"Eat My Flesh. Drink My Blood." A Journey from Fear to Faith.

The Overcoming Faith of Andrew the Apostle

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“I tell you the truth, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you cannot have eternal life within you. But anyone who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise that person at the last day.” - John 6:53-54

“How could He give such a command?”

“Had He lost His mind?”

Have we followed a lunatic?”

Those questions rolled through my mind as I looked around at the people in the crowded synagogue. It was the month of Nissan, the time of spring, when new life was in bloom. The wheat seemed to wave in worship as we passed through the golden fields just an hour before. The morning mist had comforted our weary souls, almost in preparation for what was to come. And then it happened. The peace of the cool Spring breeze blowing over our skin just a short time ago retreated as shock took hold. As soon as the Rabbi’s declaration rang out in the synagogue, the crowds began to murmur.

Yes, it all makes sense now. But in that moment, His words cracked the foundation of our trust. We all believed that our loyalty was unshakable. But in that moment, our minds were reeling, caught in a storm of confusion, and drowning in unanswered questions. We rarely argued - especially with Him. But that cool, pivotal morning was different. We all sensed that something had changed and that the journey would not be as easy as it had been before.

As soon as the words left His mouth, my head jerked as I turned toward my brother. Peter would know what to do; he always had before. When Jesus didn’t make sense to us, my brother always found the words to comfort us and keep our faith in the Rabbi strong. But not this time. “I’ve never heard anything so preposterous,” He said with a whisper as he quickly leaned into me. ”Look at the people, they are packing up to return home.” “And what about the leaders? Our law forbids blood, and eating human flesh is unthinkable!” Peter ranted quietly to the others.

A crowd of previously faithful followers gathered around the Rabbi, and some voices began to grow louder and more intense as one said, “Jesus, this is very hard to understand. How can anyone accept this saying?” We watched as heads nodded in agreement and people murmured to one another as the Rabbi wrapped one arm gently around the questioner.

“Does this cause you to stumble?” He asked. “Some of you do not believe me.”

The twelve of us were beside ourselves. We were arguing and questioning one another. Peter even shoved me when I suggested we take time away to think about what we’d heard. The team was as fragile as I had seen them. Someone had to do something. We all knew this crazy talk could hijack the message that the Messiah has come to restore the Kingdom!

He said a few more words to the crowd, and then I saw His head turn toward us. He slowly shifted the direction of His body and thrust his right foot forward as He began to walk in our direction. My head dropped like a stone. I couldn’t lift my eyes. Shame seeped into the crevices of my broken heart. Did he know my inner thoughts?

Father, help me!

As he neared our circle, the others looked at each other with consternation. Who would speak first? Peter? James? No, it was the Rabbi!

“Are you also going to leave?”

There was fire in his voice, and pain, too. Aggression and sadness, side by side. I didn’t know those could coexist, but somehow they found a way, kind of like the presence of fear and faith that was in our hearts as we peered into the disappointment in his eyes.

This time, I knew who would speak next. My eyes shifted quickly to my brother. Although the silence was seconds, it felt like days - hot summer days in the desert, the earth thirsty for water when no drops fell from the sky. The words finally rang out emotionally. Almost like water gushing out of a dam breaking under the pressure of a billion pounds.

“Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life. We believe, and we know you are the Holy One of God.” Peter’s voice rose like a mountain above the murmur of the crowd. It cut through the chaos, pierced our hearts, and relinquished seemingly unquenchable fear.

In anticipation, we waited, agonizing in the silence of what the Rabbi would say next. His head bowed, and I think I heard him gasp as if he were about to cry. He looked back up, and his gaze shifted from one of us to another until he had given each of us a split second of attention.

“I chose the twelve of you, but one is a devil.”

Wait, WHAT?

His disciples began to look at one another with fear and suspicion. Could it be? Could there be one among those who was not a friend, but an enemy? Yes! It truly was a new day in the relationship we’d shared for so long.

