“Lord,” answered Simon Peter, “who else could we go to?

Your words have the ring of eternal life.”

(John 6:68 — J. B. Phillips trans.)

 

Do you ever feel that you will just give up the Christian life — that the whole venture lacks reality for you — that its purposes are vague, its exercises of worship and service unsatisfying for you — its disciplines a bit too rigorous — that you will just quietly slip out and join the ranks of those who are enjoying this life and making the most of this world, untroubled by a Christian conscience, untouched by Christian moralizing?

Well, if you have escaped that feeling you are a rare specimen! For, since the beginning, the church has grappled continuously not only with her great commission to evangelize the world, but also with the problem of the perseverance of the saints — how to hold on to those who have been won for Christ — how to overcome the steady undertow of the world, the flesh and the devil, tugging relentlessly at every soul to suck it out to sea.

Jesus himself had to face and deal with the heartbreaking reality that those whom He had loved and called, and who for a time had come with Him, were sorely tempted to desert and give Him up forever. And some of them did just that.

The scripture lesson this morning from John’s gospel sets before us this situation and how he dealt with it. Some of the superficial followers of Jesus were leaving Him. “Those half-hearted seekers after loaves and fishes and political power had turned abruptly from Jesus, marched out of the synagogue with a deal of bluster, and were walking with Jesus no more. (Robertson)

But Jesus, with the calm courage and unforced composure that were ever His, turned to the Twelve, his closest friends and most interested disciples, and said: “Will you also go away?” Jesus does not plead for their loyalty. He does not upbraid the renegades. He does not launch forth into an eloquent lecture on the future rewards reserved for the faithful in His Kingdom to bolster their flagging courage. No. But, cool as a crisp October morning, He turns to the Twelve and raises the question of their continuing discipleship, which they and they only could answer, each for himself, as He asks: “Will you also go away?”

Still the Lord deals with us in His same calm, confident manner. The people who, with superficial interest in spiritual realities, have come to Him through the church and are now dropping out all about; the folks whom mother and father used to bring to Sunday school when they were young, but who now when they are older and doing what they want are turning and walking no more with Him; the folks who years ago, when life was a bit harder and making a living more difficult, and health was precarious or sorrow cruelly close, had sought the consolation of God’s mercy seat, but now, grown fat and prosperous and self-confident, are turning their backs and walking no more with Him; the folks who have become offended with Christ because He is too big to fit into their little preconceived ideas of what He, their Savior, ought to be and do for them, and how His church ought to serve them, are turning away from Him — to these modern disciples of His who are living in the atmosphere and influence of the great rejection of Christ, to them He does not raise a compelling voice, He does not threaten, He just asks in plaintive firmness: “Will you also go away?” And we must decide for ourselves.

And it is Simon Peter, the old blusterer who so often failed in the crises, it’s here that Peter sets us a worthy example. In three short, realistic considerations he sets the issues squarely before us as he makes his choice and gives us a good example to follow when we feel so strongly the temptation to give up the struggle of Christian discipleship and go back to walk no more with Christ.

First, Peter asks a commonplace, common sense question to turn the cold light of reality upon the consideration of giving up this Christianity. When Jesus asks: “Will you also go away?” Peter replies: “Lord, to whom shall we go?” In other words: “If we give you up, what shall we have instead?” Now that’s a sensible thought isn’t it? “Suppose we do give up the Christian life, what shall we have in its place? Wise people are bound to look at consequences. If anyone were to ask you to give up your house, would you not inquire what you should do in such an event? Even if the house is not all that you could wish it to be, you would still desire to know what you were to have in exchange.” (Joseph Parker)

Yes, and before you quit Christ and a Christian home, if you are so fortunate as to have one, and a Christian congregation, if in God’s mercy you find yourself in that amazingly human and divine fellowship, so full of human foibles and divine grace — before you leave it, ask yourself as Peter did: “Lord, to whom shall we go?”

