John 6 - Preacher's Commentary

A Costly Meal

John 6:1–71

6:1-15

Jesus Spreads a Feast

The phrase, “After these things,” probably covers several weeks of eventful ministry, a time during which John the Baptist had come to his gruesome end at the hand of the nervous, fearful Herod. And Jesus had withdrawn! The synoptic Gospels have given this account in some detail (Matt. 4:12–13, Mark 6:14–32, Luke 9:7–10). Surely grief and a poignant sense of loneliness must have engulfed Jesus as He poured out His heart to His Father. John’s faithfulness and flaming courage had cost him his life. Surely Jesus could not help pondering the agony of His own approaching death.

But even here the crowd followed Him, because “they saw His signs which He performed on those who were diseased.” They found Him on a “mountain,” probably a hill, with His disciples, eager to spend all the time He could with these men. Undoubtedly they were on the east side of the Sea of Galilee, also identified here as Tiberias because of the nearby city built in about A.D. 20 by Herod Antipas to honor the emperor. John never forgets his Greek and Roman readers.

His comment about this being near the time of the Passover highlights the deeper meaning of this occasion. “A feast of the Jews,” he calls it, once again to help his Gentile audience (v. 4). Jesus could not deal with this great throng of hungry people without being deeply conscious of the time and setting. The sanctity of the Paschal supper had been a part of His life since early boyhood. He was well aware that the most perfect animal available must be slain that its blood might be poured out on the horns of the altar and its flesh become the food His family would eat together. There was a solemn mystery about this celebration which commemorated a past event but which also gave hope for present deliverance. The memory of the Baptist’s ringing cry by the river, “Behold! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the World!” (John 1:29), identifying Jesus as the ultimate sacrifice must have surged through Him as He dealt with this crowd.

So Jesus seems eager to welcome this host of people like a Father gathering His family for the Paschal meal as they keep “coming toward Him.” He knows how He will provide for their needs, even though His disciples only point out how meager their resources are. It is fitting that Jesus should ask Philip where they could buy bread since he was from nearby Bethsaida. He answers that all the money they can gather up, the equivalent of two hundred days’ wages at fifteen cents a day, would hardly provide even a small scrap for each person. This sounds much like scores of discussions I have heard over the years at church finance committee meetings.

Then Andrew, who earlier had brought his brother Simon, now brings a lad, who has but five barley loaves and two fish. This was bread eaten by the very poor, and the fish were little more than large dried minnows. No wonder Andrew questions “But what are they among so many?”

Now Jesus takes over! He commands the people to sit down like a great family invited to a sumptuous banquet. There is no white table cloth, but “much grass” for all to recline on (v. 10).

As He accepts the boy’s gift He gives thanks. And in the mystery of that blessing, the small becomes great. They all received “as much as they wanted.” With Jesus there is always enough and more! What a lesson in God’s sovereign, gracious provision for these timid, hesitant disciples who were now given the honor of bringing this meal out to group after group spread out on the hillside. Then Jesus commands them to gather up what had not been eaten that nothing be lost. The Creator does not squander His creation.

Jesus gives sacred meaning to the daily bread which graces our tables. Without Him we merely selfishly satisfy our appetites as we thoughtlessly gulp down whatever we can pick up at some fast food place. We often carelessly toss out whatever remains uneaten, filling countless garbage cans with our leftovers while two-thirds of the people of the world fiercely struggle for enough scraps to stay alive.

This meal on the hillside was a sign foreshadowing that later eating and drinking which was to become a memorial of His sacrificial death. That “Last Supper” was to be a covenant that the offering of His flesh and blood, which seemed so shamefully insignificant to those non-believing bystanders, was God’s saving provision for the world’s salvation. Again what seemed so little became so vastly much.

And the feeding on the hillside could never have come to pass without the “thanks” He gave. This word “thanks” is translated from the Greek word eucharisteo. And His thanks are at the heart of His covenant with His chosen ones in His Last Supper. Little wonder then that centuries later we celebrate the Eucharist, a meal of thanks for His sacrifice.

The crowd responds to this “sign” by insisting that He must truly be “the Prophet who is to come into the world,” the return of Elijah or one greater (v. 14). Would not this new Prophet give them permanent physical security, full bellies, and instant healing, and supply all their fleshly needs? So they will make Him their king! What an irony that they believe they can pressure the One who is already King into being a king on their terms.

