Hard Words

Hard Words

John 6:60-72

Aaron and Luke had been close friends for nearly a decade. They met in a small group at church, prayed through job changes and miscarriages, stood beside each other when their children were born. They used to joke, “If I ever drift, you have permission to call me out.” It was the kind of friendship built on shared faith and long conversations. Over time, though, Luke began to notice something in Aaron. Aaron often said he loved his wife, but he was consistently sharp with her, often speaking with cutting, sarcastic remarks. Correcting her in front of others. Rolling his eyes when she spoke. It was a clear pattern.

Luke tried to ignore it at first. Marriage is hard, he told himself. Everyone has stressful seasons. But one night after dinner, Aaron snapped at his wife over something small. She went quiet, the kind of quiet that speaks volumes. Later, sitting alone in the garage, Luke finally said what had been weighing on him. “Aaron, the way you talk to your wife is sinful. It’s not leadership. It’s not loving. It’s harsh.”

Aaron’s face tightened, saying, “That’s ridiculous.” Luke didn’t back away, “It’s not. I’ve watched it for months.” Aaron’s voice sharpened. “You don’t know what goes on in my house.” Luke replied quietly, “I know what I see. And I love you enough to say it.” Luke gave his friend the hard word.

The next day Luke received a short text: “I think we need some space. I don’t appreciate being judged.” After that, the calls stopped. The invitations stopped. The friendship that had felt so solid quietly unraveled. And why did it end? It wasn’t because the hard word confused Aaron, but it exposed him. It was easier to lose a friend than to repent.

Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever given a friend a hard word and the relationship ended? Have you ever ended a friendship because you were given a hard word you didn’t like? 

That is exactly the kind of ‘hard word’ moment we are stepping into in John 6. Jesus has just fed the five thousand. The crowds are large, the excitement is real, and momentum is building. Jesus just finished teaching at the synagogue and now turns to his disciples. They have walked with Him, listened to Him, eaten the bread He multiplied, and benefited from His power. Jesus has spoken plainly to them, John 6:53–58

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him. As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever feeds on me, he also will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like the bread the fathers ate, and died. Whoever feeds on this bread will live forever.” 

Jesus claims that he is the Bread of life.  He tells them that no one can come to eat this eternal bread unless it is granted by the Father. And with this message the air changes and faces tighten. They respond,“This is a hard saying. Who can listen to it?”

 As we walk through these last words of John 6, I want you to ask yourself what kind of disciple of Jesus are you? Are you one to take him at his word or take offense at his word? Not all current disciples will continue as disciples. For not all disciples are truly disciples. True disciples are always revealed in how they respond to the words of Jesus. So when the hard word comes, how will you respond? 

The Murmuring Disciples

As Jesus finishes explaining what it means to feed on Him as the Bread of Life, the reaction is immediate. John lets us hear the temperature of the room. John 6:60–61 says, 

When many of his disciples heard it, they said, ‘This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?’ But Jesus, knowing in himself that his disciples were grumbling about this, said to them, ‘Do you take offense at this?’”

Notice again who is speaking. Many of His disciples. These are not distant critics. These are people who have followed Him, benefited from Him, listened intently to his teaching, and identified themselves with Him. And yet when His words challenge their expectations of what kind of Messiah he came to be, they say, “This is a hard saying.”

Hard does not mean unclear. It means unacceptable. Offensive. Severe. They understand what He is claiming. That He is the Bread from heaven. That life is found only in Him. That coming to Him is not self-generated but granted. They understand and they resist.

John says they were grumbling. That word should jump off the page given how the whole chapter John is showing that Jesus is the greater and better Moses. This grumbling is the same language of Israel in the wilderness. When manna fell from heaven, they murmured. Now the true Bread from heaven stands before them, and the sound is the same. The issue is not lack of provision, but a lack of surrender.

Jesus responds with a piercing question: “Do you take offense at this?” He does not soften the truth. He exposes the heart. The hard word has done its work. The kind of faith of these disciples has been revealed. They are not struggling to understand Jesus, but rather they are struggling to submit to him. That is where murmuring begins. Not with open rebellion, but with quiet resistance. And quiet resistance, if left unchecked, leads to departure.

