YOU ARE STARVING
OPENING
This morning, I want us to look at a pattern in Scripture that shows up everywhere. It continuously resurfaces — different people, different centuries. But the same issue keeps coming back. And if we’re honest, it’s the same one we’re dealing with right now.
I want us to spend some time in the Gospel of John this morning — chapters 4 through 7. And there’s something that runs through all of them. Something John keeps pointing out.
if you have your bibles, you can follow along there. Although, as usual, we’ll have verses on the screen.
I would like to start by taking a look at how John introduces these chapters:
- John 5:1 — ‘After this there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem.’
- John 6:4 — ‘Now the Passover, a feast of the Jews, was near.’
- John 7:2 — ‘Now the Jews’ Feast of Tabernacles was at hand.’
John keeps marking time by the feasts. Over and over.
These weren’t just holidays. These were the heartbeat of Jewish life. Massive celebrations where people would travel from all over to Jerusalem. Feasting. Singing. Remembering God’s provision. Celebrating abundance.
And Jesus keeps showing up at them… Not after they’re over. Not before they start. In the middle of them.
And every time He shows up, He either does something or says something that disrupts the celebration.
But before we get to that, I want to zoom in on one feast in particular. The Feast of Tabernacles. Because that’s where John 7 takes place. And I think if we understand what this feast was first, then we’ll come to understand what Jesus is doing when He stands up and cries out.
WHAT WAS THE FEAST OF TABERNACLES?
So, I did a little research on this… Here’s a general image of what the Feast of the Tabernacles looked like in that time period:
[SLIDE: Image of a sukkah — a temporary shelter made of branches]
The Feast of Tabernacles — also called Sukkot
- 7 day festival that happened every fall
- It was 1 of the 3 major pilgrimage feasts (every Jewish male was required to go to Jerusalem if they could)
Here’s what it was about:
1. Remembering the wilderness.
After God brought Israel out of Egypt, they wandered in the desert for 40 years. And during that time, they didn’t live in houses. They lived in temporary shelters — tents, booths made of branches and leaves. Sukkot.
So every year, during this feast, Jewish families would build these temporary shelters outside their homes and live in them for seven days. Eating meals in them. Sleeping in them. Remembering: ‘We were wanderers. We were dependent on God. And He provided.’
2. Celebrating the harvest.
This feast happened at the end of the agricultural year, after all the crops had been gathered. So it was also a harvest celebration. Abundance. Plenty. Thanksgiving.
The people would bring offerings to the temple. They’d sing psalms. They’d wave palm branches. It was loud. It was joyful. It was a party.
3. Looking forward to God’s kingdom.
There was also a future hope woven into it. The prophets spoke about a day when all nations would come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Feast of Tabernacles with Israel. A day when God would dwell with His people permanently — not in temporary shelters, but in His eternal kingdom.
So this feast was about the past, the present, and the future all at once.
Past: ‘God provided in the wilderness.‘
Present: ‘God is providing now — look at the harvest.‘
Future: ‘God will dwell with us forever.’
So here’s another picture:
[SLIDE: Image of the temple or crowds at a festival]
It was one of the most celebratory, abundant, joyful feasts on the calendar. People came from all over. The city was packed. There was food everywhere. Music. Dancing. Rituals in the temple.
Everything looked right. Everyone’s bellies were full. The celebration was at its peak.
And that’s when Jesus shows up.
JESUS AT THE FEAST
Now, here’s what you need to know about Jesus leading up to this moment.
His brothers — His own family — come to Him before the feast and say, ‘Go to Jerusalem. Show Yourself. If You’re really who You say You are, go public. Make a name for Yourself.’
But John tells us: ‘For even His brothers did not believe in Him.’
They’re thinking like the world thinks. ‘If You’ve got something, show it off. Be part of the celebration. Build Your platform.’
And Jesus says:
John 7:6-8 (NKJV)
“Then Jesus said to them, ‘My time has not yet come, but your time is always ready. The world cannot hate you, but it hates Me because I testify of it that its works are evil. You go up to this feast. I am not yet going up to this feast, for My time has not yet fully come.‘”
Think about that. Jesus is saying: You fit in. You’re synchronized with the world’s rhythm. The world loves you because you’re part of its system — its celebration, its feast, its ‘having it all together.’
