I know that I’m supposed to look to Jesus for the answers. I was that kid in Sunday school who, when asked just about any question, would blurt out, “Jesus?” as my answer. When I mull over matters of faith and ethics, I still tend to reason my way to Jesus. My theological reflex is to think that he makes plain what otherwise seems convoluted. I turn to his words and deeds to clarify my confusions. I look to the Bible stories about him in order to sort through my jumbled ideas about God and life. The gospels, I’m inclined to think, offer guidance through our muddles. Jesus is the person with solutions for the troubles of our world, the answer to the riddles of our existence.
But Jesus seems to confuse his followers more often than he clarifies. He bewilders them with his strange responses to their straightforward questions. That’s what happens in John 6, when people are curious about his sailing trip across the Sea of Galilee. “Rabbi, when did you come here?” The question is about logistics. Easy enough. Jesus could recount the details of his journey, but he instead launches into a long, meandering discourse about a puzzling type of food that nourishes a person with eternal life. People are perplexed yet intrigued. They scratch their heads and keep listening.
And he keeps on confounding them. Jesus tells them that they’ll have to eat him (John 6:55–56). I picture people with furrowed brows as they squint at Jesus, trying to imagine taking a bite of his arm. Wasn’t this a conversation about sailing?
