They followed him because he had filled their
stomachs, multiplied loaves, passed out fish
like it was a Saturday fish fry and everyone
was kin. They followed him because it was magic,
because it was easy, because it was free. But
what happens the next day? What happens after
the bread? When the baskets are empty and the
miracle's over, what kind of Jesus are you looking
for? Today, we walk with the ones who turned
back, the ones who didn't get what they came
for. The ones who heard Jesus say something so
strange, so offensive, so unmarketable, that
they just packed up their questions and went
home. We also walked with the ones who stayed.
This episode's not about loaves and fishes. It's
about the line you draw in the dust. It's about
what happens when your faith runs out of reasons,
but you keep walking anyway. When the crowd thins.
When the signs stop, when he looks you in the
eye and asks, you going to leave too? If you've
ever been there at the end of your rope but not
quite willing to let go, pull up a chair. You're
in good company. This is the Semi -Seminarian
Podcast. I'm Pastor Jim, and today we're stepping
into one of the most haunting, most honest moments
in all of the Gospels. If this hits something
deep in you, if it echoes that quiet little ache
that you carry around, like a question maybe
you're too scared to say out loud, do me a kindness.
Share this with someone who's maybe there too.
Or like it. Follow the show. Leave a comment
where you're listening from. Something. Just
let us know you're still in the room with us.
Because there's grace here. Even after the baskets
are empty. Especially then. I'll see you on the
other side. Hey, I'm going to get started, okay?
So we were just talking about Bible study and
sermons and stuff. And tonight, I want to open
up by saying I don't want us tonight to look
at this. By the way, tonight's story is in John
6, if you want to follow along. I don't want
us to think of this as much as a Bible study
as just a story we're going to listen to. Because
I think that sometimes with regard to the Bible,
when we run across hard teachings in the Bible,
sometimes, at least this is my perspective, sometimes
I just want to run by those harsh passages. hard
teachings, because sometimes I just want to pretend
I didn't just read that, because I don't want
to face the implications of the truth in that
sentence or that verse, right? But I know it's
true, but I don't want to think about that right
now. Tonight's story is one of those stories
that for a lot of people, when trying to put
a fine point on what's happening in this passage,
it makes people squirm sometimes. Because we
don't see a lot of this kind of thing happening
elsewhere in the Bible. So rather than just rush
by it and act like it doesn't exist, let's actually
put our sandals on, right? And let's walk through
this story step by step. Let's treat it like
a story. Let's put ourselves in that place, in
that moment. And let's weigh. the words of scripture
for ourselves, if you'll play along. So let's
walk a while, slow and quiet, in the back of
the crowd. The sun is just starting to lift the
lake mist off into golden skies. The early morning
still smells like fish grease and yesterday's
miracle. Folks are rubbing sleep from their eyes,
brushing breadcrumbs from their cloaks, whispering
about how Jesus had vanished in the night. Some
are hopeful. Some are hungry. And some are confused.
We were there, you and me. We saw him blessed.
Break it. Hand it out till everybody had more
than they needed. We saw the leftovers. Twelve
baskets full. A miracle that you could bag up
and take home. But now, the baskets are empty.
Crowd is restless. And we're walking towards
Capernaum. Not just geographically, but also
spiritually, emotionally. Unsure if... What we
felt yesterday is still true today. Because after
the bread, after the miracle, comes the question.
Not when the crowd was full, not when the baskets
overflowed, but when the miracle fades and the
message gets hard. That's where faith is tested.
That's when you find out who's following because
they believe. And those who are following because
they're hungry, let's walk with them. Let's feel
the tension. Hey, let's hear Jesus out. And like
I'd mentioned, let's not rush past the moment
where a bunch of them in the crowd turned around
and walked the other way. Because signs feed
curiosity, but sacrifice feeds faith. And what
Jesus is about to say to the crowd is about to
thin it out. Somewhere in the back, a mother's
clutching a child to her chest, eyes scanning
the shore for Jesus like she's looking for medicine.
Her baby didn't eat yesterday. She's hoping that
the prophet brings some bread again today. Beside
her, a fisherman who gave up his boat last week
to follow the movement. now wondering what this
is going to cost him. Another night with no haul,
no fish to trade. His wife said, sure about this?
And kissed his forehead like it might be the
last time. This crowd isn't just made up of spectators.
They're made up of real folks, just like you
and me. Broken, tired, aching folks. And they
didn't come to debate theology. Some came to
survive. Some came because they were desperate.
Some came because something in them whispered,
he might be the one. And Jesus sees all of it.
He always does. So I'm in John 6. Let's read
some scripture here. Here's verse 30. What sign
then are you going to do so that we may see and
believe you? And we glance around stunned. As
if yesterday's miracle with the bread and the
fish was a fluke. As if feeding 5 ,000 people
was just an appetizer. Then they, the crowd,
bring up Moses. As if the memory of manna in
the wilderness somehow outweighs the fresh breadcrumbs
still clinging to their own cloaks. But Jesus
doesn't bite. He tells them straight. It wasn't
Moses that gave you that bread. It was my father.
And now, the bread is here. Verse 35, I am the
bread of life. No one who comes to me will ever
be hungry, and no one who believes in me will
ever be thirsty again. We're standing there and
we shift our weight. Someone behind us clears
their throat. The edge of belief is now getting
sharp. He's not just offering sustenance. He's
offering himself. But it seems like the more
he explains this to us, the more it's going to
cost. Jesus isn't sugarcoating the gospel here.
