NOTES for Joh 6:1-41

Today's reading helps us better understand what is usually called Jesus' "messianic secret." In speaking of it, people mean the fact that Jesus Himself, until the last days of His earthly ministry, almost never spoke directly about His messiahship, at least not openly. The evangelist's account takes us back to the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves (vv. 1-14). And the reaction to it, as we can see, was an attempt to proclaim Jesus "king," to make Him the leader of a new messianic movement (v. 15). This is no surprise: according to the commonly accepted ideas of that time, the Messiah was to become king, restore an independent Jewish state, and introduce in it laws corresponding to the Torah. But Jesus, of course, was not going to become the leader of any religious-political movement.

But Jesus had another, more important reason to conceal His messiahship. He Himself speaks of it directly to those who went looking for Him in Galilee: most of the people seeking a meeting with Him did so not because they thirsted for the Kingdom, but because they wanted, in time of need, always to be able to receive free bread (v. 26). Jesus, however, speaks with them about eternal life and about the main thing without which one cannot partake of it: trust in the One whom God sent into the world to give people the Kingdom (vv. 27-29).

But they do not understand Him. They ask Him: where are the proofs that Your words are true (v. 30)? And at once they give an example of what proofs would convince them: manna from heaven, as in the days of Moses in the wilderness (v. 31). Jesus again tells them that the Kingdom is greater than any miracle, and that the bread of the Kingdom is more important than manna (vv. 32-33). And again they do not understand Him.

His listeners cannot grasp that with the Savior's coming into the world a new era has begun, and that what happened to them on the shore of Lake Gennesaret was not a miracle in the sense in which manna was a miracle. Simply by being with Jesus, they found themselves in the Kingdom and lived for a while according to its laws, but, as we can see, they did not understand fully what had happened to them. That is why they ask Jesus for bread and expect to receive it just as their fathers once received manna from God (v. 34). And Jesus again and again tries to explain to them that the point is not bread, but the Kingdom and that fullness of God's life which is given there to everyone, so that no manna will be needed there anymore.

A miracle is the Kingdom's invasion of our world, the manifestation of its laws where completely different rules usually operate. But now the Kingdom is entering the world, transforming it, and the times of miracles are passing. The time of the Kingdom is beginning - open to everyone who seeks it and wants to enter.

Is it not strange that the One who comes from heaven takes care to feed crowds of His listeners and followers with bread? Is that what He came for? And yet the miracle of the multiplication of the loaves for five thousand people is the only miracle described by all the evangelists, and that means it is especially important. It is this miracle that serves as the starting point for the conversation about the true bread by which a person truly lives, the bread of life.

We have heard since childhood that a person does not live by bread alone. But if we try to understand what makes up our spiritual diet, will we find in it what can truly satisfy the heart, rather than a substitute that leaves only a hangover and nausea?

The Lord offers us this kind of bread. It is not teaching, not commandments, not faith in God - the Jews already had all this, and it exists in many spiritual schools and religions. Jesus speaks of the bread that truly comes down from heaven and gives real, eternal life. It is He Himself.

What an interesting situation: Jesus crosses to the other side of the lake, and a crowd of people follows Him. To put it in ordinary human terms, these people tagged along after Him to see something interesting. One might say: they chose to tag along; Jesus did not invite them, so why on earth should He worry about feeding them? Let them go to the nearest villages or, in the end, sort things out for themselves however they wish. They should have thought ahead before setting out to who knows where; they could have taken care of their own food. But Jesus apparently does not frame the question this way at all. He sees people who have followed Him and, for some reason, considers it necessary to provide them with food. Why? Did He invite them? Did they ask Him to give them food? No. But they followed Him, and for Him this is the main reason to care for them... On the one hand, this is a lesson for us—a lesson about responsibility for those “whom we have tamed.” On the other hand, it is a great consolation: if He is so merciful, then He is just as open to our needs when we turn to Him for help.

