Getting ready to feed 5,000.

John 6.1-7.

John didn’t write his gospel in chapters. Took a few centuries before some enterprising Christian divided the bible into chapters; took a bit longer before it was divided further into verses. But when John was divided into chapters, the editor largely did it right: In a lot of ’em, Jesus does a miracle, and there’s fallout as people argue over what this miracle means, and what it means about Jesus; and Jesus of course has to correct some of their wrong ideas. And today, popular Christian culture still pitches their theories about what these miracles and Jesus’s teachings mean, and the Holy Spirit of course has to correct some of our wrong ideas. Assuming we listen to him any.

So John 6 begins with the Feeding Five Thousand Story. All four gospels tell this story, ’cause it’s important: It reminds us God’s kingdom has unlimited resources. I’ll begin with the first part of the story.

John 6.1-7 KWL

1After these things, Jesus goes across the Galilean sea, Tiberias.

2A great crowd is following Jesus,

because they’re watching the signs

which he’s doing among the sick.

3Jesus goes up a hill with his students.

4It’s getting near the Judean feast of Passover.

5Jesus is lifting up his eyes,

seeing this great crowd come to him.

He tells Philip, “Where might we buy bread

so these people might eat?”

6Jesus is saying this test Philip,

for he already knew what he’s about to do.

7Philip is answering Jesus,

“The bread of 200 denarii isn’t enough for them!

—so each one might receive a little.”

The Galilean sea.

The 166km² freshwater lake in northern Israel—which we wouldn’t call a “sea,” but the ancient Galileans proudly did—was originally called כִּנְּרוֹת/Khinnerót, “harps,” although in modern Hebrew it means “violins.” Supposedly the name is because it’s harp-shaped. Meh; kinda. Considering that place names in the bible were regularly the result of something happening there, instead of what something kinda looked like, my bet is something involving multiple harps happened there—a contest, a festival, a popular harp-manufacturer; whatever. The origin is lost to history, of course.

Anyway, by Jesus’s day, Herod Antipas had renamed it Τιβεριάς/Tiveriás, “Tiberias,” after the city he’d founded on its southern bank, which he named to suck up to the Roman emperor, Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus. There’s no evidence Herod suppressed the original name—Luke still calls it “the lake of Genessaret,” Lk 5.1 ’cause Γεννησαρέτ/Ghennisarét is how Greek-speakers mangled the name Khinnerót. But Tiberias is how people outside Israel came to know it, which is why John used that name thrice.

We don’t know where the feeding took place. Some Christians have speculated it happened at Tiberias—that this is why the word Τιβεριάδος/Tiveriádos is in verse 1—but no; John was just using the proper name of the Galilean sea. We only know it didn’t happen at Bethsaida, ’cause Jesus goes there later.

Anyway. Crowds heard about Jesus curing people, so they wanted to check him out for themselves. And he did cure some of them. Mt 14.14, Lk 9.11 Then he climbs a hill, not to get away from them (although there is some of that), but so he can be seen, and maybe heard. The other gospels say he took advantage of the situation and taught ’em all day long. Mk 6.34-36 Maybe the Sermon on the Mount again; maybe something else. We don’t know.

Angry Jesus.

Some weeks ago I was speaking with someone about blogging on the gospel according to John. He expressed some excitement about it.

HE. “Oh yeah! You at the parts where Jesus really tears the Pharisees a new one?”

ME. “Getting there.”

HE. “I love that part.”

Doesn’t surprise me. He gets really, really angry at people whom he considers his political enemies, and loves to imagine himself tearing them a new one. Stands to reason he’d love seeing that same level of anger in Jesus.

And let’s be honest: Jesus does get angry sometimes! I’m not one of those interpreters who insist Jesus never did; that “God’s wrath” and “the day of wrath” are metaphors, or anthropomorphic euphemisms, for what’s really going on in God’s head, because God never really gets angry. Or insist, like the medieval scholastics used to argue, God can’t have legitimate human-type emotions, because that’d interfere with his immutable nature. (God does have an immutable, i.e. unchanging, nature. But the scholastics borrowed way too many ideas from Aristotle and the ancient Greeks, and went a bit wonky.)