I looked over to Judas and saw in his eyes that something was resolved in him. It was as if I could see him make a decision that he’d been wrestling with for some time. I went over to speak to him, hoping to persuade him to give it some time. When he saw me walk toward him, he hung his head low and walked the other way. My heart was sad for him. I wondered if I’d also turn away in the days to come.

We scattered slowly.

As I looked out the portico of the synagogue and stared down the road out of town, I saw the people begin their journey home. Husbands and wives were fighting. Children were crying. Some had already started down the dusty street with their belongings in tow.

As much as I’d like to forget, just a few moments earlier, I had wanted to go home, too. It had been a long journey, and I was tired. We had given up so much, all of us. Businesses. Homes. Our status in Capernaum. Our reputations. It was all gone!

And now this?

Although the Teacher loved us enough to reassure us, it wasn’t so for the multitude. So many did turn away. I can’t blame them - seriously! Every Jew knows that drinking the blood of even an animal will cause you to be cut off from the promises of G-d. And yet, he was so adamant. Even after someone questioned the wisdom of such a hard statement, he doubled down and affirmed his demand. “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in me.” His challenge cut to my heart. I had never once questioned his radical teaching or bold practices - UNTIL THAT MOMENT!

I wish I could say my crisis of faith ended then. But, it didn’t. I questioned my loyalty from time to time in the following months.

“But there are some of you who do not believe.”

“Some of you!” What if I were to become one of those?

In the following weeks, I watched Him perform many miraculous signs and wonders. The blind began to see. The sinners were forgiven. The demons had to obey His voice. And many other signs that proclaimed Him to be the Messiah.

I overcame my disbelief, but I still often thought back to that unreasonable ask in the synagogue that brisk, breezy Spring morning. I wondered if we’d ever know what He really meant when He asked us to do the unimaginable.

But last week at the table, as we shared the Passover meal together, it all began to make sense. He took the bread from the table, said the customary blessing over it, and declared, “This is my body, take it and eat.” And then He took the third cup of wine, the cup of thanksgiving, and proclaimed, “And this is my blood, which confirms the covenant with us.” It started to come together. And now, there we were in that room, hiding to save our lives and still trying to sort it out, about to watch him die on that wretched wood, burying him in the tomb, and now having seen him alive with our own eyes.

It’s just too much. It can’t be true, but it must be - all at the same time.

That night at the table, He took that loaf and ripped it just like we would see his body ripped when he was murdered. He picked up that third cup of wine and lifted it to the air, proclaiming that it was his blood that would be shed for us. ” And then, as calmly as he looked at us a year ago, when he asked whether we’d turn back, he started singing—

Just singing!

Like nothing had happened. As if there was nothing that should cause us anxiety or fear.

And then, the night on the hill in the garden, the fear returned.

The pit of my stomach turned when I saw Judas walk up that hill with the soldiers following in full battle gear. He glanced at me and hung his head again. Had I not been there when the words were uttered from the mouth of the Messiah in the synagogue that day, I would have burned with rage. But I didn’t. Somehow, although I’m thankful I chose to follow, I understood. It could have been me. It was an impossible command that only reckless faith could embrace.

And now, as we sit in this upper room, praying, rejoicing, and worshiping, it all makes sense. We’ve been following Him for three and a half years. Sure, it’s been difficult. We all left what we knew to be safe and secure to chase after this “fishers of men” thing. Even though that didn’t make sense, we couldn’t resist. There’s something about His passion - His love - His words that made us trust him more than we trust ourselves.

It’s hard to explain, but his teaching had power.

We haven’t seen Judas since the day the soldiers took Jesus away. I wonder how he feels? I wonder if he regrets his choice. There was a rumor that he bought a field and died there. Time will tell.

The tears I’ve shed in the past days could fill a cup. The questions can’t be counted. But my faith will be no more. For where there is faith, there is room for doubt. For without the unknown, faith would be useless. No. There is no longer even need for faith.

Our eyes have seen.

Our ears have heard.

We have touched him with our hands.

We have seen him rise from the dead. Faith has become sight.

The questions are resolved.

Finally, the fear is gone.