Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read John 6:41–51

As I contemplate tomorrow’s gospel passage, I keep being drawn to the word “murmur.” Perhaps it’s because I find myself murmuring, or complaining, more often than I’d like to admit. 

Murmuring—a complaint uttered in a low and indistinct tone; synonymous with grumbling and muttering—has a negative connotation, indicative of someone who is discontent and critical. While it may seem harmless, Scripture makes it abundantly clear that murmuring is offensive to God (1 Corinthians 10:10), characteristic of a lack of faith in His providence. 

Yet it’s so easy to do, isn’t it? And isn’t it somewhat cathartic? To gripe about your daily routines, that one annoying habit of your husband, the way your child is testing your patience, the constant demands of caring for an elderly parent, the frustration of aching bones, juggling work-life balance, the quirks of a co-worker, waiting in lines, waiting for results, observing people’s life choices who are different from your own, a poorly executed homily, or a less-than-ideal liturgy. It’s easy to stoop to the level of murmuring when we’re slighted, inconvenienced, or facing something that challenges what we always knew. But murmuring breeds division, serving as quiet condemnation and subtly stirring dissent. 

The people listening to Jesus fell into this trap. They were so familiar with Him that when He told them that He was the bread from heaven, they couldn’t help but question this reality. Divinity was obscured from their eyes by their deeply ingrained assumptions about who He was. He was merely little Jesus, the son of Joseph and Mary. Rather than accept divine revelation with faith and trust, they react with doubt and skepticism, murmuring as their ancestors did in the wilderness (Exodus 16). 

The Israelites, too, only saw their immediate situation—they were in the desert without food—and doubted God’s ability to provide, so much so that they longed to go back to slavery where food was at least guaranteed. 

It’s interesting how murmuring often coincides with forgetting God’s past provisions and doubting His omnipotence. The Israelites quickly forgot the many miracles that were performed to free them from their bondage of slavery. The Jews surrounding Jesus forgot that He had just multiplied fish and loaves of bread to feed thousands. We too tend to forget what God has given us when we start our murmuring.

Lately, I’ve been paying more attention to how often I murmur, to how often we, the Church, murmur. No, it might not always be words, but murmured thoughts in the depths of our heart are just as destructive. When we grumble, we fail to see the world with eyes of faith, and we forget the goodness of the Lord. When we murmur, we cling tightly to our preconceived notions, we labor for the things that will never bring eternal life, and we settle for the bread that will ultimately lead to death. 

The toys I have to pick up for the tenth time are indicative of a house filled with life. My husband’s annoying habit—more often than not a mirror to my own vice—is a chance to practice charity and to remember that marriage is a path to mutual sanctification. My child testing my patience, the very child I spent years dreaming of and praying for, is exploring her world with abundant curiosity. And the Mass, oh the Mass, where I receive the Bread of Life, is an encounter with Jesus, a witness of the miracle of miracles, and a glimpse of heaven. 

If we want renewal in our homes, churches, nation, and world, let us stop murmuring and begin celebrating. Let us choose: gratitude and joy over complaint and despair, faith over doubt, and communion over division. 

May we come to the paschal banquet setting aside our preconceived notions, surrendering our disbelief and skepticism. As we do, we will begin to witness transformation. When we invite God into every moment of our day, even the ones we do not fully comprehend, we declare our trust in His goodness and sovereignty and give others permission to do the same. 

Food for thought or journaling...
Sit with Jesus. Quiet your heart. Ask Him to reveal to you the murmurings of your heart. Which ones are clouding your vision of God? How can you shift your perspective from grumbling to gratitude? 

Jesus, bread of heaven, quiet my murmuring heart. May my whole life—my hidden thoughts, the words I speak, every action I take—never detract from You but always testify to Your goodness and truth.