But Me? I stand against that. Not because I’m trying to ruin the party. But because I testify that what you’re calling a feast is actually starving you.
So He tells them, ‘You go up to this feast. I’m not going yet.’ And they leave.
But then — verse 10 says — ‘when His brothers had gone up, then He also went up to the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret.’
He goes. Not to perform. Not to build His platform. But to speak truth in the middle of the celebration.
Halfway through the feast, He starts teaching in the temple. And people are divided. Some say, ‘This is a teacher.’ Others say, ‘He deceives the people.’ The leaders send officers to arrest Him.
There’s tension. There’s debate. There’s confusion.
And then — on the last day, that great day of the feast — the climax of the celebration — Jesus stands up and cries out.
John 7:37-39 (NKJV)
“On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’ But this He spoke concerning the Spirit, whom those believing in Him would receive; for the Holy Spirit was not yet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified.”
It’s the last day of the feast.
Everyone’s bellies are full. The harvest has been celebrated. The rituals have been done. Everything looks right.
And then Jesus stands up and cries out:
‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.’
You can be surrounded by celebration and still be thirsty.
He’s not talking to the obviously broken. He’s not crying out to the outcasts on the edges. He’s standing in the middle of the most joyful, abundant, celebratory feast of the year, and He says: ‘If anyone thirsts…’
Because He knows.
He knows that underneath all the noise, underneath all the food and the music and the rituals and the abundance, there are people who are silently aching.
And this isn’t the first time He’s done this.
Let me take you back a couple chapters.
JESUS’ PATTERN: JOHN 4 / JOHN 6
In John 4, Jesus is at a well. He meets a woman who’s come to draw water… we know her as the “Woman at the well.”
John Crist (comedian)
“It’s funny that when Jesus meets someone, They never have a name. Wherever He meets them it’s just the description of where He saw them. That’s their name for the rest of recorded human history. “Jesus and the Woman at the well.” You don’t think she’s upset at that? Like, “first of all, my name’s Hannah — Could you put that in there? I was at the well, but I was at the House, I was also at the store…”
This is what Jesus says to her — and is teaching us today:
John 4:13-14 (NKJV)
“‘Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.‘”
She’s been trying to fill a void. Five husbands. A sixth man. She keeps coming back to the well because she keeps getting thirsty. And Jesus says, ‘I have water that will make it so you never thirst again.’
Then, later in the chapter, the disciples come back with food. They’re like, ‘Rabbi, eat.’
And Jesus says:
John 4:32, 34 (NKJV)
“‘I have food to eat of which you do not know.’ … ‘My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me, and to finish His work.‘”
The disciples are thinking about lunch. Jesus is talking about a completely different kind of hunger.
He’s saying: I’m fed by something you don’t understand yet.
Then, in John 6, Jesus feeds five thousand people. Miracle. Everyone’s amazed. (Mark 6) Their bellies are full. And the next day, the crowd comes looking for Him again.
But Jesus calls them out. He says:
John 6:26-27 (NKJV)
“‘Most assuredly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw the signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled. Do not labor for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to everlasting life, which the Son of Man will give you, because God the Father has set His seal on Him.‘”
You’re not seeking Me because you saw signs. You’re seeking Me because you ate the loaves and were filled. You want more bread.
And then He says:
John 6:35 (NKJV)
“‘I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst.‘”
And later:
John 6:53-54 (NKJV)
“‘Most assuredly, 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 eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.‘”
This offends people. They start grumbling. ‘How can this Man give us His flesh to eat?’
And John tells us: many of His disciples went back and walked with Him no more.
They wanted the miracle bread. They wanted their physical needs met. But when Jesus said, ‘I AM the bread’ — when He made it about Himself, not just what He could give them — they left.
Because they weren’t hungry for Him. They were hungry for what He could do for them.
So now we’re in John 7. And Jesus does it again.
At a feast celebrating God’s provision in the wilderness. At a feast celebrating the harvest. At a feast where everyone’s eating and drinking and celebrating abundance.