And remember this as you choose — “My choice affects not only me, but also those whom I let go.” J. B. Phillips tells of a young man of the incorrigible variety who early in life grasped as his creed: “I live my own life, and I don’t care a cent for anybody.” Eventually, however, his self-confidence over-reached itself and he was convicted of a serious crime and sent to prison for three years. While in prison he was hard and quite unrepentant. “What I do with my life,” he said defiantly, “is nobody else’s business. I shan’t make the same mistake twice.” In due course he left prison and, since he had nowhere else to go, he decided to spend a few nights at home while he looked around. He had not seen his mother since he saw her plump, rosy and tearful, out of the corner of his eye at the trial. But when the door of his house was opened to him by a worn, gray-headed old woman, he didn’t grasp at once what had happened. For a second he simply stared, and then he blurted out: “Oh, Mother, what have I done to you?” At last it broke through to his consciousness that the choices he made did something to someone else, too.

When we are plucked by the sleeve and persuasively pulled in the direction of giving up this Christianity and Jesus stands and says to us: “Will you also go away?”, do the sane, sensible, reasonable thing that Peter did. Ask: “To whom shall I go?” — counting not only whether it is a better deal for you, but how good a deal it will turn out to be for those whom you love in Christ.

But do not stop with that. Simon Peter leads us on to a second serious consideration: “What is the real reality in life?” “Lord, to whom shall we go?” “Thou hast the words of eternal life” — or, as a modern speech translation puts it: “Lord, who else could we go to? Your words have the ring of eternal life.” (J. B. Phillips)

What is real? What has the ring of reality about it? People of all ages, especially young people, have sought earnestly for reality, for ultimate truth, that they might give their lives to that. Careless of the cost in blood, sweat and tears, they have cut through the jungles of human convention and swept away the dusty accretions of the centuries to come to reality. Simon Peter says that he and his companions have found in Jesus’ life and words the ring of eternal reality. “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.” Therefore they will not follow the crowd to forsake Him.

Sometimes people have thought that the real world is the unseen world of spirit and idea. This was Plato’s basic belief. The real world, Plato taught, was the world of eternity where existed the perfect ideas, and all on earth were but the imperfect and perishable copies of the permanent heavenly realities. The people of ancient Egypt believed this present world to be a fantasy and that the world to come was the real world. Egyptian religion was preoccupied with explaining the relationship of life to death. The temples, tombs and mummies of Egypt which exist to this day were all expressions of this conviction. The basic thought of Egypt was this — the present life is only a preparation for that to come, a brief episode in the endless poem of eternity.

Yet just as surely have other people in other countries and centuries found reality in the here, the now, the present and only here. This has been the prevailing mood of modern people outside the church. “I’ll take this life,” they say, “what I can handle and taste and see. As for that unseen world to come, which you religious people speculate about, it all seems very unreal and far-fetched to me. Just count me out. I’ll have mine here.”

But the shuddering dawn of the atomic age should have ruthlessly shattered the crusty materialism of our modern world. It has been devastatingly demonstrated that not matter, but energy is the ultimate reality — not the hard and heavy block of uranium, but the blasting power of its invisible billions of atoms is the real reality. Such scientific discovery has gone far toward under-girding what the Christian faith has long been contending for — that the indestructible ultimate realities are spiritual, that materialism is a false philosophy, that God is spirit, and the noble, positive, spiritual qualities of righteousness, love and peace are the real and lasting values.

In Jesus Christ, and in Him alone, can people find a satisfying synthesis of the here and the hereafter, the seen and the unseen world of reality. In league with Him we find ultimate reality both here and hereafter. Jesus came to show us how eternal life begins now. We enter it by embracing His word and His life. Simon Peter says he can’t give up his Lord because in Him he has found the ring of eternal reality.

Finally, when we are disposed to give up our Christian faith and practice, we would do well to follow Peter’s example in facing this question: “What is the relationship of our life that out-ranks all others?” In response to Jesus’ question: “Will you also go away?” Peter declared: “We believe and are sure that you are the Christ, the son of the living God, and therefore we cannot leave you.”