Jesus clearly uses every opportunity to show the people listening to Him what the Kingdom is. And often these opportunities are connected with a meal, with food, with being fed. To some of us today, such manifestations of the Kingdom may appear "low" and "unspiritual." But it is important to remember that in those days a meal was never simply the consumption of food. It always began with the blessing of bread, and if there was wine on the table, of the wine as well. No one sat down at the table without such a blessing. And with this approach every meal became sacred, because God Himself was always invited to take part in it. And the breaking of bread, if there was bread on the table, was also an essential part of it, since bread, like wine, was in any case blessed separately. With this attitude toward the meal, it became a form of communion with God in which all who had gathered at the table took part.

And Jesus, as we see, uses this in order to bring His listeners into communion with the Kingdom, to show them what new life in the renewed world can be. Of course, the people sitting on the ground in expectation of the meal knew perfectly well how bread and wine were blessed. But they hardly expected the blessing to have such an effect. And the effect was plain: the food, which had seemed to be very little, was enough for everyone.

Such is the nature of the Kingdom, where matter is completely subject to spirit. Jesus' listeners began their meal in our world, not yet transformed, according to its laws, and finished it in the Kingdom, according to the laws of the Kingdom. There could have been no better testimony: after all, it is always better to see once than to hear a hundred times, and this applies to the Kingdom more than to anything else. Of course, the people listening to Jesus did not fully understand what had happened. But they received the experience of being in the Kingdom, and such an experience is not forgotten.

The text about the multiplication of the loaves is incomparably important for us: important liturgically, important theologically, important ecclesiologically. We never tire of repeating this. It is simply important, because it is a living connection with the Lord, a connection that takes place during every liturgy. This event is mentioned six times in the Gospel, more than any other. We understand that it is a kind of bridge between the Last Supper and every liturgy.

But now we would like to look at this text from another side. Christ says: I am the bread of life (John 6:48). But He is also the incarnate Word, for in Him "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us" (John 1:14). Word and bread... Guigo II the Carthusian ended his prayerful reading with this prayer: "You break for me the bread of Holy Scripture, and by breaking this bread You grant me to know Yourself..." (from the book Prayerful Reading of Holy Scripture by E. Bianchi).

The Gospel is such a small book in volume, just as five loaves are few; but it satisfies everyone who partakes of it, and everyone finds his own meaning, especially dear and understandable to him alone, as everyone receives his own piece of bread. Yet at the same time this will be a meaning related to the universal meaning, just as each piece is taken from one loaf.

And not only one meaning, but meanings that are constantly multiplied, like the loaves. They are multiplied so that we may not grow weak and in the end die. This does not happen with any human book. Between a human book and the Gospel there is the same difference as between ordinary bread that we eat and that prosphora which alone feeds the whole parish.

The multiplication of the loaves is a great miracle in itself. But for Christians the most important thing, of course, is that this miracle becomes a prototype of a much greater miracle: the sacrament of the Eucharist. Through the centuries and until the end of the world, the Lord gives us Himself as food under the form of Bread, and, as with the multiplication of the loaves, this food is enough for everyone.

Because the Son of God Himself becomes food for people, life not only does not diminish, but increases in the world. This is exactly why the Cross, on which the Lord gives us His life, has become for Christians a synonym of that Tree of Life which the Lord planted in the midst of paradise.

And we also see in this miracle that it is not performed without the participation of the disciples: one way or another, each according to his calling, we all become participants and celebrants of the sacrament. Clergy participate in the Eucharist in one way, the laity in another, but the place of each of us in the Church of Christ depends in a most essential way on this participation. After all, the multiplication of the loaves also required the boy who gave his bread to Christ, and the apostles, and those who ate that blessed bread.

Orthodox theologians of the 20th century, mostly in emigration, created an entire theological movement, new and rather unusual, which received the name Eucharistic ecclesiology. Among these thinkers were Fathers Nikolai Afanasiev and Alexander Schmemann, John Meyendorff and Cyprian Kern, and many others. As a result of their work, arguments and positions appeared in theological discussions among Christians, perhaps for the first time among us, that we had needed for centuries. What matters most for us in their legacy is the thought that the Church is not simply a hierarchical institution in the Latin style and not simply a community of believers in the spirit of Protestantism. The Church is more an event than a structure, more an action than a state. And this event is the Eucharist.