But Jesus has dealt with the temptation to use His spiritual power for self-centered earthly ends before when Satan asked Jesus to prove himself by turning stones into bread or calling down a legion of angels, which would draw a huge following quickly (Matt. 4:3–7). He will have none of this! So He simply walks away from the crowd to be alone again. He has come to call men to a radical, costly discipleship, not to a kingdom of bread. He will be King only of those who enter by the narrow door of spiritual surrender.

6:16-21

The Assurance of His Presence

The disciples must have been baffled by this turn of events. Why would He walk away from a great opportunity to enlist a whole army of disciples if He were really serious about His new kingdom movement? But they let Him go off alone and apparently agree to meet Him later in or near Capernaum.

So, these disciples push out to cross the sea, but shortly find themselves in dire straits. For now darkness and a violent wind and a heavy sea are suddenly about to overwhelm them. And Jesus is not with them. What a picture of our contemporary existence—terrifying problems that defy any human solution, the breakdown of our primary human relationships, violence and anger becoming more and more the disorder of the day, while a sense of hopelessness and despair seem to paralyze the human spirit. Everything seems out of control. It is a dark, stormy night at sea. And there does not seem to be anyone in the boat who can save us.

But in the midst of this violent Galilean storm, a barely visible figure can be seen walking on the water toward their boat. How strange! John writes, “and they were afraid” (v. 19). They were probably thinking how much better off they would have been if they had stayed back there on the shore with the crowd. But then they hear that strong, familiar voice, “It is I; do not be afraid” (v. 20). And they eagerly receive Him into the boat.

Jesus is giving these men the powerful assurance of His presence. He will be to them all that “It is I” can mean, however dark and stormy any night may become. So it is because of who He is that Jesus can give these men the peace that overcomes their fear. When Jesus is welcomed into the boat, they “immediately” come to the land where they were going. His presence will always bring us to our destination in His own time and way.

I have vivid memories of a long night of feverish nightmares when, as a boy of seven or eight, I cried out again and again because, in my fantasy, my bedroom was being stuffed with huge boxes and I was suffocating. Then in the darkness, I felt the strong arm of my father and his quiet words, “Don’t worry, Roger, everything is going to be all right. I am here!” That changed everything. Surely the intimate, personal coming of Jesus on the water to join His disciples brought far more peace and comfort than even my father’s coming.

The unconditional guarantee of Jesus’ presence to the end must have called forth Simon Peter’s confession later, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (6:68).

6:22-59

Dialogue and Decision

Exposing False Motives (vv. 22–26). The following day a crowd gathers, almost greedily, to satisfy both their curiosity and their bellies. Some even come in boats from Tiberias, “near the place where they ate bread after the Lord had given thanks” (v. 23). John speaks of the event so modestly. The deeper meaning of what has taken place seems to be conveyed by his referring to Jesus as “Lord,” the sacred name for the living God of Israel.

There appears to be some confused wondering among those gathering. They seem to know that the disciples have left in a boat, but without Jesus. He is the One they want, but where has He gone? So they strike out for Capernaum “seeking Jesus,” apparently aware that this was where He centered much of His ministry.

When they find Him, they address Him as “Rabbi” (v. 25), perhaps expecting that He will teach them some new thing. But their question, “When did You come here?” is almost a petulant “Why did you leave us?” Food for their bellies is really more important than anything He can teach them. How true this is of much introverted, narcissistic modern-day religion, even that which calls itself “evangelical.” “What can I get out of this?” “Will it save my skin?” Listen to the invitation being given, “Why don’t you come to Jesus right now? He will take care of all your needs.”

But as with Nicodemus, Jesus brushes that question aside and unmasks their real motive. They have come seeking Him, not because the gift of food has been a sign through which they have glimpsed the glory of God, but because they ate and “were filled.” Here Jesus uses a very earthy term, literally meaning they were “satisfied with food as animals with fodder.”

Belief, the Work of God (vv. 27–29). As tasty and nourishing as the loaves and fish may have been, this is food which perishes. The whole digestive process, so necessary to sustain physical life, is part of an order that passes away. Death is its inevitable end. How foolish then to make this food the end of all labor. Jesus does not despise the fleshly needs of human existence. If so, He would never have come in the flesh, nor fed these people. But He is speaking of an earthly system that will pass away.

