Where Else Would I Go?

I almost walked away from my faith four years ago. 

I began following Jesus when I was very young, or at least, I was baptized when I was very young. I started following Jesus when I was thirteen. I was never much of a “doubter.” I had always been eager to believe in something. I was the kind of kid who loved fairy tales and magic, worlds like Harry Potter. I believed in Santa until I was eleven. I didn’t ask questions, wasn’t very curious. I loved the idea that the world was more than what it appeared to be, that there was more than what I could see. 

So when I began following Jesus, I had pretty much the same attitude. And I don’t think that’s an entirely bad thing. There’s something beautiful about a childlike faith that simply says, “I believe.” Something enchanting about a life devoted to something good and true and beautiful. 

But it did mean that I hadn’t wrestled. Questions many people have about evil, suffering, abuse and corruption in the church had never even crossed my mind. Up until my twenties, my faith was just about me. My “personal relationship with Jesus.” I had lived a safe, sheltered life, naively believing pretty much anything an authority figure told me. 

As a parent now, I’m so grateful that I got to grow up slowly, innocently, protected from evil and sorrow. But suffering comes for everyone at some point, in some form, especially for the Christian, and we must be equipped to deal with it. If we don’t have the tools to understand and process suffering, we will always do what is easiest: blame God. 

In the summer of 2020, the world seemed like it was on fire. It wasn’t - at least not any more than usual. I was just paying attention for the first time. My eyes were being opened to the ways in which sin has corrupted every person, every system, every government - all of creation. Systemic racism, sexism, abuse, and corruption - inside and outside of the church - are not new. I had just never noticed them before. Maybe that’s a privilege - it probably is - but it is what it is. 

Anyway, I was watching the world burn, and I was specifically horrified by the church’s response to it. Covert racism, covering up sexual abuse, elevating corrupt and arrogant men as leaders, Christian nationalism, conspiratorial thinking. Not only did we look nothing like Jesus, we looked even worse than the world.

If this is what following Jesus leads to, then I don’t want to follow Jesus, I thought. If this is the outflow of abiding in Christ, then that’s not who I want to abide in. 

It was with that realization that I came to a fork in the road. Keep following Jesus, believing that He is still good despite the sin of His people, or walk away forever.

And then I read John 6. 

Jesus has just finished giving one of his more bizarre sermons. The day before, he fed more than five thousand people. This crowd had followed him to Capernaum, not knowing that during the night he had walked on water before the Twelve. Now, they’re fascinated by Jesus. What will he do next? What can’t he do?

And at this peak moment in his ministry career, when all fame and glory could rest on him, he purposely says something absolutely insane. “Truly I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life in yourselves” (v. 53).

Jesus knows that this is a confusing teaching, one that many will either misinterpret or misconstrue, and that’s exactly why he says it. Verse 64 tells us that Jesus knew who among his disciples were there because they loved him and who were there because they loved what he could do for them. And his plan works. “From that moment, many of his disciples turned back and no longer accompanied him” (v. 66).

Then he turns to his Twelve - his closest, dearest friends - and he asks them, in a moment of deep vulnerability, “You don’t want to go away too, do you?”

I wonder if they considered it. If they thought about how much they didn’t understand, about all the questions they had about why Jesus did the things he did. Questions about evil, suffering, sickness, and oppression. And I wonder if they questioned if it was all worth it. Is this Jesus really who he says he is?

But then I wonder if, after this moment of doubt, they remembered all they had seen, even in the last 24 hours.

And, finally, Peter steps forward, hair possibly still wet from walking on the Sea of Galilee, and proclaims, “To whom will we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (v. 68-69).

And that’s it, isn’t it? Wars rage, fires ravage, seas roar, rulers destroy, the rich devour, sickness seems to have no end - and yet, “We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

To whom else will we go?

Your questions, your wonderings, your doubts are valid. The sins of the American church will have to be answered for. But there is no one else who has the answer, no one else who can offer you life, no one else who loves you like he does, no one else who has conquered death. Only Jesus. 

This is the verse I clung to. I had no other theological footing but this: To whom else will I go? I have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God. There is no life without Him. No joy, no hope, no purpose, no goodness. Every wonderful thing is wrapped up in the person of Jesus Christ. He is every Answer. 

Then I heard a loud voice from the throne: Look, God’s dwelling is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God Himself will be with them and will be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; grief, crying, and pain will be no more, because the previous things have passed away. Then the one seated on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new.” Revelation 21:3-5