To whom would we go?

The writer of John's Gospel wrote these words to describe the confusion of the crowd of people who were listening to Jesus teach:
"...Then the People began to murmur in disagreement because he had said, 'I am the bread that came dwon from heaven.'
"...Then the people began arguing with each other about what he meant. 'How can this man give us his flesh to eat?' they asked."
"...Jesus was aware that his disciples were complaining, so he said to them,' Does this offend you?'
And finally, "At this point many of his disciples turned away and deserted him. Then Jesus turned to the Twelve and asked, 'are you also going to leave?' Simon Peter replied, 'Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life.' "

There are times when I am a pragmatist, or by way of the dictionary, a practical man. Not often, mind you, but there are times. There are times when logic grabs my collar and shakes me around and says to me that men don't die and rise again. There are times when it all seems to much, that desertion is a thought simply because I can't be what I think He wants me to be.

There are times when I look around me and know without question or doubt that I have wasted days and wasted nights, that I have wasted great sums of money, that I have wasted great opportunities. Wasted. Seen them come and watched as their backs were turned to me as they ran screaming from the arena I was playing in.

Jobs. Family. Times of great rejoicing gone in a millisecond with little to show for it. It just is or it was. There was a time, long ago, that I was something completely different than I am.

I watched the New Orleans Saints-San Francisco 49ers football game Sunday afternoon. The 49ers quarterback was a youngster who played collegiate football at what is now the University of Nevada. But 30 years ago it was known as the University of Nevada-Reno when I was a 29-year-old executive sports editor in Reno, Nevada. I was, according to the column written about my leaving in the Jackson (Miss.) Clarion-Ledger, one of the hottest young journalists in the country. I had six job offers in one year, and for reasons I don't actually remember clearly, I chose that one. Ten months later, after a real crash and burn caused by loneliness and my inability to handle a town that never closed shop (24-hours per day you could get into all kinds of trouble), I limped back to Jackson, taking a job as News Editor of the Jackson Daily News (an afternoon paper).

Sunday afternoon I wondered how those persons I worked with and for during those 10 months are today. I'm absolutely certain they would be shocked to see the transformation Jesus has made of and in my life.

I thought about who I was then, who I am now and who I will one day be judged to be by the Lord of my life, the one with the words of eternal life, and I thought about how little any of that meant to me back then.

It was about the career, having what I perceived to be fun, and struggling each day to not only make it in to work but to make it through work before the cycle started all over again.

The farthest thing from my mind was the Lord of Life, the beginning and the end, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Alpha and Omega. The farthest thing from my heart was the precious blood of the Lamb, which would one day save me for eternal worship of that King. The farthest element from the planning of my days was the idea that the bread of life was being offered to me; that the eating of the flesh would profit me; that the drinking of the blood of the innocent and perfect blood would enlist me in the loving army of Jehovah.

Nah. I had no family. I had no friends. I had nothing that would be of benefit to anyone else, including my own belief system. I was living an eternally damnable life.

I murmured, I complained, I regretted, I argued. The teaching was too difficult. The requirements too many. The changes desired too much to ask.

I was wracked with guilt but unable to do anything about who I was or what I was.

What is missed, I think, in this moment in Jesus' life (which might have been many such moments crafted into one chapter of John's Gospel) is what the bread of life truly is. In my mind, it's not about bread, sustanance, or teaching. All this is about Jesus. The man. The relationship. The love.

He feeds me with love.
He holds me in love.
He guides me by love.
He is love.

When I finally came to my senses, as the prodigal son did in scripture, I came back to earth and back to the South. Eventually, on my 42nd birthday, I came back to the one who treasured me the most.

Simon Peter said, "Lord, to whom would we go?"

I've never found an answer to that question that doesn't begin and end with Jesus.