However, there is a food which “endures to everlasting life” (v. 27). It feeds the deepest center of human existence, the spiritual self, and continues to satisfy. This food is not a reward that can be earned, but is given by the Son of Man, whose origin is in heaven, but who is identified with all men. He is the authentic Source of this everlasting bread because the Father approves what He does. He bears the seal of the Father’s ownership.

Still these people do not understand who it is that has fed them, nor the meaning of this gift. They only seem to hear the phrase “labor for the food” and assume there is more work they must do. What can they do to please God? They are caught in the old legalisms, slaves of the flesh. But the food that Jesus shares is given by the Father. It is a work of grace, food that cannot be earned, only received.

So it is the response of faith, believing in the One whom the Father has sent, receiving what He has to give; that is the “work of God.” The Greek word John uses for “believe” is pisteuo, an active verb, not the form pistis, a passive noun.

Living Bread, but by What Sign? (vv. 30–33). Neither the feeding nor the teaching can satisfy these people. They clamor for an even greater sign. The flesh always cries out for some final visible proof, a last climactic argument, which will wrap it all up and make belief inevitable. They are insisting that they be taken care of permanently, even quoting Scripture, as if Jesus needed to be reminded that their fathers had been fed manna in the wilderness for forty years. They are not shy in demanding a sign even greater than that. Then they will see and believe. But hardened, carnal eyes and hearts can never understand and accept what can only be grasped by the Spirit.

Now Jesus uses again those crucial words, “most assuredly.” If they do not hear what He says now, they will continue in darkness and death. Even the physical bread given in the wilderness, to which they refer, was not Moses’ doing, but God’s. And that gift which sustained physical life was a sign, a promise, of the “true bread” that the Father is now giving.

The “true bread” is the bread of God—bread that comes directly from Him, not even by the hand of Moses. This bread is personal, “He who comes down” (v. 33), not an impersonal law. It comes continuously, not sporadically. And the life that is in the Father, which He shares with the Son, is given to the whole world, not a particular race or chosen few. This is a sweeping statement of Jesus’ mission made to people who have a parochial expectation of the Messiah’s coming.

Are we not like that crowd, often particularizing and cutting down the vast ministry of Jesus to our comfortable “in” group? Church becomes a social, institutional world, subtly or deliberately eliminating the “out” group, the poor, the alcoholic, the aged, the divorced, or the rich.

“I am the bread of life” (vv. 34–36). Now this crowd, so enslaved to the flesh, continues to make its demand, still not understanding what Jesus is saying. How glibly they call Him “Lord,” without submitting to His authority, but expecting to gain a favor. They are hungry to have this “bread from heaven,” which they still assume will be a continuous supply of physical bread. They have neither heard nor grasped that the One standing before them is the source of that life.

So Jesus openly declares His identity. He is the “I AM,” who faced and called Moses at the burning bush, the One, as John has earlier affirmed, by whom “all things were made.” He is “the food which endures.” Sooner or later any serious dialogue with Jesus will bring us to the place where we must deal with who He is.

The revelation of His identity is also His invitation. As He opens His heart, He invites anyone who hears to come and believe in Him, not to satisfy a physical appetite nor to assume that we can earn this bread. That would be false pride. We can only come as beggars, hungry and needy, if we are to accept the “true bread” which only He, the “I AM,” can give. The inclusion of thirst here seems to underline the total fulfillment of all our needs.

However, no sooner has the invitation been given when Jesus speaks sadly of their unbelief. They have seen Him and what He has done, but only with physical eyes. So they have failed to understand even the meaning of His invitation.

The Father Gives: The Son Keeps (vv. 37–40). In this passage, Jesus moves from the misunderstanding and unbelief of this crowd to the mystery of belief. It is only by the sovereign grace of God that we come to believe. It is not our own doing. For coming to accept and believe in the One whom the Father has sent is finally not a human decision based on convincing and reasonable arguments. We cannot talk ourselves into faith. Often in our free church tradition we have overemphasized our human capacity “to come to Jesus” or “to be saved.” Salvation then becomes “our business” because we put human choice in the center.

It is true, however, that there is a response that we humans make, a sacred journey often fraught with struggle, from indifference and unbelief to faith and acceptance.