The story of the miraculous feeding of a large number of people with a minimal amount of food is repeated in the Gospel more than once. In John's account there is an interesting nuance: when Jesus asks Philip a question, He already knows the answer. He Himself knows what He will do. The question turns out to be more of a kind of test for the disciple: what does he think? Of course, one could interpret this as a kind of test of trust in the Savior Himself. But the issue is not only Philip's trust in Jesus.

The issue is first of all where, in what world, Philip lives: in the Kingdom or on the untransformed earth. This is what determines the possibilities. And there is only one way to become a true disciple of the Savior: by sharing His life with Him. The life of the Kingdom that He brought into the world. When five loaves and two small fish are enough for several thousand people, it is clear that this can only be about the Kingdom: in our untransformed world such a thing is impossible. But this is only an episode, one that touched both the five thousand who had to be fed and, of course, the apostles themselves. Gospel history is made up of such episodes. But what is there between them?

After all, the apostles spent more than one year with Jesus, and besides those moments when the Kingdom was opened to them visibly and tangibly, they also lived somehow, communicated somehow with the Teacher, thought and felt something... Were they in the Kingdom the rest of the time? Jesus' question to Philip is a test of abiding in the Kingdom. Philip reacts like a normal person living an ordinary earthly life: they need to send to the nearest town for food; they need money.

The alternative simply does not occur to him. And that means there is no talk of the Kingdom in his life at that particular moment. Nor, probably, in the lives of the other disciples. Of course, very soon they will remember the Kingdom. They will remember it in connection with the next miracle. But one cannot become an inhabitant of the Kingdom if one remembers it only after the next miracle. And Jesus wants to wake Philip up, hinting to him at something greater than what he sees in this world. But only a miracle can wake him up. Time will pass, and everything will be different. Later. After Pentecost. For now, things are as they are.

By refusing the possibility of leading a political movement, Christ rejects a temptation that recalls how Satan tempted Him in the wilderness with the illusion of earthly power. To save the people—the very reason He came to them—it proved necessary to reject their hopes and ideas. But love can be expressed not only through approval, but also through opposition. If the Lord does not answer some of our requests, His love may be revealed in this more strongly than if He granted them...

Christ walks on the surface of the sea without sinking into the water, just as He walked among people without becoming mired in earthly passions. The words He speaks to the bewildered disciples—“Do not be afraid!”—sound entirely natural in such a situation. Yet these words mean more than a simple desire to reassure them. The Bible repeatedly presents them as spoken by God or by angels speaking in His Name. Thus, in the midst of the Sea of Galilee, Christ once again bore witness to Himself as God.

People rushed to find Christ because they had eaten bread and wanted more of it rather than miracles. Yet many of them also regard miracles less as signs that bear witness to a higher truth than as spectacular displays. That is why the words about the bread of life that comes down from heaven and, unlike manna, satisfies more than bodily hunger remain misunderstood.

It is difficult for His listeners to understand Christ, but He continues speaking to them. If so, why does He preach? Is He not sowing His seed to the wind?

No, not to the wind. He is sowing for the future, and days will come when what has been sown begins to sprout in those very hearts that still seem unreceptive. To the age-old question, “What should we do?” Christ gives an unexpected answer, one that many people still find hard to grasp: believe. Not because He rejects deeds, but because, amid our bustle and our attempts to put contrived plans of our own devising into practice, it is all too easy to lose sight of whether what we have planned should be built at all.

Faith, however, gives us a point of reference that helps us act.

Surely every believer would like to do something for God. Something good, something that would please Him... Some people consider this simply impossible; others work hard, trying to do something for Him.

The mistake lies in the very way the question is posed. When we do something for God, it is OUR work; we are doing it ourselves.

