“Surely no one has brought him something to eat?”
Jesus has just had an interaction with the Samaritan woman at the well, offering her the water of eternal life. She leaves, renewed by Jesus’ prophecy and love. His disciples return and urge him to eat something. He responds that he has food they do not know about. They don’t understand what he’s talking about – my food is to do the will of Him who sent me. What? They respond, “Surely no one has brought him something to eat?” They are still dealing with Jesus as only fully-human, and forgetting the fully-divine.
Guilty. I would absolutely respond the same. Reading this gospel and Jesus’ responses, I absolutely would revert to connecting with Jesus in a way I understand. Maybe that says more about the way my quirky brain works, but I do think there’s some universal truth in this.
Jesus pushes the edges of our comfort and awareness. When we get too far from our comfort zone, we return to what’s most comfortable. It’s like bread dough. You work it and knead it and get it more pliable. But there comes a point when it stops being flexible, and becomes a hard dough ball. At that point, you need to let it rest, and then start again.
Maybe that’s the truth with us. We get pushed and stretched, and at some point, we become a solid blob of dough. Once that happens we cannot stretch until we rest again.
And maybe that’s where I need to pay attention. I reach that point with John’s writing, and I throw up my hands in frustration. I don’t understand. Maybe, I need to let it rest and try the same bit again when I’ve had a chance to soften up.
Maybe reading John isn’t everyone’s growing edge. Maybe it’s Jesus’ thoughts about money, or service, or worship, or the stranger, or love. I think it’s human nature to only be able to take so much before we either give up, or rest and return.
This morning, I’m thinking about ways I might recognize the point when I need to rest and then try again, rather than walking away.
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