He's sharpening it. He's moving from metaphor
to flesh and blood, from bread to body. Verse
53, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man
and drink his blood, you do not have life in
yourself. And at those words, you could have
heard a sandal drop. Someone in the crowd whispers,
did he say flesh? Someone else mutters, that's
not kosher. Another voice trembling now, this
teaching is hard. Who can accept it? We feel
it in our chest. The crowd that once pressed
in to touch him is now pulling back. edging backward
towards the shoreline, making excuses. Because
miracles are easy to follow. But blood? Blood's
personal. Jesus keeps going. Verse 56. The one
who eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains
in me and I in him. This isn't about feeding
the hungry anymore. It's about union. It's about
covenant. It's about taking Jesus so deep into
you, it becomes a part of your bones. And for
many, that is too much. We see them start to
leave, one by one, then small clusters. A whole
movement beginning to unravel like the frayed
end of a rope. And they're not angry. They're
disappointed. Because he didn't give them what
they wanted. And honestly, part of us wants to
follow with them. Because this isn't the Jesus
we signed up for either. We like the crowds.
We like the bread. We like the stories. But this,
flesh and blood? Total surrender? Too close.
Too costly. Too real. And he turns, not to the
crowd, but to us. To the ones still standing
there in stunned silence. And he doesn't beg.
He doesn't soften the edges. He looks you in
the eye and says, you don't want to go away too,
do you? That question echoed down the shoreline.
You don't want to go away too, do you? And Peter,
God bless him, doesn't give a sermon. But I think
he speaks what the rest of us can't seem to find
words for, verses 68 and 69. Lord, to whom would
we go? You have the words of eternal life. We
have come to believe and know that you are the
Holy One of God. He doesn't say he understands
it. He doesn't say he's not scared. He's just
saying, where else could we possibly go? Because
even if the teaching is hard, even if the road
is narrow, even when the crowd is gone, we will
still believe. Because we've tasted the bread
and we've seen the man. And there is nowhere
or nobody else that smells like life. So what
now? We've walked the shoreline. Heard the hard
words. Watch the crowd scatter. We felt the sting
of the question. You don't want to go away too,
do you? And we've whispered with Peter the only
answer we've got, Lord, to whom should we go?
But, friends, it's our turn to live it, not just
read it. To walk back into our Tuesday mornings.
With that same empty basket faith. To choose
bread that doesn't perish when really what we
want is fast food comfort. To stay at the table
when the meal feels mysterious and the cost feels
high. Because faith, real, sweaty, ache in the
bones faith, doesn't get measured. by how loud
we sing on the hillside, how closely we follow
when the crowd thins, the teaching cuts deep.
So here's the truth. If you're still here, still
hungry for something more, still holding your
place in the circle even after the magic fades,
you're not failing, you're following. And Jesus
sees you. So come on. Let's keep walking. Let's
keep listening. Let's stay after the bread. Sometimes
what you really need is not a miracle, but a
memory. Not a new sign, but a sacred scar. Not
a crown, but a crust of bread. And when you're
too tired to shout Hosanna, And all you can whisper
is, I'm still here. Jesus breaks the bread again.
He doesn't just multiply the loaves. He multiplies
the mercy. And he sits down beside you, looks
you in the eye and says, take, eat. This is the
kind of faith that does not fill stadiums, but
it does fill your soul. So here we stand, after
the bread, after the crowd, after the comfort.
And we have to decide. Do we follow because he
fills us? Or do we follow because he is the fullness?
The line's been drawn. The table's been set and
the invitation still stands. Eat, drink, live.
It won't be easy. It will cost you more than
you thought. But it will also give you so much
more than you can imagine. And Jesus is still
looking us in the eye. Still asking. You don't
want to go away too, do you? And maybe all we
can say. It's all that really needs saying. Lord,
to whom would we go? And that, my friends, is
enough. Amen? Amen. Thanks, guys. Some of them
walked away. Some of them stayed. And you? You're
still listening. And you know what? That might
be the truest thing about you. Because this faith
that we're talking about, it's not always clean.
It's not always clear. Sometimes, sometimes it
sounds like blood and flesh and hard teachings
and no easy answers. Sometimes, sometimes it
sounds like silence. But still, you didn't walk
away. You stayed. Not because it made sense,
but because something in you still hopes he is
who he says he is. So before you go, before you
turn off the app and head back into your day,
I want you to carry something with you. Not a
sermon, not a miracle, just a question. To whom
shall we go? The question isn't an altar call,
it's not a billboard slogan, it's... It's what
your soul whispers in the middle of the night
when everything else has just come up short.
It's the sacred ache of the ones who know there's
nowhere else to turn. And if this episode stirred
something in you, I hope you'll pass it on, share
it. Drop a line in the comments, please. Tell
me where you're listening from, whether it's
the kitchen table, the cab of a truck, the back
pew of a church. Maybe it's a place you're not
sure you even belong anymore. Let this be a little
campfire on the trail. A place to sit. A voice
that still believes. Because grace didn't stop
when the bread ran out. Sometimes, that's when
it starts. And if you are asking yourself that
old question, to whom shall we go, just know
this. You ain't alone. And the answer? Might
be waiting right where you are. I'll see you
next time.