Today's Gospel reading raises the central question: what should we do to do the works of God? Not works for God, but the works of God. And Jesus explains that everything is very simple: the work of God is to believe in the Son of God. Not merely to believe that He existed, that He exists, that He is truly the Son of God, but to believe in Him: to open your heart to Him and receive Him as your only Savior. Not in theory, but in practice. And when we truly open our hearts to Him, we will be able to do the works of God.

In the final verses of today’s passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus addresses each one of us. He answers a question that resounds in many hearts: “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” (John 6:28) And indeed, when you encounter Christ and want to follow Him, it is so important to understand what you should do. You see Light and Love, you feel His loving gaze upon you, and you do not know how to respond to all of this. In the Gospel Jesus gives an answer, and this allows us to be certain that when this question resounds in any person’s heart, He will answer them too. Whether through the words of these lines or in some other way, He will answer! And what will He say? No, it will not be some terrible and heavy burden; it will not be an order to abandon all friends and family and go to church twenty times a week. He will call the person to follow Him farther and to continue asking for His presence, believing in Him. These words will be addressed to the one who cries out: “Let not your hearts be troubled. Believe in God; believe also in Me” (John 14:1).

Jesus' listeners do not always understand Him rightly: into familiar words, long grown customary, He often puts an entirely new meaning. And often the new meaning He puts into them is entirely unexpected, changing what today we would call the paradigm of thought.

For example, they ask Him about the works of God, meaning approximately what today we would call religious obligations. They ask Him about the works of God in the sense in which teachers of the Torah and learned rabbis often spoke about them: in order to keep the Torah fully, one must fulfill the commandments and, in addition, do this and that. But Jesus speaks about trust, about relationship with Himself, as the main work of God. And no wonder: many of Israel's teachers also saw all religious obligations as a means to establish and strengthen relationship with God, considering precisely this to be the main and only work of God.

And now into the world has come the One on relationship with whom depends the possibility not simply of establishing relationship with God, which was possible before, but of sharing in the life of the Kingdom in all its fullness. Yet they ask Him what additional religious obligations one must take on so that, when the Messiah comes, one will be sure to be among the remnant that meets Him.

The same is true of the bread Jesus speaks about. He speaks to them of that breath of life with which the Kingdom is permeated, and they reply: well, once there were times when God gave our fathers manna in the wilderness; what will You give us? Can You show us something that would become convincing proof of Your words for us?

As one can see, the main problem here is that those asking the questions cannot see the main thing for which Jesus came into the world: the Kingdom. Therefore they ask Him about many things that have no direct relation to the Kingdom. He again and again tries to bring them back to the main thing, for the meaning of His mission is precisely to bring as many people as possible into the life of the Kingdom, so that the history of the Kingdom in the world would not end together with His earthly ministry.

Today before us is the first death among Christians, if Ananias and Sapphira are not counted as Christians (see Acts 5:1-11). And the very first dying Christian is a martyr. The world continues to reject Christ and His followers. If the chief priests were afraid to put Christ Himself to death on their own, without the Romans, because He was too beloved by many among the people, then, after dealing with Him, they no longer stand on ceremony with His disciples.

The Sanhedrin, before which Stephen stands, once again hears open accusations directed at it, accusations of the death of the Righteous One. And by now they are thoroughly tired of this: they had already heard it from Peter and John at least twice (see Acts 4:5-12, 5:27-32). But this time they could not hold out. What provoked them was that Stephen honestly told them what he not only knew, but actually saw. He, like Christ, bore witness to the world about objective reality: the world is in sin, but Jesus has brought salvation. And the world has no use for such truth...

When Christ said, "If they persecuted Me, they will also persecute you," He also said, "A servant is not greater than his master" (see John 15:20). Stephen, a man filled with "faith and power," a true disciple of Christ, before his death says practically the same words that his Teacher spoke on the cross: he asks the Lord to forgive his persecutors... And the Church, in spite of everything, continues to grow and be strengthened precisely because it continues to act as her Lord commanded her and as He Himself acted.

In today's Gospel reading we can see behavior that is natural and common to all people. The crowd, having satisfied its hunger and listening to the Lord's words about the bread of God "which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world," quite understandably asks that this bread never run out. And all the more so if this is the bread that "gives life to the world"! How much this resembles Jesus' meeting with the Samaritan woman (see John 4:5-30). When this woman hears about water that satisfies thirst so that a person will never thirst, she asks Jesus, "Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water."