Nope; sometimes God gets angry! We humans can legitimately piss him off. Whenever we openly defy him when we clearly know better; whenever we pretend to be righteous, but are hypocritically using our phony “righteousness” to stick it to others; whenever we take advantage of the weak and needy and marginalized, and assume we can easily get away with it because nobody’s watching. Human evil regularly enrages God.

It’s why the prophets and apostles kept pointing to a day when God would finally put things right—and called it “the day of the LORD’s wrath.” Ek 7.19, Zp 1.18, Ro 2.5, Rv 6.17 Because they expected, if not wanted, God to open up a can of whup-ass on humanity’s evildoers. (Presuming we’re not among them!)

But back to Jesus. Did Jesus get angry? Duh:

Mark 3.5 NLT

He looked around at them angrily and was deeply saddened by their hard hearts. Then he said to the man, “Hold out your hand.” So the man held out his hand, and it was restored!

In that story, Jesus was in synagogue, the people brought him a guy with a paralyzed hand, and accusers were watching Jesus to see whether he’d cure the guy, specifically so they could condemn him for “working” on Sabbath. Jesus rightly pointed out you can make exceptions for good deeds on Sabbath, Mk 3.4 but they didn’t wanna hear it. This was a setup; they weren’t interested in reason or God’s will; they just wanted to stick it to Jesus, and this guy with the messed-up hand was just a pawn in all this. Of course it made him angry. Shouldn’t it?

But I should also point out two things: This is the only place in the gospels where Jesus is said to be angry; and Jesus doesn’t act on his anger. At all. He cures the guy—which is something he’d have done either way, happy or angry. He doesn’t yell at the hypocrites; he doesn’t stop teaching and storm out of synagogue; he doesn’t make a whip out of rope and start flogging them.

Oh yeah; the story where Jesus makes a whip and drives the merchants and animals out of the temple. Christians constantly presume he’s angry in that story, ’cause flipping tables and cracking a whip sure sounds violent! But does the scripture say what his mood was when this happened? Raging like the Hulk in the comic books and movies? Or annoyed—“Aw nuts, this again”—and patiently moving their profit-making venture out of God’s sacred prayer space?

See, we’re projecting anger upon Jesus because we would get angry in these circumstances. We’re projecting anger upon Jesus whenever he condemns hypocrites, rebukes the thoughtless behavior of his students, or calls things as he sees ’em—and these things are pretty messed up! We would be angry.

And some of us don’t really give a wet crap about injustice and hypocrisy: We’re already angry. Injustice is just a convenient excuse to rage a bit, under the guise of “righteous anger.” But anger’s a work of the flesh, and we’re not following Jesus’s example and refusing to act upon it: We’re Hulking out.

Those accepting everyone and everything but Jesus.

John 5.41-47.

People regularly misunderstand this next bit because they regularly misdefine the word δόξα/dóxa, which Jesus uses throughout. The KJV translates it as “honour”—or as we Americans spell it thanks to Noah Webster, “honor.” And in American culture, “honor” means high respect. Great esteem. Reverence. Praises. Sometimes even worship… which makes some of us uncomfortable when people are getting honored like this, ’cause it can almost feel like idolatry. Honestly, sometimes it’s totally idolatry.

But dóxa doesn’t indicate a high opinion of someone; it just indicates one’s opinion. Good and respectable… or bad and infamous. It can go every which way. True, when Jesus is talking about the opinion people have of him, he rightly expects it should be a good one. He’s a good guy! He’s loving, kind, patient, generous, joyous; he exhibits all the Spirit’s fruit ’cause he’s loaded with the Holy Spirit. Jn 3.34 He never sins! Plus there’s the miracles—you remember this whole discourse was triggered by him curing someone who’d been disabled for decades. He’s done all sorts of good deeds like that. And let’s not forget he knows a ton about God and his kingdom.

Such a person should have the best reputation, whether it’s among devout religious people like himself, or among pagans who weren’t religious whatsoever, but who could nonetheless recognize a legitimately good, compassionate, and authentic guy when they saw him. Plenty of Christian ministers have just this kind of reputation: They’re well-known for their good character and good deeds, and everyone in their community respects ’em.

And then there’s Jesus among the people of Jerusalem. And they’re giving him crap because he cured the guy on Sabbath, and this must therefore mean he’s… evil? Wait, why’d they suddenly leap to that extreme? How messed-up is their thinking?