And the truth is, Jesus still speaks hard words that people take offense at today. 

He says, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6). That offends a pluralistic world that wants many paths to heaven. 

He says, “Everyone who practices sin is a slave to sin” (John 8:34). That offends a culture that wants freedom to follow its desires.

He says, “Unless one is born again he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). That offends self-reliant religion that wants to earn its way to heaven by good works.

He says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). That offends our comfort and autonomy.

He says, “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:37). That offends our reordered priorities and competing allegiances.

Hard words do not merely inform us. They confront us. They expose whether we want a Savior who fits our preferences or a Lord who commands our allegiance. And murmuring rarely sounds dramatic at first. It is often subtle. It sounds like, “I just struggle with that.” It sounds like, “That feels extreme.” It sounds like, “Surely He does not mean that for today.” But beneath those phrases is a resistance to submit.

Jesus speaks hard words not only about salvation but about sin. He speaks against sexual immorality when He says, “Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart” (Matthew 5:28). He speaks against greed when He warns, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness” (Luke 12:15). He speaks against easy divorce, against vengeance, against hypocrisy, against storing up treasures on earth. In a culture that celebrates self-expression, sexual autonomy, and material success, His words press hard. And the temptation is not always to reject Him outright, but to quietly grumble. To reinterpret. To minimize. To carve out exceptions.

He also speaks hard words about authority and submission. Scripture calls us to honor governing authorities (Romans 13:1), to respect those who labor over us in the Lord (1 Thessalonians 5:12–13), to submit to one another out of reverence for Christ (Ephesians 5:21). In an age that prizes personal autonomy and suspicion of leadership, those commands can feel intrusive. And murmuring can creep in there too. Not loud rebellion, but quiet cynicism. Not open denial, but simmering resistance.

Murmuring begins in the heart long before departure shows up in the feet. It is the posture that says, “I will follow Jesus, but on my terms.” And that is why Jesus asks, “Do you take offense at this?” Because the issue is never merely comprehension. It is surrender. So let me ask again: are you murmuring at any of Jesus’ words? Quietly resisting what He has clearly said?

The Miracle of the Divine

After exposing their murmuring,  He presses deeper. John 6:62–65 says, 

Then what if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.” (For Jesus knew from the beginning who those were who did not believe, and who it was who would betray him.) And he said, “This is why I told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted him by the Father.”

Jesus lifts their eyes beyond the offense of His present words and points them toward something even greater. He has already told them He came down from heaven. Now He asks what they will think when they see the Son of Man ascend to where He was before. He leaves the question hanging. What will you do when you see it? Because in John’s Gospel, His “ascending” is not separate from His being “lifted up.” The path back to glory runs straight through the cross.

If they stumble over the language of eating His flesh and drinking His blood, what will they do when they see Him crucified? It is one thing to wrestle with a metaphor. It is another thing entirely to face a Messiah hanging on a Roman cross. That is the real scandal. A beaten, bloodied, publicly shamed Savior does not fit human expectations of power. Paul later says it plainly: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles. And yet that is the very center of God’s plan. The moment that looks like defeat is the moment of glory. The Servant who is despised and pierced is the One being lifted up. The shame of the cross is the doorway to the glory He shared with the Father before the world began.

So the question remains open for them and for us. How will you respond to that kind of Messiah? Not a Messiah who flexes earthly power, but One who conquers through suffering. Not One who flatters your expectations, but One who exposes your sin and then dies in your place. The true offense is not confusing language. It is a crucified Christ. And how you respond to Him determines everything.

Then He states the theological heart of the matter: “It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is no help at all.” That is the miracle of the divine. Spiritual life is not produced by effort, heritage, enthusiasm, or proximity to Jesus. The flesh contributes nothing. No amount of striving can generate eternal life. Only the Spirit gives life. The same words that offend some become life to others because the Spirit works through them.