How alike we human beings are in our desires. When we hear about something miraculous, we want to get hold of it, to have a direct relationship to it, especially when it promises direct benefit. In this way, in any person one can find this thirst for miraculous bread and water that give life. And in both cases the Lord says strange words: that He Himself is the bread in one case and the water in the other. It is precisely the unexpectedness of these words and their meaning that can lead a person to another, deeper level.

A very interesting conversation takes place in today's Gospel reading. Jesus says that the true bread from heaven is not the manna that Moses gave the Jews in the wilderness, but He Himself, Jesus. It is perfectly clear that none of His listeners understands Him. The sacrament of the Eucharist has not yet been mentioned. Jesus gives no precise explanation of why or how He is bread. He simply proclaims the truth and gives people the opportunity to engage with this truth themselves. He is not afraid that He will be misunderstood—although, of course, no one could possibly understand Him at that moment. Jesus' word is simply placed in the heart, sown like a seed. In due time it will bear fruit. This is probably important for us: even if we do not understand something in the Gospel, one day His words will become clear to us. Even if the person with whom we are speaking does not understand what we say about God, if that person wants to listen, it makes sense to speak, praying that His word will later be revealed in the heart.

In today's Gospel reading Jesus says, "This is the will of the Father who sent Me, that of all He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up on the last day." These words are an answer to the classic question asked by people outside the Church: "What will happen to my friend if she died unbaptized?" The will of the Heavenly Father is that no one should perish. But there is one important qualification: "of all He has given Me." What is this that the Father has given Jesus? It is those who have received Him into their hearts, those who believe in Him.

Does that mean, then, that all unbelievers are doomed? There is no single clear answer here, but we know one thing: the meeting with God takes place in the deepest part of the human heart. No one will ever be able to determine what this particular person's relationship with God truly is, no one except God, who sees hearts. Only the Lord, who knows hearts, can say how close a person was to God. And the will of the Father is that no one should perish, and so we can hope that even the smallest spark of faith, the smallest openness, may be enough for Him to raise a person on the last day.

How does Jesus Himself understand the tasks before Him? First of all, it is striking that He does not try to formulate any tasks on His own at all. At first glance, the One who contained in Himself all the fullness of God could have been much more decisive, especially considering the decisiveness with which ordinary people sometimes formulate the goals and tasks of their service to God. But Jesus, being the Messiah, sees the meaning of His messianic ministry in having no goals of His own and setting no tasks of His own before Himself. He relies entirely on the will of the Father, and He has no works of His own. And the Father, as it appears, sets before Him one main task, to which everything else is subordinated: to save as many people as possible. This is not about Judgment, not about condemning some and justifying others. Of course, a person's sins hinder his salvation. But, as it appears, even the righteous cannot count on salvation without the help of the Messiah sent by God into the world.

As in any rescue operation, only the rescue of each and every person can be considered complete success. But there are, it appears, certain obstacles that can hinder complete success. The sins a person commits are one such obstacle. There may be others, but they appear to depend little or not at all on the person. But the measure of sin that complicates the rescue operation depends first of all on the person. And this is no surprise: salvation is evidently connected with the possibility of entering the Kingdom, the door to which Jesus opens.

In its present state the world is doomed, and only the one who manages to enter the Kingdom and become part of it can be saved. Here the question of sin and righteousness becomes decisive, for any sin inevitably becomes an obstacle for a person on the way into the Kingdom. But Jesus allows, of course with the Father's consent, everyone to begin again, with a clean slate, making one more attempt to start life over. On one condition: this attempt will be made not in the fallen world, but in the Kingdom. Then, freed from the undivided power that sin has over fallen man, each person can try to begin a new life in the full sense of the word.