Jesus stands up and cries out: ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.’
And look at how they respond.
John 7:40-43 (NKJV)
“Therefore many from the crowd, when they heard this saying, said, ‘Truly this is the Prophet.’ Others said, ‘This is the Christ.’ But some said, ‘Will the Christ come out of Galilee? Has not the Scripture said that the Christ comes from the seed of David and from the town of Bethlehem, where David was?’ So there was a division among the people because of Him.”
Some say, ‘This is the Christ.’ Others say, ‘Will the Christ come out of Galilee?’
They start debating. Arguing. Dissecting it conceptually instead of receiving it spiritually.
And here’s the irony: Jesus WAS born in Bethlehem. He IS from the seed of David. (We’ll get into that part…)
But they don’t know that. They’re so busy debating theology, they miss the invitation.
He’s not judging them yet. He’s crying out to them.
He’s saying: You’re at a feast, but you’re still hungry. You’re celebrating, but you’re still thirsty. Come to Me.
This isn’t condemnation. This is compassion. This is an invitation.
And I think that’s where a lot of us are.
We’re surrounded by good things. We’ve got the routines down. We show up. We do the right things. But internally? There’s this ache. This yearning. This hunger we can’t quite name.
And instead of owning it, we can respond a few different ways with it:
- We debate it
- We analyze it
- We numb it
But Jesus is crying out: ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.’
Not ‘if you’ve got it all figured out.‘
Not ‘if you’re spiritually mature enough.‘
If you’re thirsty.
So this morning, I want to talk about that thirst. That hunger. Where it comes from. What we do with it. And what happens when we keep ignoring Jesus’ invitation.
Because a few decades later, Jesus speaks to a church. And this time, it’s not just an invitation. It’s a warning.
THE DIAGNOSIS
Let’s fast-forward… Jesus is now resurrected, ascended, glorified. The Holy Spirit has been given. And Jesus is speaking to a church.
Let me read you what He says.
Revelation 3:14-17 (NKJV)
“And to the angel of the church of the Laodiceans write, ‘These things says the Amen, the Faithful and True Witness, the Beginning of the creation of God: I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot. So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth. Because you say, “I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing”—and do not know that you are wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked—’”
Hear the echo?
Back in John 7, Jesus’ brothers said, ‘Show Yourself to the world. Be part of the celebration.’
And Jesus said, ‘The world cannot hate you, but it hates Me because I testify of it that its works are evil.’
Now, in Revelation 3, the church is saying, ‘I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing.’
And Jesus says, ‘You do not know that you are wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked.’
Same issue. Different people.
The church at Laodicea has become synchronized with the world. They’re celebrating. They’re wealthy. They’re comfortable. They think they’re feasting.
And Jesus says: You’re starving and you don’t even know it.
Not cold. Not hot. Just… lukewarm. Going through the motions. Consuming all the things the world offers and calling it ‘blessed.’
‘I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing.’
That’s the most dangerous lie.
Because when you think you’re full, you stop seeking what actually fills.
Here’s how you know you’re starving: You can’t stop eating.
Constant inputs. Food, social media, work, entertainment, content — even good Christian stuff. But underneath? Anxiety. Emptiness. That low-grade ache you can’t name.
You think you’re feasting, but you’re starving.
I spent a lot of my 20s without a car. Living in Humboldt Park in Chicago. Walking to the CTA, taking the BNSF line out to the suburbs — hour and forty minutes one way — two, three times a week.
I loved it. The freedom. Being on my own.
But what I really loved was the train ride itself. Looking out the window. Ambient music in my ears. Just feeling.
That eternal yearning. That longing for something just beyond the edge of what’s here. It made me feel like I was living beyond this world. Like it was feeding my soul.
But here’s the thing: I found myself leaning into nostalgia. Into yearning. And it hurt more than it fed.
It always left this tinge of sadness. Like watching a sunset. Beautiful. But you know it’s going to set. And then it’s just a memory. Time ends.