Jesus adds, “There are some of you who do not believe.” They had walked with Him. They had heard Him. They had seen His power. Yet belief was absent. And John inserts a striking reminder at the end of verse 64: “For Jesus knew from the beginning who those were who did not believe, and who it was who would betray him.” That phrase reaches all the way back to the opening of this Gospel. In John 1 we are told that the Word was with God and was God. Nothing was made without Him. He is not merely reacting inside history. He stands over it. John 2 tells us He did not entrust Himself to people because He knew what was in man. His knowledge is divine foreknowledge. He sees the heart. He knows belief and unbelief. He knows the betrayer long before the kiss in the garden.

And then He repeats the truth that unsettles human pride: “No one can come to me unless it is granted him by the Father.” Salvation does not originate in human willpower. It does not begin with intellectual clarity or moral resolve. It begins in the gracious initiative of God. The Father grants. The Spirit gives life. The Son receives all whom the Father draws. From beginning to end, salvation is a divine work.

Think of it like Lazarus in the tomb. Lazarus did not cooperate with resurrection. He did not assist Jesus from the inside. He was dead. When Jesus stood outside the grave and called, “Lazarus, come out,” the command itself carried life with it. The voice that called also created the ability to respond. Lazarus did not first awaken and then choose to live. He lived because Christ called him. That is what sovereign grace does. The call of God is not mere invitation, but it is life-giving power. When the Father grants, the Spirit awakens, and the Son’s voice creates what it commands.

This truth humbles pride and steadies hope. It humbles us because it reminds us that we did not reason our way into the kingdom or earn our way into grace. If we have come to Christ, it is because the Father granted it and the Spirit awakened us. And it steadies us because our salvation does not rest on the fragility of human resolve but on the strength of divine purpose. The same sovereign grace that calls also keeps.

So the divine miracle in John 6 is not that some walk away. Given the resistance of the flesh, that is tragically predictable. The miracle is that anyone believes at all. The hard word exposes the heart, but only the Spirit can give life to it. The flesh resists, but the Father grants what we could never produce. 

And once Jesus makes that sovereign reality clear, the scene shifts. His circle begins to grow smaller, and what was once a crowd becomes a test of allegiance for the twelve.

The Moment of Decision

Once divine sovereignty is declared, the separation becomes visible. And we read one of the saddest statements in John’s Gospel. 

“After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him” (John 6:66).

You can almost see it unfolding in slow motion. No dramatic shouting. No public denunciation. Just movement. People who had been close begin to drift toward the edges. Conversations grow quiet. Eyes avoid contact. Feet that once followed closely now slow down, then stop. The same men and women who had eagerly gathered on the hillside for bread now begin to step away from the Bread of Life.

They had walked with Him when the miracles were visible and the crowds were swelling. It was one thing to receive bread. It was another to be told that He Himself was the Bread from heaven, that the flesh was no help at all, that coming to Him required divine grace. The issue was not confusion. It was surrender. And surrender was too costly.

John says they “turned back.” The direction of their lives shifted. What once looked like allegiance quietly reversed. They did not argue their way out. They simply withdrew. And then John adds the painful finality: they “no longer walked with him.” The relationship that had seemed solid dissolved. Fellowship ended. 

These were called disciples. And now many of them are gone. The hard word had divided them, and Jesus does not chase them down or soften what He said. He lets them walk. As we watch them turn back, the text presses a question into our own lives. What would make you step away from Jesus? What word from His mouth would feel too hard to receive? Would it be His claim to exclusive authority, that He alone is the way to the Father? Would it be His call to deny yourself and take up your cross? Would it be His exposure of a private sin you have quietly justified? What truth, if spoken plainly enough, would tempt you to say, “That is too much”?

And perhaps even more relevant for us: what are you currently tolerating that might one day become your turning point? No one walks up and expects to walk away from Jesus, but as Hebrews 2:1 says, 

Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. 

What will make you drift away? Is it a love for comfort that resists sacrifice? A desire for approval that cannot endure cultural rejection? A habit you refuse to surrender? A version of Jesus you prefer over the one revealed in Scripture? When Christ confronts your pride, your autonomy, your priorities, will you murmur, will you withdraw, or will you remain? Because everyone follows gladly when the bread is multiplied. The real question is who keeps walking when the hard word comes.

