When Jesus Creeps You Out
He didn’t bill the hillside seminar as a Lunch ‘n Learn, but when the crowd approached at mealtime, he divided up rations sufficient for just a small boy into portions enough to feed around 5,000 folks and still send doggy bags home with the twelve.
The people let full bellies do their thinking, and thought then to make the Miracle Man their king.
He slipped away to the hills before they could get a good grip on His robes.
The disciples started across the lake ahead of Him by boat and He joined them later, hop-skipping three and a half miles across the top of rough waters. The folks left behind on shore — taste of free lunch still fresh on their buds –caught up with them on the other side in the morning.
They queried. He quizzed.
Supposing they’d loosed their own useful genie, they pressed Him for breakfast. Whip up another miracle; feed us all again. We’ll believe you this time, for sure. Are you as good as Moses? He fed people every day. Just do it again.
But all at once it seemed time to squeeze this ghastly sorcerer back into the bottle. He meant to make cannibals of them all!
Was He really a hometown boy? Really Joseph and Mary’s son? Carpenters don’t produce prophets and they don’t offspring shamans. He’s making this stuff up.
And starting to really creep us out.
Stomachs churned at the thought of eating this man’s flesh, chasing it down with His red dripping blood.
And so came the first self-answering question of the day: This is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?
Meaning, of course, not really Who but No one. Not anyone sane and decent. There’s only one way to answer a question like that. The sudden loss of appetite and distaste for late night horror movies overtook them, and most of them went away, losing interest in this Bela Legosi stagehand.
Saddened but by no means surprised, the Rabbi turned to those most close to him and asked, You do not want to leave too, do you?
Peter, speaking for his companions, wiped leftover breadcrumbs from his mouth and blurted out with sardine-laced spittle, Lord, to whom shall we go?
Again there could be but one answer to the question Peter sputtered out: You have the words of eternal life. Surely we don’t get it either. All this talk of blood and flesh and eating and drinking. It’s a little creepy to be sure.
But we know You, and we believe You, and what else can we do?
Linking with Michelle today.