But it is God’s sovereign grace that invites us, chooses us, and marks out the way of this pilgrimage into faith. The initiative is His! We respond! As John Calvin has put it, “Faith is not at man’s disposal, so that this man or that may believe indiscriminately and by chance, but that God elects those whom He hands over, as it were, to his Son.”² Here we see the perfect harmony of the Father and the Son. Eight times in this chapter Jesus speaks of His having “come from heaven.” The Son is eager to please the Father, for the will of the Father is His will. So whoever the Father draws and gives to the Son, He receives and keeps.

“All” are kept! None is cast out!

The salvation of those who are drawn and believe is assured. In verses 39–54 Jesus speaks of keeping these till the end, of “raising these up at the last day” four times. It is not our feeble hold on Christ that is our assurance of salvation, but His sure grip on those who believe.

The Father is patiently working, gathering His whole family of believers, a complete, inclusive community. This calling together of God’s people is the deepest key to history. “This gospel of the kingdom will be preached in all the world… then the end will come” (Matt. 24:14).

Murmuring Rather than Being Taught (vv. 41–47). It is the “Jews,” the term used for those who constantly oppose Jesus, who now murmur against Him. It is the same noise of unbelief their fathers made in the wilderness. This crowd is becoming more and more aware of the staggering implications of what Jesus has been saying. How can this nondescript, ordinary appearing Man make the absurd claim that He is “bread from heaven”? What blasphemy! Why, this is only the “son of Joseph.” The miracle of Jesus’ birth is unknown to the general populace. His “father and mother” are small-town laboring folks seen at the religious feast days or at family gatherings. How can this man then make such a ridiculous statement? The vast, incredible humanity of God is here revealed again. Jesus puts Himself at their mercy, even though He is a King hidden in the flesh of a simple peasant.

Jesus meets their anger and unbelief head on. Only those who have been “taught by God”are drawn and sent to the Son. The everlasting, patient Teacher is God Himself (Ps. 71:17; Ps. 119:102, Is. 54:3; Jer. 32:33). It is only the humble, teachable ones who hear and understand what the Father says. His teaching opens and prepares them for the coming of the One whom He has sent. So they believe and obey and discover in Him eternal life.

What an indictment that the very people who assume they know what God has said, because they have pored over the Scriptures, discussing every jot and tittle, have not been taught by God! Their rejection of the One whom He has sent means they have read, but never understood.

But what a joy when someone comes, eager and open though theologically unlearned, to trust and confess Christ with unashamed freshness. One knows immediately they have been taught and brought by the Father to the Son. Such is the case with Bounheng, a new Laotian believer who has come into our “international community,” a part of our church family. He has come in recent weeks out of the old life of superstitious Buddhism and drunken partying into a joyful radiance in Christ. He is literally soaking up the Scriptures and his profound, childlike grasp of God’s truth is almost breathtaking. Whenever he speaks or shares, his face glows with the light of Christ and he becomes our teacher. He is being taught by God.

My Flesh for the World (vv. 48–51). Again Jesus makes that simple, unequivocal assertion, “I am the bread of life.” The contrast with all physical bread, particularly the manna given their fathers in the wilderness, is sharply drawn. That bread, Jesus says, they ate and are dead. But Jesus is “the bread” which comes down from heaven. His coming is once for all. The Incarnation will not be repeated! Yet He continues to come. Whoever “eats of this bread” will not die. He states it negatively at first, contrasting it with the physical bread. Then, as is so often done in this Gospel, it is stated positively, “He will live forever.”

But how do we eat this bread? For even eating physical bread is a mystery and a gift of grace. On a few rare occasions I have been overwhelmed watching desperately hungry people gulping down a few scraps of bread, far more precious than pieces of gold.

But here is an ever deeper reality, the intimate, personal, trusting act of eating the bread of life. This is, as John Calvin has said, “the effect or work of faith” for “Christ is eaten only by faith.”³ So as Nicodemus was invited to be born again by “water and Spirit” and the woman at the well urged to quench her thirst by drawing and drinking “living water,” these people are invited to eat of this “bread of life.”

In verse 51 Jesus makes an even more offensive claim. The bread these Jews are invited to eat is His flesh, which He shall give for the life of the world. “Flesh” to their ears is a lowly, vulgar word. How can the life of God be given through flesh “which in its appearance is contemptible”?⁴ And yet it is precisely here, in this Man of flesh, that God, in His surprising mercy, has set life before us. That which has been despised as the “material of death” God has chosen to make the vehicle of redemption. For Jesus offers both His life of perfect obedience and His death on the Cross in the flesh. Here is where we discover and receive life.