The sound of departing footsteps becomes the backdrop for what comes next. The crowd has thinned, the dust is settling, and people have turned away. It is in that quiet departure, Jesus turns to the Twelve. “Do you want to go away as well?” It is not a defensive question. It is not a plea. He simply asks and the way he asks it expects a negative answer. “Surely you do not want to leave too, do you?” The question is not for His sake. He already knows those who are His. It is for theirs. The Twelve need to say it. They need to own their allegiance. The crowd has made its choice. Now the committed must articulate theirs.The others have left. The cost is now visible. The pressure is real. And the question moves from the crowd to the committed.

You can imagine the weight of that moment. They had heard the same hard word. They had felt the same tension. They had watched friends walk away. The temptation to follow the majority must have been strong. But Peter answers, and his response is clear in verse 68

 “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. And we have believed and have come to know that you are the Holy One of God.” 

He does not claim full understanding. He does not say it was easy. He simply confesses that there is nowhere else to go. The crowd followed for bread. The Twelve remain for life. And that is the moment of decision. When the hard word comes and the circle grows smaller, will you walk away or will you stay? They stayed because he alone has the words of eternal life!

If Peter’s confession is true, then the question becomes deeply practical: what do we do with the words of eternal life? It is one thing to say that Jesus has them. It is another to sit under them, to open them, to return to them when they confront us. A Christian who drifts from the Bible will eventually drift from Christ. Neglect leads to distance. Distance leads to dullness. And dullness makes the next hard word easier to ignore. If His words are life, then regular exposure to them is oxygen for the soul.

Think of it like physical strength. No one becomes weak overnight. It happens through small, daily neglect. Skip enough meals and the body weakens. Skip enough time in the Word and the soul does the same. Or imagine a tree planted near a stream. As long as its roots draw from the water, it stands firm in drought. But if the roots dry out, the first strong wind will expose what was happening underneath. When the hard word comes, when the crowd thins, when pressure mounts, what will steady you? A vague memory of past sermons? Or a heart saturated with Scripture?

So let me ask you plainly: Do you open the Word when no one is watching? Do you linger over it, meditate on it, turn it over in your mind? Do you memorize it so that when temptation comes or discouragement presses in, truth rises from within? Or do you rely on borrowed convictions and secondhand faith? Beloved, if Jesus has the words of eternal life, then treat them as life. Spend time with them. Read slowly. Meditate deeply. Hide them in your heart. Because when the hard word comes, and it will, the difference between walking away and remaining often comes down to whether His Word already dwells richly within you. 

Ben Sasse, former U.S. Senator and most recently president of the University of Florida, was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and has been told he may only have months to live. A diagnosis like that has a way of stripping life down to what truly matters. Reflecting on his own priorities, Sasse said, 

One thing I tell my kids a lot is, ‘Man, I wish I’d taken the Lord’s Day more seriously more in my life, because it’s a really good antidote to all those idolatries.’” 

When a man facing the end of his life looks back and says he wishes he had guarded the Lord’s Day more carefully, it reminds us that weekly worship and rest are not small habits. They quietly confront the idols of success, busyness, and self-sufficiency, and reorient our hearts to what is eternal.

When a believer sets aside one day in seven to gather with the church, to worship, to rest, and to sit under the Word, it quietly declares that career is not ultimate, productivity is not ultimate, youth sports are not ultimate, comfort is not ultimate. The rhythm itself confronts the idols of achievement, busyness, and self-sufficiency. To stop working is to confess that you are not sovereign. To worship is to confess that something greater than your schedule or success deserves your allegiance. In a culture that measures worth by output and applause, honoring the Lord’s Day becomes a weekly hard word against the idols of the heart and a sweet reminder that Christ alone is Lord.

If you are not yet a Christian, let me ask you something plainly. What do you love most? What, if taken from you, would unravel your sense of security or identity? What do you trust to make you feel significant, safe, or satisfied? Career? Approval? Sexual freedom? Financial security? Control? The Bible calls those things idols when they sit where God alone belongs. And Jesus speaks hard words because He refuses to compete with idols. He confronts them.