"The one who comes to Me I will never cast out." Why do these words give hope? Because we know who comes to Him. Sooner or later, of course, everyone will come, and this in itself already gives encouragement. But we know that among the disciples there was no one truly worthy of his Teacher. Even the closest ones failed to understand much until the very end. Only some "outsiders" understood that Christ was incomparably greater than they were, and yet they came to Him humbly. For example, the father of the demon-possessed boy says to Jesus, "I believe; Lord, help my unbelief" (Mark 9:24). Or the centurion: "Lord, I am not worthy to have You come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed" (Matt. 8:8).

And the Lord truly received them and answered the deepest desires and questions of the heart. He does not merely refrain from casting out those who come. He shows them the way and walks that way Himself. He is the good Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep (see John 10:11). He takes us in His arms and carries us against His breast (see Isa. 40:11). He will lead us to the place where we will lack nothing (see Ps. 22:1). He will raise us up on the last day.

Different people perceived Jesus Himself, and everything connected with Him, in different ways. But He Himself always spoke of only one thing: the Kingdom He had brought into the world. He knows that He has nothing else, and no other task stands before Him except making the Kingdom accessible to everyone who seeks. By calling Himself the "bread of life," Jesus wants to convey to His listeners a simple thought, yet one that cannot fit into their consciousness: He has brought them the fullness of life. Not temporal life, which is here today and gone tomorrow, but true life, the life that has no end because it has no beginning either, abiding wholly in God and being revealed in His Kingdom. As we can see, those listening to Jesus do not understand at all how such life can exist. Separate, concrete manifestations of this life are more familiar and understandable to them.

Manna, for example: here everything is more or less clear. God worked a miracle by His power, and a certain (in general, small) part of the life now being opened to the world in fullness turned out to be connected with this manna. Jesus, however, speaks not of a part but of the whole. But here a misunderstanding arises: this whole is inaccessible to an ordinary earthly gaze. It is invisible to it. Manna is simpler: there is something visible to everyone, and this visible thing changes its properties in such a way that the effect of the invisible becomes completely undeniable. But the fullness of the life of the Kingdom turns out to be completely inaccessible to physical sight.

Something else is needed here: the will. It is the will that determines a person's spiritual life and spiritual condition. And only by the will can one see and experience that fullness of the life of the Kingdom of which Jesus speaks. But this is precisely what His listeners are completely unprepared for. They want something external. They want signs, preferably supernatural ones, that would serve as proof that Jesus truly is the Messiah. And from the Messiah they expect, above all, miracles like feeding thousands of people with a couple of loaves. Miracles that would change their life, but not radically. And certainly would not change them themselves.

Therefore they do not need the Kingdom. After all, one cannot enter the Kingdom so simply; here one will have to change, and seriously. But those listening to Jesus want to enter the Messiah's Kingdom without radically changing anything in themselves. Therefore they do not need the fullness of life either. What use is it if, in their present condition, most of those listening cannot even see it? Manna is better here. Better still is miraculous bread, enough for everyone, and free. But this is not the Kingdom that the Savior brought into the world. It does not save. And it does not give true life.

This text is harsh, at the very least. On the one hand, the Lord says that He will reject no one who comes to Him, and that the Father's will is to lose nothing but to raise it up. On the other hand, eternal life belongs to everyone who sees the Son and believes in Him. Let us suppose that our faith is in order, but few among those who have lived and are living can report that the Lord appeared to them personally in the flesh.

Now let us look at what surrounds these three verses, and we will find ourselves right in the center of the conversation about the Bread of Life. About the Flesh of Christ, which will become for us the source of eternal life. Our task is to feed on this bread and contemplate God, who humbled Himself to such a helpless state in order to unite Himself with everyone ready to receive Him. If we do this, believing Him, He will raise us up also on the last day, as He promised.

Continuing His word about salvation and life, the Lord tells us today that the will of God is that everyone who entrusts himself to the Son of God, everyone who, according to the word of the prophet and the apostle, "calls on the name of the Lord," will be saved. And at the end of today's passage the Lord says that the one whom the Father draws can come to Him. Yesterday we heard His word that the Father's will consists in the salvation of all. This is not simply the hope of the world and of humanity. I dare say that these words of Christ are the only hope of the world; everything else is deception. And one cannot help rejoicing in this, because the difficult path to life is still incomparably better than hopelessness.

