When Jesus saw that they were ready to force him to be their king, he slipped away into the hills by himself. John 6:15 NLT
I love how the Bible serves up new truths in the middle of age-old stories. John 6:15 is humming in my heart this morning. I’d always missed its refrain for focusing on the main verses of Jesus feeding a huge crowd with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish.
Who doesn’t love this miracle, with its reminder and promise of Jesus’ abundant provision out of nearly nothing? God of the impossible, yes he is. PTL.
Who of us doesn’t hold that story close and imagine being a member of the multitude witnessing the miracle in real time?
That’s our Savior!
That’s the King we worship!
That’s the One who promises us eternity when we follow him!
We sing it loud in worship.
But this morning John 6:15 bumped the needle off the vintage record. They were ready to force him. . . . I identified with the human response to Jesus’ miracles that wants more of what I want from him. He did this amazing thing–what else can I get from him? I want him to be King of my life. But unchecked, I want him to be King my way, with the miracles I’d like to write for him to sing for me. (Cue the familiar melody of conviction.)
When Jesus saw that they were ready to force him to be their king, he slipped away by himself. He didn’t move toward them at that point. He wasn’t abandoning them, but their motives for wanting to be near him were off kilter. Being their King on their terms so he could do their bidding and, in essence, answer to them–those aren’t the lyrics he’s writing to this song of life he offers us.
It struck me this morning how easily we human beings (at least the one typing these words) default to seeking a Savior and King we can define and manipulate. But that would be a weak, ineffective king. Not one to worship or even rely on.
The miracle of the loaves and fish was Jesus’ miracle . . . to draw people to himself more than for his provisions. I wonder how he would have responded if one person from that crowd had followed him to ask why he was pulling away from them, one heart sensitive to notice they were missing something key out of the whole blessed experience.
I have wanted a certain miracle or three from Jesus, but so far his answer, while good, is not how I’d prefer to sing this tune in my life. Every day multiple times I’m having to go to him in new surrender. It isn’t easy to give up the selfish parts of my me-ness. It feels like he’s undoing what makes me, me. In a way he is. But he’s also guarding the deepest parts of me by not giving in to the parts that need his remaking.
In the process, he’s drawing me to love him for him as he sticks around to help me work it out. He isn’t condemning me as I struggle with him. I am feeling his grace in my failures, and his grace is helping me join in his beautiful song for me. For all those reasons, I’m convinced he would have turned toward any person in the crowd that day who followed him to check their own heart with him. He’d have sat down once more and visited long and attentive.
Jesus isn’t surprised by our self-focus. He isn’t shocked by the many times we come to him selfishly. He knows we’re like that, even when we want to want him only for him. He’s willing to draw near to us to help us move toward him. He knows we need him to come through for us. He promises his faithfulness, love, provision. And he does want us to experience great joy in seeing him work.
But as true King, he writes the lyrics and stanzas of our life’s tune. As we learn to dance the song of surrender with him, we ultimately will see his faithful best for us because he doesn’t bow to us.
We can be filled as we draw near to this loving Savior who is his kind of King.