And this “living bread” is flesh that is given, not just for those to whom He speaks, but for the whole world. This is His vast, farflung mission. The final giving of His flesh will be His sacrifice on the Cross where He offers Himself as the Victim. He is the unique Paschal Lamb, who will be slain that the world might be given life; He is the only true food, which brings life when it is eaten. Here is the new Passover for the entire human race.

But, like the Jews, we are often offended by this fleshly offer. We would rather have a vague, diffused presence or some impersonal abstract deity, not a particular Man who has come from heaven to live among us in the flesh at a very specific time and place. He is too near, too much with us. Our specific sins are now unmasked. We are caught swearing and telling lies, succumbing to our lusts and killing one another. So we struggle to make the flesh of the Son of Man unreal, to keep God Incarnate out of our world. This docetic lie, this denial of Jesus’ flesh, is so deep a perversion that John calls it elsewhere “the spirit of the Antichrist” (1 John 4:2–3).

For the Jews, the Final Obscenity (vv. 52–59). Earlier the Jews have murmured, but now they “quarreled among themselves.” They are confused and angered by what they have heard. This Man has led them to face issues vastly different from anything they had expected. Some in this crowd have heard and begun to move toward belief. They are wondering, “Perhaps we will follow this One who seems to speak the truth, strange as it seems.” But they face a hostile majority who refuse to accept anything Jesus has said. And out of their wrangling a question emerges, “How can this Man give us His flesh to eat?”, a completely sensible question if one is referring to physical eating alone.

So Jesus comes at them a last time. Their spiritual destiny hangs on how they now hear and respond. He is not presenting some new religious option which can be added to what they already know. But He is laying before them a single, life-and-death spiritual imperative.

Jesus insists, “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you.” Then He states it positively in verse 54, “Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.” This feasting must finally be experienced to be understood! Professor Westcott has said it simply, “To ‘eat’ and to ‘drink’ is to take to oneself by a voluntary act that which is without, and then to assimilate it and make it part of oneself. It is, as it were, faith regarded in its converse action. Faith throws the believer upon and into its object. This spiritual eating and drinking brings the object of faith into the believer.”⁵

This eating and drinking is continuous and ongoing, not simply a meal at the beginning! Those who feast on Him constantly dwell in Him. He becomes their permanent “home.” This is also a reciprocal relationship, a “double dwelling.” They dwell in Him, and He dwells in them.

Recently our beloved son-in-law, Frank, was sharing some of the joys in bringing his wife and children back to Austria to meet his family. One of the highlights of the whole trip was the visit to his aged grandmother, who had cared for him as a small boy when his father and mother were separated. He spoke tenderly of her caring relationship with him, frequently allowing him to sleep with her even though at times he wet the bed. Now she was in ill health, spending most of her time in bed. Going back to see her he was somewhat concerned. How would nine-year-old Elizabeth and five-year-old Sarah understand and accept his grandmother, and how would she welcome them? After all, they had never met before and had no language in common.

But when the little girls saw her for the first time in her bed, there was immediate rapport. They jumped into the bed as they greeted their great-grandmother with joy. There was instant communication deeper than words. And their father rejoiced. Is this not a simple picture of what it means to continually dwell in our Father and He in us?

This bread that is eaten and the blood that is drunk are separate realities, signs of Jesus’ life and death. It was through His flesh that Jesus lived out a life of holy obedience. In eating His flesh we partake of this life of surrender and begin to manifest His life in all those fleshly places into which we are thrown or called—at sales conventions, on used car lots, laundering our clothes, making love and bearing children, watching TV and going to church. It is in our temptations and defeats, our joys and our victories, that we are to bear in our bodies the marks of the Lord Jesus (Gal. 6:17).

But we are also to drink His blood. How abhorrent this was to the Jews who had been forbidden by law to partake of blood. But in this act we appropriate, or take into ourselves, His life sacrificed, His expiation, and His atonement. In accepting His life poured out we are reconciled to God and live in grace as forgiven sinners. The Son of Man, the One who has identified Himself with us, offers us this incredible feast of life. We shall become like Him as we continue to feed on Him.

It is the life of the Father that the Son shares with us. The Son has come in obedience to the Father and has no life apart from Him. So He who feeds on the Son is given the life of the Father. We then have the same relation to the Son that the Son has to the Father and are as dependent upon Him as the Son is on the Father. What an incredible relationship!

