John 6:39-40 Reconciling life with death
This is the will of Him who sent Me, that of all that He has given Me I lose nothing, but raise it up on the last day. For this is the will of My Father, that everyone who beholds the Son and believes in Him will have eternal life, and I Myself will raise him up on the last day.
John 6:39-40 NASB
The purpose of bread is to sustain life. Living takes work. Physical bread keeps me alive in the moment. Spiritual bread keeps me alive forever. I need both. Jesus’ love compels him to feed more that my hungry tummy for a day, he intends to satisfy the hunger which sustains me eternally.
I lose nothing, but will raise it up on the last day.
Since man’s first sin, humanity struggles with an invisible adversary that would like nothing more than to steal our lives and seal our fate in the grave. The one bite of food in the garden that opened the hellish gateways for sin, created a deficit of spiritual hunger that has never been fulfilled, until now. I love what Jesus does in response to these men — he declares his victory over the adversary of Death and doesn’t even give him the courtesy of a name. He simply steps around him without any acknowledgement and declares life.
Jesus focuses on two powerful messages in this conversation: The first: he will not fail at taking care of his own — he will not overlook or lose anyone. The second: he gives us life that never ends. Even if in my present circumstances it appears as though death wins, he states emphatically that is not the case — he will raise us up on the last day. Both messages are audacious claims! How do I reconcile his promise of living forever with our experiences today? We all die. We often fight a brutal fight with sickness, accident, old age and still lose to death. Jesus is addressing death in two moments: both in the present in our current conflict, and in the future, proclaiming a life in a new reality, a new “normal” without death. But these words don’t fully impact me until I purposefully connect the dots with our experiences today. To me Death has a name, one that is intimidating. Yet to Jesus, it’s like he’s driving a motorized donkey cart and there is a big rock in the road which he simply swerves around and proceeds on his merry way.
Death has deeply impacted my psyche and written his affect on my and other’s lives in so many ways. As a child it is emotionally impacting to see my first pet die… even if it was just a goldfish. Later I see a bird lying on the ground. When I was little and my Grandpa Joe died, it was hard to process what it meant. Another time when I was five years old I went to visit my good neighbor Etta who was always willing to talk with me, yet this time she asked me to leave because the ambulance driver was taking away her husband, for good, I later discovered. I won’t see these loved ones again? It just feels wrong! My most primitive instinct is to live. Growing up, it is difficult to extract or identify the “fear of death” in everything I learned because it was the foundation, the unspoken premise of much of what I was taught. From where I played (in the street), to how I played (so I would not be injured), and how I treated others (if I hit my sister, don’t I know that dad would kill me?!) the recognition of death is woven through everything. Choices I make daily, unconsciously, give a nod to Death and my instinctual desire to avoid my inevitable encounter with him. Jesus’ idea of life without death is truly mind-altering. In a similar way if I were asked to consider life without time, or without the obligation to be in a physical body, or without the law of gravity, or without the autonomic nervous system (and I had to deliberately choose to keep my heart beating) — the very core of my thinking or the paradigm from which I live would be affected.
Beholding and believing
Even today, Jesus’ words seem like a stretch — but the way he contextualizes them them makes it clear what must happen. Choosing to believe something — is work. But before I can do the work, I must first “behold.” It’s his job to present himself to me so I may see him. How this happens to each of us is different, but at the right time, in just the right way, he allows me to see him. Whether in the kindness of my mother or even a stranger, to a realization of his goodness in nature or in a dream he gives me of him, or like these Palestinians, his physical presence — whatever it is, we must behold him. It’s impossible to have faith if our heart has not seen him.
Faith seems simple enough. But in reality, it’s like lifting weights at the gym. It’s a choice. Just like weights gives my body more capacity, so also exercising my faith makes me better able to receive the words Jesus spoke. Without connecting Jesus’ promise with faith, it makes my eyes turn glassy, my gaze distant, while my heart and mind are unaffected. “On the last day…” is a promise deferred. It’s delayed to a time that my mind cannot wrap itself around. How does that help me now, let alone feed me? In effect Jesus is saying, “It’s coming. Today, death is a reality, but don’t be stumbled, tomorrow it won’t be.” One thing for certain, the promises that require believing rarely raise goosebumps of excitement on the natural man. I must always deliberately mix Jesus’ words with faith. A “today faith” — an abiding in a place of unshakable, unstumbled belief that opens the eyes of my heart to see his kingdom in this moment. All roads to the kingdom are paved in believing and trusting. And they lead through the toll booth of Christ. The kingdom is now… not some undefined future. It almost feels like he’s pleading, “listen to me, I will raise you up!”
This would all seem like so much effort, except for the “beholding.” Seeing him. Gazing into his eyes and his beauty and loveliness create the context for patience I need and the work required.
This is the first of several times (here in John 6) that Jesus addresses our death and his victory over it. Please join me in more fully understanding the context of death and promise of eternal life in “John 6 interlude on Death and Life.”