You may feel the weight of His words pressing on you even now. You may sense that following Him will cost you something. It will. Jesus does not disguise that. He will not be reshaped to fit your preferences or adjusted to accommodate your pride. He calls you to surrender, not negotiation. But do not miss this: the One who exposes your idols is the One who loves you enough to tell you the truth. He does not confront you to crush you. He confronts you to save you.

The same Jesus who says the flesh is no help at all is the Jesus who went to the cross in our place. He bore the judgment our sin deserved. He carried the wrath we earned. He shed His blood so that those who believe in Him would not perish but have eternal life. He was lifted up so that sinners who cannot save themselves might be saved by grace. Do not turn back. Do not walk away. Come to Him. Turn from your sin. Trust in Him. Receive Him not as the version you prefer, but as the Lord and Savior He truly is. There is nowhere else to go. He alone has the words of eternal life.

The Man of the Devil

Just when the moment feels settled, just when Peter’s confession gives us relief, Jesus speaks one more sentence that reopens the tension. John 6:70–71,

Jesus answered them, “Did I not choose you, the twelve? And yet one of you is a devil.” He spoke of Judas the son of Simon Iscariot, for he, one of the twelve, was going to betray him. 

John tells us He was speaking of Judas, one of the Twelve, who would later betray Him. The crowd has left. The circle has grown smaller. The faithful have confessed. And yet even within the inner circle, there is a betrayer. Judas heard the same sermons, saw the same miracles, walked the same roads, and shared the same meals. He was close to Jesus, but he was not changed by Jesus.

This is the final sobering note of the chapter. It is possible to be near Christ and not belong to Christ. It is possible to participate outwardly while remaining untouched inwardly. Judas was not a distant skeptic; he was one of the Twelve. The hard word divided the crowd, sovereign grace sustained the faithful, but hidden unbelief remained in the heart of one who remained.

And that presses one last question for us today: Are you walking with Jesus in name only? Are you near Him but unmoved by Him? The dividing line does not run merely between the church and the world. It runs through the visible church. And Jesus still asks, “Do you want to go away as well?”

That question cannot remain merely theoretical. If the dividing line runs through the visible church, then we must ask what it actually looks like to be near Jesus and yet not belong to Him. Judas is not included in this chapter to satisfy our curiosity about betrayal. He is included as a warning to all who sit close to Christ, hear His words, and yet remain unchanged. So what are the signs? What does proximity without transformation look like in real life?

And before we walk through those signs, I want to speak to two kinds of people in this room. First, those with tender consciences. You love Christ. You fight sin. You are grieved when you fail. And yet when you hear warnings like this, your heart trembles. You wonder, “Is that me?” If that is you, do not panic. A tender conscience is not the mark of Judas. It is often the mark of the Spirit’s work. True believers struggle, repent, and return. Peter wept. Judas hardened. The difference is not perfection. It is posture.

Second, there may be some here with calloused consciences. You hear the Word regularly. You know the language. You may serve, give, even lead. But there is no real surrender. No real grief over sin. No real love for Christ. The warnings do not trouble you. They bounce off. If that is you, this passage is meant to wake you up. Proximity is not salvation. Activity is not belief. And silence in your conscience may not be peace. It may be hardness. So as we look at these signs, ask honestly which category you are in. The goal is not despair. The goal is clarity and repentance. 

Signs of a Judas:

First, Proximity Without Transformation – Judas was near Jesus but never changed by Jesus (John 6:70–71). He heard the teaching, saw the miracles, and was even sent out in ministry (Luke 9:1–6), yet his heart remained untouched. Jesus later says of him, “You are clean, but not every one of you” (John 13:10–11). One sign of being aligned against Christ is consistent exposure to truth with no repentance, no softening, and no growing love for holiness (Hebrews 3:12–13). The Word informs, but it never reforms (James 1:22–24).

Second, Hidden Sin Protected Over Time – In John 12:4–6, Judas is revealed as a thief, stealing from the moneybag. His betrayal in John 6 did not erupt suddenly. It was cultivated quietly. Scripture warns that sin, when it is fully grown, brings forth death (James 1:14–15). A heart aligned against Christ often protects a private sin, nurtures it, justifies it, and refuses to bring it into the light (John 3:19–20). When sin is guarded instead of confessed, something deeper is wrong (Proverbs 28:13).

