Follow Jesus Christ

We eat only for the present moment. No one has breakfast for next month or eats lunch for their future old age. We’re hungry right now, and right now we go looking for food. The body’s law is amazingly simple, and that’s exactly what Jesus drew on when He said of Himself: “I am the bread of life.” He wasn’t talking about something distant or abstract, but about the closest, most ordinary thing everyone understands without explanation. Hungry? Then come to Me.

Spiritual hunger is harder to spot than physical hunger, but it comes to everyone. Suddenly you feel drained, as if your strength has slipped away. Everything seems meaningless, and inside there’s only emptiness. That is hunger. But hunger itself is not the enemy—it’s a reminder that the soul is still alive and longing for food. The real question is: what do we feed it with? We try to fill ourselves with entertainment, achievements, conversations—but give it a day or two, and the emptiness returns. The soul refuses substitutes.

Those who lived near Jesus had an advantage. To be fed, all they had to do was look at Him, listen to His words, and let them in without resistance. Something inside them came alive: strength returned, fear melted away, confidence reappeared. In Him, God Himself was speaking directly to people, and every word, every gesture, even His very look was like fresh bread—pure, simple life-energy.

Two thousand years have passed, and people are still searching for that bread. Jesus left us the sacrament of communion, and many believe that bread and wine at the liturgy will, in themselves, feed the soul. But symbols work only when they stand behind a real encounter. Without that, the ritual is like a pretty box with nothing inside. You can keep it, treasure it, even put it on a shelf—but hunger won’t go away. The true bread of life is not the morsel in the ceremony, but the living person of Jesus—His character, His words, His spirit.

There’s another crucial point. You can’t stockpile bread. You can’t eat enough for a week in one sitting. Even if you were full yesterday, today hunger returns. The same is true with spiritual bread. Yesterday’s prayer can’t replace today’s. Yesterday’s meeting with God won’t feed you tomorrow. It’s a process you must repeat every day. And there’s something beautifully honest about this: spiritual life never turns into a warehouse where you can hoard supplies. It always demands living contact, here and now.

Too often we forget this and settle for symbols. We’re content with familiar traditions, holidays, eloquent words, theological formulas. But all of that is just wrapping. If we pause and honestly ask ourselves whether Christianity has turned into packaging without bread, the answer can be unsettling. Jesus said of Himself: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” He never said the way was cathedrals or theology books. He never said life could be found in rituals or dogmas. He spoke of Himself personally. If we replace Him with even the most beautiful forms, we remain hungry.

A real encounter with Jesus is like meeting a friend. You can’t live it on credit or stick it on a shelf. It demands honest, ongoing communication. Conversations—even clumsy, simple ones. Careful reading of His words—even when they seem too plain. Attempts to live as He lived—even if we stumble more than succeed. But it’s in those very attempts that we taste the bread that truly satisfies.

And there’s nothing mystical or complicated about it. It’s as simple as eating when you’re hungry. The problem is that we often ignore spiritual hunger or try to stuff it with distractions. We’re afraid to admit the emptiness inside. But admitting hunger is already the first step toward life.

Jesus always spoke about the present moment. His words were never “philosophy for philosophy’s sake”—they were daily bread. Hungry today? Then come and eat today. Tomorrow will bring its own hunger—and fresh bread again. That is the secret of spiritual growth. We live only in the present day, and we can only be fed in the present day. Everything else is an illusion.

Spiritual bread cannot be canned. It cannot be replaced by packaging. It cannot be bought ahead of time. It is given only in the present moment, only in a living encounter with the person of Jesus. And that, perhaps, is the most honest and simple condition of spiritual life: if you’re hungry, come and eat.