But lemme tell you: I run into plenty of people with the very same messed-up thinking. So have you. People who can’t fathom that a Christian minister is even Christian, simply because he’s a member of the wrong political party. Or because they don’t believe the Spirit does miracles anymore, and figure this person can’t possibly be doing miracles in the Spirit’s power; it’s gotta be the devil—and so they go straight to blaspheming the Spirit.

What’s their problem? It’s exactly the same diagnosis Jesus gives to his critics in Jerusalem: They don’t have God’s love within them. And without this particular fruit, no one can be trusted. No one can be loved. Jesus must be trying to deceive them for some reason, and no doubt they have plenty of paranoid, delusional guesses as to why. And since they imagine themselves devout, they’re pretty sure God gave them the power to discern just what he’s up to—and the power to ignore everything he says in his defense.

John 5.41-47 KWL

41“I don’t seek a reputation from people.

42But I knew you people:

You don’t have God’s love within yourselves.

43I came in my Father’s name

and you don’t accept me.

Another might come in their own name;

you’ll accept that person.

44How are you able to trust anyone?

You actually accept one another’s reputations?

You don’t seek the reputation which only comes from God?

45Don’t imagine I’ll accuse you before the Father:

Your accuser is Moses.

You once put your hope in him.

46For if you’re still trusting Moses,

it’s me you’re trusting,

for Moses writes about me!

47If you don’t trust those writings,

how will you trust my words?”

“Our thoughts and prayers are with you.”

When disaster strikes, whether natural or manmade, one of the most common platitudes we hear thereafter is, “Our thoughts and prayers are with you.”

In the past several years I’ve noticed the expression has seen backlash. Mainly because the politicians who say it most, are rather overt hypocrites. Their actions demonstrate they’re not thinking of the disaster victims at all. Their fleshly behavior also suggests they don’t pray either… or they’re praying in some weird manner which doesn’t change them whatsoever. You know, contrary to how prayer actually works.

Now yes, some of the backlash comes from nontheists who are pretty sure all prayer is bogus anyway. They don’t believe anybody’s listening, and we Christians are only talking to the sky. Prayers are therefore just as useless as when some pagans attempt to send positive thoughts, vibes, and energy towards the needy: All they actually do is psyche themselves into feeling really happy things, then feel a little burst of euphoria which they figure is them “releasing” those thoughts into the universe. And then… they’re back to life as usual. Unless the happy thoughts get ’em to deliberately behave in more positive, productive ways towards those around them; but usually they don’t. The universe is no different. Nor better.

Give you an example. One of the United States’ many mass shootings might take out more masses than usual. The news media covers it like crazy; the public is horrified; the usual senators (or more likely, their staffers who know how to use social media) stick things on the internet about how their “thoughts and prayers” are with the victims and their families. And those who want gun restrictions object: These particular senators have no plans to change the gun laws whatsoever, and if anything they’ll be wary of future gun restrictions, and continue to fight existing gun resstrictions. Which means more mass shootings are inevitable. So what good are those senators’ thoughts and prayers?

I mean, functionally it’s the same as when James objected to “faith” which lacked works:

James 2.14-17 GNT

14My friends, what good is it for one of you to say that you have faith if your actions do not prove it? Can that faith save you? 15Suppose there are brothers or sisters who need clothes and don’t have enough to eat. 16What good is there in your saying to them, “God bless you! Keep warm and eat well!”—if you don’t give them the necessities of life? 17So it is with faith: if it is alone and includes no actions, then it is dead.

Our “thoughts and prayers” frequently aren’t any different than wishing the needy well, but doing nothing to make ’em less needy. Sometimes out of our own laziness, sometimes our own ill will. And the needy aren’t dense. They see the irreligion in it. They’re calling us on it. Rightly so.

If our thoughts and prayers do nothing, our faith is dead.

Proof in Jesus’s favor—if you’re willing to see it.

John 5.30-40.

You might recall the story where Jesus cures some guy at a pool in Jerusalem. He’d been disabled for decades; people should’ve been rejoicing at this, ’cause God has a prophet in Israel who can cure the sick!

