There was a time when I struggled to articulate why I was a Christian.
In my college years, far from the faithful influences of home, I reviewed inherited convictions and determined which ones to keep. This was no mere intellectual sorting—the way one might sort out important letters from junk mail. It was a response to suffering. Having broken my neck in a gymnastics accident, I saw my life (and lack of paralysis) as a miracle, but the experience plunged me into questions.
The internal and bodily journey of healing was long, complex, and never comfortable. Several lifelines stood out: Finding a community of Christians who named the difficult questions—and addressed them thoughtfully and authentically—gave me hope. The testimonies of faithful men and women also illustrated God’s power to save and to keep. But it was my personal Bible reading that proved most vital. Through the words of Scripture, and particularly the life and teachings of Jesus, I found something haunting and beautiful and undeniably true. My faith became my own.
We seem to need more than the miraculous. The sixth chapter of the Gospel of John is best known for the feeding of the 5,000, Jesus walking on water, and Jesus’ famous statement “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (v. 35). You hear a ringing declaration, the triumphant conclusion to an irresistible argument for Jesus’ divine authority. After all, the crowds witnessed miracles. But still the people grumbled.
Jesus could have watered down his teaching to retain his large following. But he would rather have a faithful few who pursue him for the right reasons. So Jesus continued with offensive language about his body and blood, presenting himself as the true manna, the bread that comes down from heaven. Nearly everyone abandoned him.
When he turned to the apostles and asked whether they wished to leave as well, Peter replied, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (v. 68).
When I wrestled with my faith, sometimes all I had were these feeble and faithful words of Peter. Miracles are well and good, but only Jesus himself truly satisfies. Whatever else I might doubt, I could not deny that I had tasted the bread from heaven and it had filled my soul.
Like the church community and faithful followers in my life, we need witnesses to the Word, especially when our faith falters. Christianity Today is not the Word, but it is a witness to the Word. It represents a people who seek to saturate life with Scripture. A people who use the Word to make sense of the world, because the world does not make sense without it.
We invite you to seek Christ and his kingdom with us. Let’s eat together—especially in this Easter season—of the bread that was broken for us, the bread that comes down from heaven and satisfies our souls.
Timothy Dalrymple is president and CEO of Christianity Today.
This article appeared in the March/April 2025 issue of Christianity Today as "The Bread from Heaven".
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