The primary purpose of these verses is to teach us how to feed on the Son of Man, to take Him into our innermost being by faith. But surely an important secondary teaching here is the meaning of the Lord’s Supper. Is there not a particular sense in which Christ’s presence is made real among His people when we eat the bread and drink the wine?

For too long many of us have stripped this celebration of its deeper meaning, making it a barren exercise. We have spoken of the Eucharist as being “only a memorial” when we partake of the “elements,” a term never used in Scripture. It is as if we have allowed our subconscious and unexamined prejudices against the “sacramentarians” to define the meaning of the Lord’s Supper.

But it is Jesus’ teaching and the giving of Himself that guide and inform us in our understanding of the Supper. He is the Host who gathers us and has us feed on Himself. We are constituted as His people by the very events we celebrate, fed with fleshly, common gifts. And is there not a mystery and reality in the bread and wine which goes beyond a remembrance of Christ and His sacrifice? We cannot redo what Jesus has accomplished for our salvation once for all, nor can we say that Jesus is the wine and bread. But surely we are nourished by Him in a unique way when we partake of this physical food. And as that crowd of five thousand became a family when Jesus fed them, so we, in eating and drinking, become a believing community. We do not eat and drink as isolated individuals.

If we are to grow in our understanding of the Lord’s Supper, we need humility and openness so that we may learn from one another as the Lord teaches all His people the meaning of the Supper.

6:60-71

Those Who Finally Remain

Words That Live and Divide (vv. 60–66). In the truth of Jesus’ teaching and the depth of His invitation there comes a division of the house. The casual, superficial disciples, those who have not counted the cost, find what He has said to be too hard for them. The truth is always hard for those of us who thought He would settle for less than He demands. It is not that the saying is hard, but that our unbelieving hearts reject what He asks of us. John Calvin said, “The hardness was in their hearts and not in the saying. But the reprobate are wont to gather together stones out of the Word of God to dash themselves against; and when in their hard obstinacy they rush against Christ, they complain that his saying is hard, which really ought to have softened them. For whoever submits humbly to Christ’s teaching will find nothing hard or rough in it.”⁶

If the acts and teachings of Jesus thus far offend these loosely attached disciples, what will happen when He comes to the climax of His ministry—being lifted up in death and Resurrection and “ascend[ing] where He was before.” In these final events, the words Jesus has spoken are fulfilled and lived out gloriously in His flesh.

If these words Jesus speaks are simply of the flesh, they have no power. But the Spirit fills His words with the very truth of God, so they are life to those who hear and accept. That Spirit, which was revealed in the act of Jesus feeding the hungry crowd, is manifested also in the words He speaks. Both the deed and the word are given enlivening power by the Spirit. Jesus is really saying, “My words are the incarnation and communication of the Spirit; it is the Spirit who dwells in them and acts through them; and for this reason they communicate life.”⁷

This Spirit is also at work in those who are drawn and given to Him by the Father. But Jesus knows that among His listeners are those who have made the initial response, but they have not believed. They have seen and heard and started, but have not been “given by the Father.” So there is a separation. “From that time many of His disciples went back and walked with Him no more” (v. 66). A sorrowful parting, but it is better to have a handful who will eat His flesh and drink His blood than a crowd who will simply observe curiously from afar.

Commitment and Confession (vv. 67–71). But what of the twelve? Here is the first mention of “the twelve” in this Gospel. Is this the time of their being chosen? Are they being given to Jesus by the Father here?

They have seen Him welcome the crowd and feed them, have experienced the guarantee of His eternal presence in the stormy night at sea, have listened to His strong demand that only those who eat His flesh and drink His blood will live, and then have watched the easy starters leave. And they are still with Him.

Now Jesus gives them the chance to leave, “Do you also want to go away?” (v. 67). This is the time to decide! It is Peter who speaks for all of them. There is no one else to whom they can go. They know there is eternal life in His words.

Then Simon Peter confesses: We believe and we know! It is in hearing and trusting that certainty comes, that the mind and heart are enlightened and the will is moved to decide. And what do they know? That He is the Chosen One of God, His very Son, the Messiah! It is not factual, conceptual knowledge they have been given, but personal, intimate trust that He is the One. They will cling to Him for the rest of the journey!

But even then, Jesus knows that among them there is one who will betray Him (vv. 70–71). This is the mystery of rejection and unbelief. How can one be so near and yet be a friend of the enemy?