But instead the Judeans pitched a fit: Jesus cured this guy on Sabbath. To hypocrites like these guys, it sets a bad precedent: If God empowers good deeds on Sabbath, now they might have to do good deeds on Sabbath! Hence all their ridiculous arguments about how Jesus can’t be of God; God would never. Exactly the same as hypocrites nowadays, when they don’t care to help the needy, and offer ridiculous objections about any Christians who do. “Oh those people are active, unrepentant sinners,” as if Jesus didn’t regularly eat with sinners. “Oh those people are breaking the law,” as if Jesus didn’t likewise interact with people who violated the laws of Israel and God. But I digress.

Jesus correctly points out he can cure on Sabbath because his Father authorized him to do so. Because he is the Son of Man. This, despite all the obvious evidence Jesus is exactly who he says he is, his Judean critics didn’t care to hear.

Now before we get to today’s passage, I need to explain some of the historical and biblical context so it makes sense. Otherwise you’re just gonna read it and go, “Hmm. Why does Jesus say his testimony isn’t true?”

Elsewhere in John’s gospel, certain Pharisees object to Jesus’s teachings on legal grounds. No they’re not in a courtroom; no they don’t need to follow courtroom proceedings! But if you’ve ever debated someone, you might notice how, every once in a while, they might try to base some of their arguments and defenses on legal procedure and precedent. As if we’re in a courtroom, or in Congress, which we’re not. It’s not actually a valid debate tactic, but they’ll try it out anyway, and hope you never call ’em on it.

John 8.13 NRSVue

Then the Pharisees said to him, “You are testifying on your own behalf; your testimony is not valid.”

Literally they said ἀληθής/alithís, “true,” but no they weren’t accusing Jesus of lying (like the NKJV and other translations have it). Historical context, folks. Testifying about yourself didn’t count in court. It wasn’t “true,” i.e. valid, unless you had a second witness to confirm you. Like Moses put it:

Deuteronomy 19.15 NRSVue

“A single witness shall not suffice to convict a person of any crime or wrongdoing in connection with any offense that may be committed. Only on the evidence of two or three witnesses shall a charge be sustained.”

I should point out some commentators claim Judeans wouldn’t accept anyone’s testimony about themselves: If you were ever put on trial, you had to be silent, because your testimony didn’t count. This is of course rubbish; if you’ve read your bible you know people regularly spoke up at their trials. Jesus, Peter and John, Stephen, and Paul all made statements at their trials; Stephen took up an entire chapter. Ac 7 Jesus was even sentenced to death on his testimony: Nobody else’s testimony was proven valid! Mk 14.56-59 But Jesus testified he’s Messiah, Mt 26.63-66 and his testimony was certainly valid. Self-testimony certainly could be. Jn 8.14 It’s just Jesus’s listeners, in this case and others, wanted more witnesses.

Now whenever Jesus made significant statements, he usually started ’em with “Amen,” which gets translated “Verily verily” in the KJV, and “Very truly I tell you” in the NIV and NRSVue. He did so before these statements too. Jn 5.19, 24, 25 It’s actually an oath: He swears what he’s saying is true. He is the Son of Man; he will judge the world on the Father’s behalf. But yeah, by legal standards, he only provided his own testimony, so it shouldn’t hold up in court.

Thing is, they weren’t in court! (Well, there’s the court of public opinion, but you know how lawless that can get.) But if you wanna challenge Jesus on a point of Law, you’re in for it: Jesus knows the Law better than anyone. Whom do you think gave it to Moses? Yes, the correct answer is “the LORD”—and that’s Jesus.

So he’ll play along. You demand a second testimony? Fine; he’s got witnesses.

The bible’s not a biology textbook!

Leviticus 11.13-19, Deuteronomy 14.11-18, Jonah 1.17, Matthew 12.40

During a talk with a fellow Christian, we went off on a bit of a tangent.

ME. “…Like when Jonah got swallowed by the whale…”

HE. “Sea creature.”

ME. “Whale. How’re you getting ‘sea creature’ from kítus?”

HE. “From what?”

HE. “Kítus. The Greek word for ‘whale.’ The word Jesus used when he talked about Jonah being in the whale’s belly three days and nights. Mt 12.40 It’s the word we get our adjective ‘cetacean’ from, which refers to whales, dolphins, porpoises, and other marine mammals.”

HE. [confused; betcha he didn’t expect me to know what I was talking about] “But Jonah said he was swallowed by a great fish.” Jh 1.17

ME. “Sure.”

HE. “Well a whale’s not a fish.”

ME. “But it was a fish in Jesus’s day.”