What do they answer Christ? In essence, the answer of the Jews comes down to a crude formula: "Who are you, anyway?" "Prove that this Jesus of yours is God..." Christians have heard this for centuries. This cannot be proved, if only because He does not belong to us; we belong to Him. But that is not even the main point. Such a protest against Christ's words only means that I am trying to shift onto Him the responsibility for my own distrust. Fortunately, the Gospel gives us an example of the right position, when a person gives Christ not responsibility for the feat of faith, for the act of trust, but asks Him for help in it, saying, "I believe, Lord; help my unbelief."

Christ called Himself bread, and that alone was hard for His listeners to understand. But for those who remembered the unusual images characteristic of prophetic speeches, it would not have been hard to take the words about bread as one of those parables. Jesus says that His teaching, and He Himself, are as necessary as daily food - why not agree with this?

Such an understanding cannot be called wrong, and yet it is clearly insufficient. For twenty centuries already, for many people who accept Christ only as a sage and moral teacher, His words about Flesh and Blood have remained closed and incomprehensible - just as they were for many of His listeners then. It is enough to imagine a Jew who had firmly learned that the law of Moses not only forbids the eating of blood, but also regards everything connected with bleeding as defiling and requiring rites of purification. And suddenly he hears about the necessity of drinking blood, and human blood at that, and moreover the Blood of this strange preacher. Even for prophetic allegory such a call sounds excessively scandalous!

For us, reading the Gospel many centuries later, it is easier to see that Christ is speaking here about the Eucharist; but we should not stop there. The meaning of the Eucharist is deep and incomprehensible in its fullness. At times it is useful to remember how shaken the ancient Jews were when they first heard Jesus' call to eat His Flesh and drink His Blood. Perhaps this will help us feel anew what the Last Supper was for the first generation of Christ's disciples. Unlike the other evangelists, John does not mention the disciples' partaking of the Body and Blood at the Last Supper. But the words of the Savior that he has preserved for us are just as important for understanding the essence of what was taking place then.

Speaking about the essence of His conflict with the Pharisees, Jesus puts their distrust of God first. It would appear to be a strange accusation, since the people in question are deeply religious, ready to do much for the sake of their religion, including, if necessary, sacrifice. Of course, there was often no small amount of harshness in this religiosity; readiness to die for one's faith often stood side by side with readiness to kill for that same faith. But after all, both were done in the name of God and faith!

And still Jesus speaks of the absence of love and trust toward God in His listeners. What is this: a feature of Pharisaic religiosity? If that were so, everything would be simpler, especially for us, who have nothing to do with the religion of the Pharisees. But the matter, as we can see, is not so simple. Jesus says directly that He is not the one judging the Pharisees who reject Him; rather, the Torah, whose violation they are trying to accuse Him of, judges them. And in reply He says that the Torah bears witness to Him.

Such a statement may seem strange: after all, in the Torah, unless one tries to interpret it with obvious stretches, nothing is said about the Messiah. But the Torah, on which Judaism is based, never fit completely within Judaism, just as it does not fit entirely within any religious framework. On the other hand, it was precisely the Torah, and above all, of course, the inner Torah about which the same Pharisees could not fail to know, that should have led Jesus' listeners beyond the limits of their own religion, opening to them something greater, if only they had been fully consistent in following the Torah.

But the whole trouble with every religion is that, at first stimulating a person toward spiritual life, at some point it inevitably begins to hinder him in that life, setting a certain spiritual ceiling and demanding from its adherents a compromise between its own requirements and what God calls the one walking the path of righteousness to do. And then a person has to choose between God and a religion that is so familiar and convenient. And Jesus sees that His listeners have made their choice in favor of their religion. And He says that the Torah, which points the way into the Kingdom, will from now on become for them not a support, but a judgment. As it does for everyone who rejects God and the Torah for the sake of anything at all, even for the sake of his own religion. Whatever that religion may be.