Grumbling

Text: John 6:35-51

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

            The other day I saw a post online in which an acquaintance of mine wrote that it was so hot where he lived that he couldn’t wait six months so he could complain about the cold instead. Indeed, it seems that in spite of what any professional sports league would tell us, our official pastime is complaining, grumbling about the way things are and the way they should be. It doesn’t matter if it’s politics, sports, traffic, money, or the weather, the thing that we can all agree on is that it should be some other way than what it currently is.

            Humanity has a long history of complaining, going back even to Scripture, which more often than not calls it grumbling. When the Lord led His people out of bitter slavery in Egypt, the first thing they did was complain. Three short days after crossing the Red Sea in the most miraculous and wondrous way, we read that the Israelites grumbled against Moses, saying, “What shall we drink?” Then only weeks later they complained again, “Would that we had died by the hand of the Lord in Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.” So it went through the ages. The people complained that they didn’t have a king like all the unbelieving nations around them. Then they grumbled that the king was too hard. Then they were dissatisfied with the worship of the Lord, so they chased after Baal. Then when Baal disappointed, they went back to the Lord, then back to Baal, so on and so forth. As we heard in our Old Testament reading this morning, after his decisive victory over the priests of Baal, even the prophet Elijah himself said that it was too much, that life as one of those faithful to the Lord was too difficult, that he was no better than his grumbling ancestors, so he asked the Lord to let him die.

            This continual dissatisfaction and grumbling wasn’t just an Old Testament problem though. Even those who had the privilege of hearing Jesus teach as He walked through Galilee had their complaints. When Jesus set before them the immense treasures of resurrection and eternal life—“Everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day”—they still complained. They grumbled about Him because He said “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” They griped, “Isn’t this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How does he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?”

            Lest we start to think less of those who have the same faults that we do, we should examine our own hearts and hear the grumbling there. How often do we covet what others have—the excitement, or the ease, or the money, or the health, or the comfort? How often are we dissatisfied with the lot we have in life, even though any one of us is unimaginably wealthier and more comfortable than 99% of all the people who have ever lived? How often do we hear a word from God, about what we should or should not do, how we should regard something or someone, and assume that we know better about how we should behave or think or speak? How often do we think to ourselves, “That’s all well and good that the Bible says that, but I’d rather it said this. I’d rather it agree with what I already think.” And when God and His Word won’t bend to our will being done, we grumble, whether it’s out loud, or just to friends and family, or even in the echo chamber of our own hearts.

            What’s really the harm or danger in grumbling, complaining about what God has given and established? At its center, grumbling is unfaith. It’s the desire to be God and decide who should get what. It’s sitting in judgement over what God has done and thinking that He got it wrong. It goes back to the very first temptation, to the point where Eve stumbled, when the tempter told her that if she just ignored what God said about the way things should be, that she would be like God. We would be like God too, deciding how things should go, what should be right or wrong, what life should be about, who gets what.

            What’s the antidote then? We know that it has never gone well when God’s people grumble against His gifts. We’ve seen that play out through Scripture. Whether it’s fiery serpents or invading empires, there’s always something that’s sent to snap the Lord’s people out of their complaints and to see all that’s been set right before them. And then the Lord offers the remedy. When they complained about hunger in the Exodus, He rained down bread from heaven for them. When Elijah said that it was too difficult and he wanted to die, the Lord gave him rest in the shade and provided food and water. And when God’s people continue to complain, from those sitting at the feet of Jesus in Galilee to us now, He still provides a cure for hardness of heart, for wishing that we could replace God Himself. He gives us Jesus.

            Yes, the very thing that the Lord’s people complained about and still complain about, that thing that doesn’t seem enough—Jesus—He’s the solution. For in Him, and Him alone, are all the treasures of heaven rained down on us. Bread, yes—even daily bread, those things we receive from God to support our bodies and lives—all of it comes from the fact that Jesus is continually interceding for us before the Father. And more than that, even when we try to run, like Elijah, He doesn’t let us get too far. Even though He might not always seem like enough to our faulty reason and senses, we will always be more than enough for Him, so He will find us when we go searching for something else. Jesus tracks us down because, as He said, “This is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.” He holds onto us in His hands, pierced for our transgressions, and He washes us clean in His sacrifice. He sets a table before us. He feeds us with daily bread and with Himself, the bread of heaven. He gives Himself entirely, even giving Himself to death on the cross, so that we would receive everything from God, in this life and the next. And when we see that things are not as they should be, or at least not as we think they should be, when there’s some slight against us, or even a grievous sin against us, He shows us that the solution is not to try to get even or grumble or gripe. Rather, the answer is, as we heard this morning, “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

            And there is the solution to our grumbling: forgiveness, for ourselves and others. Having the unfaith that’s at the root of our complaining removed, seeing that it’s really God that’s at the center of the universe, even the center of our own lives, and not ourselves—and recognizing all that He’s giving us if we would just have eyes to see and ears to hear, being washed in forgiveness so that our hearts are made kind and tender again, that’s the answer. That’s where peace is found that rises above all the objections of our fallen nature. That’s where we see with clarity what our destiny really is: not in the things of this quickly passing world, but being raised up on the last day, being found with the Son of God, and enjoying His generosity forever. In the name of Jesus, the Bread from Heaven. Amen.