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Who came to mind while reading?
12 friends have opened a study shared with them.
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12 friends have opened a study shared with them.
I showed up at the building to collect my items and say goodbye, but a security guard met me outside the front door with some boxes already packed up. In about a minute, we loaded everything into the trunk of my car, and I drove away. The coldness of the exchange made the cost of being a whistleblower clear. I realized I'd never see most of my former colleagues, and now former friends, again. As I drove home, the pain was so unbearable I couldn't cry.
Read John 6:60-71
Jesus is teaching inside the synagogue at Capernaum, lit by oil lamps hung on the stone walls, thick with the smell of seven or eight dozen people who have hiked across Galilee for days. The effort to keep up with him has thinned the crowd down from thousands to those who consider themselves his disciples. The room is restless. Finally, someone says what everyone is thinking, "Your teaching is too hard! Why should we keep following you?" It seems like an eminently sensible objection. Who wants to eat Jesus' flesh or drink his blood? But Jesus knows the problem isn't that his teaching is hard, but that their spirits are hardened against him. So he intensifies the tension. He asks, "Would you believe in me if I ascended to heaven?" It's the kind of question that seems kooky. Who thinks they can do that? He continues to press in: Are they at the end of themselves, desperate for the Spirit to give them life? Or will they persist in unbelief and even betray him? Jesus isn't going to make this any easier. So, as his words echo against the walls, the synagogue starts to slowly empty out. A few uncomfortable minutes later, Jesus is looking at the Twelve. It's one thing to follow a successful Messiah, but it's uncomfortable to stay committed to a rejected one. He asks, "You don't want to leave, do you?" The day after I collected my belongings, I realized I'd never experienced 10 a.m. without a job. What had I done? Was Jesus worth this? Simon Peter's confession isn't triumphant, but desperate. He's saying, "Your words have gotten into me, and I can't get them out." When he calls Jesus the Holy One of God, it's the same title a demon used in the same synagogue (Mark 1:24). Anyone can use the right words in a worship service, but it's the heart that matters. Jesus doesn't congratulate him. Instead, he humbles them all. He reminds them that they follow him only because he chose them as his disciples. Their faith is not an achievement, but a response to grace. Even more unsettling, he reveals that one of them is faking it. Judas knows he's exposed, but pretends to be as surprised as everyone else. Staying in the room isn't the same as having life in you.
When has following Jesus cost you something you didn't expect to lose?
What keeps you following Jesus when faith feels like failure?
Is there any part of your faith where you're physically present but spiritually absent?
Take five minutes and ask yourself, "To whom will I go?" Feel the tension. Consider your backup plans, the comfortable off-ramps, the ways of staying in the room without following Jesus. Tell God, "I need your life in me." When you've finished praying, text a friend to set up a time to talk about the cost of following Jesus.
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