing ways of defending ourselves from having to listen to Jesus when his voice challenges us.  We insist things like, "He can't have meant what it sounds like he is saying here, because that would mess up the whole theological system I have built here." Or we say, "Jesus can't really be calling me to give up on X... or to let go of Y... or to change directions on my plans for A, B, and C, because I don't like that!" Or we become afraid that taking Jesus seriously will be like pulling at a thread in the fabric of our whole lives, and we realize we are really afraid of losing the systems we have built on our lives on.  So we tune Jesus out, soften his words, or find ways not to listen, while looking pious at the same time.  Like Kierkegaard once put it with his characteristically incisive wit: "Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God.  Yes, it is even dreadful to be alone with the New Testament."  He's right--when Jesus says things that upset our collective apple carts, we start looking for the exit... or for nails.

And yet, there is something about him that keeps pulling us back.  Like Peter says, Jesus has the words of eternal life--even when they cut us, they are like the surgeon's scalpel, and the incision is meant to excise the things that are killing us.  We keep coming back to Jesus because, like the old joke says, "we need the eggs." (The man whose wife thinks she is a chicken goes to the psychiatrist for help, and the psychiatrist asks, "Have you thought about having her committed?" and so he answers, "I would, but I need the eggs.")  Sometimes it seems impossible to bear the ways Jesus challenges our old assumptions about the world, and our lives, and our calling to love neighbors and strangers and enemies, and yet we can't ignore him, because he is the one who brings us to life.  We can't bail out on him--we need the eggs.

Maybe what finally makes Jesus so compelling to me isn't just that he's right when he calls me out on my issues, but that he is also willing to be vulnerable.  Jesus doesn't just start pounding desks or lobbing insults at his disciples when they get upset at his words.  He remains vulnerable.  He risks being wounded... or rejected... or to be walked out on.  Instead of yelling or screaming at the disciples or calling them "losers" because they don't like what he says, he simply asks, "Do you also wish to go away?"  There is no threatening, no bullying, no melodrama--there is the offer to bear rejection rather than give in to bitterness or hatred.  And of course, contrary to the loud voices that pass for conventional wisdom these days, that is exactly how Jesus reveals his strength.  He is the one who can bear rejection, even when we get defensive.  He is the one who can speak the truth in love to us, even when we cover our ears and run away.

That's why we find ourselves drawn to him over and over.  He is right about what he has to say to us... but he is able to be right and vulnerable at the same time.  He is compelling without being coercive.  His love risks that we will keep bailing out on him, and yet he will not go of his grip on us.  And maybe unlike so many of the other voices in our lives that just give up when something comes between us or someone says something the other doesn't like, Jesus doesn't bail out on us, even when we are ready to bail out on him.

Peter is right--Jesus has the words of eternal life.  Where else can we go but to him?

Lord Jesus, speak to us and bring us to life, even when your words challenge us.  Draw us back to you, even when want to give up and walk away.  Keep loving us even when we are impossible to deal with.