Third, Love for Money over Christ – Judas ultimately sells Jesus for thirty pieces of silver (Matthew 26:14–16). His love for money outweighed his loyalty to the Savior. Jesus had already warned, “You cannot serve God and money” (Matthew 6:24), and Paul later writes, “The love of money is a root of all kinds of evils” (1 Timothy 6:10). When someone consistently chooses comfort, status, security, or gain over obedience to Christ, their true love is revealing (Mark 8:36). For Judas, it was his love of money, what do you love more than Christ?

Fourth, Persistent Unbelief Beneath Religious Activity – Jesus says in John 6:64, “There are some of you who do not believe,” and John identifies Judas as one of them (John 6:70–71). Judas preached, traveled, and ministered outwardly, but belief was absent. He cast out demons with the others (Luke 9:1–2), yet remained unconverted. A person may be active in church life, serving, leading, and participating, yet internally unconvinced and unsubmitted (Matthew 7:22–23). Persistent unbelief masked by activity is a dangerous place to be. Do you truly believe or do you mask your unbelief with activity?

These signs are not meant to produce despair in tender consciences. A true believer may struggle, stumble, and repent often (1 John 1:8–9). Remember the difference is posture. Judas hardened his heart (John 13:27). Peter wept and returned (Luke 22:61–62). The question is not, “Have I ever sinned?” The question is, “Do I resist Christ or run to Him when I do?” Judas stayed near Jesus while moving away from Him in his heart. That is the warning for all of us.

When we began, we talked about how a hard word can fracture even the closest friendship. Aaron and Luke had years of shared life behind them, but one honest sentence exposed what had been hidden, and the relationship unraveled. The hard word confronted him. And instead of humbling himself, he stepped back. That is exactly what we have watched unfold in John 6. Jesus speaks plainly. The disciples understand Him. And many turn back and no longer walk with Him. The hard word divides.

But John 6 is not only about them. It is about us. Every one of us will face hard words from Jesus. Words that confront our pride, expose our sin, dismantle our illusions, and demand surrender. The question is not whether we will hear hard words. The question is which hard words we will hear. Will we receive the hard words now that lead to life? Or will we resist them until we hear the hardest word imaginable?

Because there is a harder word than “the flesh is no help at all.” There is a harder word than “deny yourself.” There is a harder word than “no one can come unless it is granted.” It is the word Jesus speaks in Matthew 7:23: “Depart from me, I never knew you.” Away from me. I never knew you. That is the final, irreversible hard word. And no one in this room wants to hear it.

Think of a man who goes to the doctor expecting to hear that he simply needs more rest. He feels tired, a little off, but nothing serious. The tests come back, and the doctor looks at him and says, “You have cancer. If we treat it now, there is hope. If you ignore it, it will take your life.” That is a hard word. The patient can accuse the doctor of being harsh. He can look for someone who will tell him what he wants to hear. Or he can receive the diagnosis, painful as it is, because it is the only path to healing. The doctor is not cruel for telling the truth. He is merciful. And rejecting the diagnosis does not remove the disease.

So hear the gracious hard word now. You are a sinner. You cannot save yourself. The flesh is no help at all. That is a hard word against your pride. It is a hard word against your fallen nature. But it is only a crushing word if you reject it. If you receive it, it becomes a sweet word. It becomes the doorway to mercy; the beginning of freedom.

And here is why it is sweet. Because the God who tells you that you cannot save yourself is the same God who has acted to save you. Christ has died for sinners. Christ has risen for sinners. Christ receives sinners who come to Him in repentance and faith. The word that exposes you is the same word that invites you. Do not walk away from the hard word that wounds your pride, but heals your soul. Let it humble you and  drive you to the One who alone has the words of eternal life. 

When the hard word lands, when following Christ costs something, there are only two directions to move. You can turn back. Or you can remain. So let Peter’s words be more than a line you admire. Let them be the confession of your mouth and the full trust of your heart: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”