Suppose you come to the place where your husband or wife deserts you — it has been done you know. Or suppose your business associate plays you false and someone you trusted tricks you and turns you out in the cold? Suppose your children grow apart from you, develop strange habits and choose an alien life? Suppose the time comes to you, as it will to all, when you must let go the hand of every friend and relation on earth and answer your last summons? All this you know can happen; it has to others; it will for you. Then what will you do? Have you prepared for that eventuality? What is the relationship then in your life that out-ranks them all?

The Psalmist said: “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” Those who have found in Jesus Christ what Simon Peter found, very God come into our human life with all the sympathy and understanding of a human heart, yet bringing the sustaining power of eternal love and eternal life to us, never more to let us go, these are driven to say with Richard Watson Gilder:

“If Jesus Christ is a man, and only a man,

I say that of all mankind I will

Cleave to Him and cleave to Him always.

But if Jesus Christ is God and very God,

Then I swear I will follow Him through

Heaven and hell, the earth, the sea and the air.”

You will remember that in the appealing love story of the musical, South Pacific, the climax comes when the brave French planter and the little WAC nurse, Nellie Forbush, are miraculously reunited in spite of all the hazards of war and the dangers of a risky romance. Then the Frenchman sings that alluring ballad, “Some Enchanted Evening,” ending with the exhortation: “When you have found her, never let her go.” If this is the heart’s cry of romantic love, what of the heart’s cry of its need of eternal love? When you have found Him, never let Him go!

 

PASTORAL PRAYER

Our Father, we lift up our hearts in gratitude for the good life you give us to live, sure-founded day by day and hour by hour, with the beauties of your glorious universe. We are even more grateful, Lord, for the joys that are ours because you have drawn us into your church and surrounded us with the understanding and supportive companionship of others who know themselves to be the children of God and the followers of Jesus Christ.

We give thanks for the heroes of faith, for that fellowship of the sons and daughters of the Spirit, who across the generations have kept the great tradition of goodness and truth. Many have been their names, various their beliefs, but at the center of their souls shone a great light, and by it, O Lord, you have made all the world more beautiful. Join us to their company. We rejoice in the music through which they have praised your name and in the books through which they have revealed your nature and lifted the earth nearer to your kingdom of righteousness. We rejoice in the lives that in their inner purity and truth have stood for their God in scorn of all consequence. Lift us to be members of that company.

Deepen our faith this day. Give us a new grasp upon things unseen and eternal. Save us from being slaves of our eyes and believing only what we see. Help us to understand that through the veil of the visible the meanings of life must come — invisible, eternal, spiritual.

Quicken our hopes this day. Save us from the current cynicism of our generation, from its skepticism and its disbelief in the possibilities of human life. Save our nation from despair over our assaulted confidence and from the waves of intrigue and bitterness that threaten. Save the church from the mistakes and follies of those who love her and from the cruel attacks of her enemies who malign her name and divide and confuse her people with falsehood and half-truth. Heighten our hopes and send us out believing once more that in the human heart are possibilities which by the touch of the living God can be quickened into reality.

Expand our love, O God. Transcend our selfishness. Help us to rise above our hatefulness, our vindictiveness, our prejudice. If any of us have brought hate into this house today, may we find it flowing from us because your love has been shed abroad in our hearts.

Hear us as we lay before you the deep, unspoken needs that have brought us into this sanctuary this day: We pray for the broken-hearted, who suffer great loss and search in vain for comfort; for those whose past accuses them and whose burden of guilt they cannot lay down; for those entering a new, disturbing and perplexing chapter of life; for those who grope in the shadowland of mysterious desires and destructive purposes; for those who grapple with the ultimate forces of life and death; for those who stand at the gateway of bright and thrilling adventures; for those who are swept by a holy sense of high purpose to dedicate their dearest and their best to the service of man and the glory of God — for all your children, Lord, we pray — ourselves and others, asking that, not according to our merit or theirs, but according to the riches of your good will and wisdom, you will minister to us all this day in the deep places of our hearts, through Jesus Christ our Lord, in whose prayer we join our voices, praying: Our Father, etc. Amen.