HE. “Whales used to be fish…?”

HE. “Because the ancients classified them as fish. They figured if it lives in the sea, it’s a fish. Then somebody eventually realized some of these ‘fishes’ have lungs, and decided if you have lungs you’re not a fish, and humanity redefined ‘fish.’ Well, bible’s still using the old definition. So in the bible, whales are big fish.”

HE. [still confused] “But whales aren’t fish.”

ME. “Aren’t fish anymore. They were fish back in Jesus and Jonah’s day.”

HE. “So are you saying the bible’s wrong, or we are?”

ME. “Neither. The bible doesn’t define fish; it explains God. We define fish. You remember Adam got to name the animals. Ge 2.19-20 We get to decide what’s a fish and what’s not. And if we redefine fish, we can do that; it doesn’t violate the bible to do that. The only problem is when we try to update the bible to fit our definition of fish, and make the bible look inconsistent when it’s really not.”

This very issue came up again this weekend. My pastor had a little quiz about bible literacy, and I pointed out to him Jesus said Jonah was swallowed by a κήτους/kítus, “whale.”

Matthew 12.40 KJV

For as Jonas was three days and three nights in the whale’s belly; so shall the Son of man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.

It’s right there in red and white. Well, unless you’re reading a more recent translation which renders kítus as “sea creature” or “big fish.”

Amplified, LSB, NASB, NRSV: “sea monster”

CEV, GNT: “big fish”

CSV, NET, NIV: “huge fish”

ESV, MEV, NKJV: “great fish”

ISV: “sea creature”

But I remind you: None of these translations are accurate. None. They’re all conforming to the דָּ֣ג גָּד֔וֹל/dag gadól, “great fish,” of Jonah:

Jonah 1.17 KJV

The LORD arranged for a great fish to swallow Jonah.

Jonah was in the fish’s bowels three days and three nights.

But to Jesus’s mind (at the time) a whale was a great fish. And isn’t Jesus in a position to know which species of “fish” swallowed Jonah? He said kítus, “whale”; so it was a whale.

My point is, if you know your history, there’s not actually a bible difficulty here! The problem is people don’t know history, and think there’s a difficulty if Jesus says “whale”… so y’notice a fair number of bible translators have changed the Lord Jesus’s words so that there’s no difficulty anymore. Which reveals all sorts of disturbing things about them. Namely a bothersome amount of intellectual dishonesty.

Quit praying to Satan!

There’s an traditional African folk song called “What a Mighty God We Serve.” If you grew up Christian, maybe you heard it in Sunday school. Sometimes adults sing it too. Goes like so.

♫ What a mighty God we serve

♫ What a mighty God we serve

♫ Angels bow before him

♫ Heaven and earth adore him

♫ What a mighty God we serve

Years later I found out it has more lyrics—words my children’s and youth pastors never bothered to teach us. You might be able to guess why.

♫ I command you Satan in the name of the Lord

♫ To take up your weapons and flee

♫ For the Lord has given me authority

♫ To walk all over thee

There are variations. I often hear “put down your weapons” in the second line, which makes way more sense than “take up your weapons.” There’s also “stomp all over thee” in the fourth—which comes with stomping movements, which are always fun.

Anyway. Lots of Sunday schools skip these lines, so lots of Christians aren’t aware of ’em. I hadn’t heard them in years; then they came up again in summer youth camp. The pastor got all the kids to sing along with the first part, but when she broke into the second part, the kids sat there confused: “Why’s she singing to the devil?” Anyway, because they didn’t sing along, she concluded, “I guess you don’t know that part,” and went right back to the “What a mighty God we serve” bit they did know.

As to why churches don’t teach it: Well you are singing to the devil! And shouldn’t. Don’t do that.

Likewise there are a number of Christians who pray to the devil. You may have seen it happen. Someone gets up to pray. Then, in the middle of all their other praises and petitions to God, they put the Lord on pause, and dial Satan in on our conference call.

“And Satan, we rebuke you. We bind you. We cast you out. You have no authority here. You have no business in this place. You get out of here, Satan. You’re under our feet.”

And so on. You get the idea.

Again: Don’t do that!

I know; I know. You’ve seen pastors and prayer leaders do it. You’ve seen Christians whom you greatly respect doing it. Loads of people do it. But they shouldn’t do it either.