I was thirsty for eternal things. But the shadow side of that thirst? It was a thirst for what I couldn’t have. Nostalgia. Eternity. The unexplainable.
And instead of filling me, it created emptiness.
I wasn’t being known in reality. I was just living in feeling. In what I couldn’t name or touch.
And that’s the thing about feeding on yearning — it promises depth but leaves you hollow.
The problem isn’t thirst.
The tragedy is pretending you’re not thirsty.
So how did we get here?
THE TRESPASS
Let me take you back to the beginning.
Genesis 2:16-17 (NKJV)
“And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, ‘Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.‘”
Genesis 3:6 (NKJV)
“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree desirable to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate. She also gave to her husband with her, and he ate.”
God gave us an entire garden. ‘Of every tree you may freely eat.’ Abundance. Freedom. Real choice.
One tree withheld. Not because God is stingy. But because God sets boundaries.
And we crossed that line. We took what wasn’t given.
That’s what trespass means. Trans — across. Gradi — to step. You stepped over the boundary.
The human appetite turns destructive the moment it bleeds past what God gives.
Not because desire is bad. But because desire without boundary becomes parasitic. It consumes at the expense of the host.
Psalm 42 says, ‘As the deer pants for the water, so my soul longs after You.’
The deer isn’t trespassing. It’s thirsty for what it was made to drink.
We — since Eden — pant for the thing God told us not to eat.
That’s where the rot starts.
And here’s what happens when we’re spiritually starving:
We feel the ache. We know something’s missing.
But instead of naming it honestly — ‘I’m thirsty for God’ — we grab whatever’s closest.
We want intimacy, so we reach for sex or validation or someone who makes us feel seen.
We want rest, so we reach for approval or achievement or the next thing that might finally make us feel okay.
We want connection, so we reach for noise — music, screens, people, anything to not sit with the silence.
And none of it works.
Because what we’re actually thirsting for is the unseen — what we were made for but haven’t touched yet.
When your soul is starving, your flesh goes hunting. And it doesn’t heal you. It eats you.
One thing I used to do — also in my 20s — was I’d carry trail mix everywhere. And I’d buy those big smoothies from the grocery store. I’d snack on the trail mix all day. Smoothie kept me feeling full.
I thought I was doing fine. It wasn’t like I was eating bad.
But every time I’d go visit my mom during Thanksgiving, she’d look at me and say, “You need some nourishment.” And then she’d feed me. As moms do.
I’d come back home looking healthier. More solid.
Because I thought I was eating fine. But I wasn’t learning the discipline of actually cooking. Of feeding myself real food. Real nourishment.
I was just eating what worked. What was convenient. What fit my lifestyle.
And my body was starving for something I didn’t even know I was missing.
It’s false eating.
The problem isn’t that you’re hungry.
It’s where you go with the hunger.
So we trespassed. We created the void.
But here’s the wild thing: God doesn’t walk away from the void. He plants something in it.
THE SEED
A few weeks back, I was reading Matthew 1. The genealogy of Jesus. Matthew starts His gospel off this way:
Matthew 1:1, 17 (summarized)
“The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ, the Son of David, the Son of Abraham… So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations, from David until the captivity in Babylon are fourteen generations, and from the captivity in Babylon until the Christ are fourteen generations.”
Fourteen generations from Abraham to David.
Fourteen from David to the Babylonian captivity.
Fourteen from the captivity to Christ.
Look at the middle section: captivity. Exile. The void where it felt like everything was lost.
And right there in the list — verse 6 — David and Bathsheba. Literal sin woven into the lineage.
David, the man after God’s own heart, has an affair. Commits murder to cover it up. Creates a mess.
And God says: I’m still using this.
The seed keeps growing.
Even when Saul was king and everything looked hopeless, God anointed David.
Even when David sinned, God kept the line moving.
Even in captivity, in exile, in the void — the seed was growing.
Even when we create the void through our own trespass, God plants something in it.
John 12:24 (NKJV)
“Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain.”
The seed goes into the ground — burial, darkness — before it becomes a harvest.
The grape has to be crushed to become wine.
The olive pressed to release oil.
The caterpillar sealed in a cocoon to become a butterfly.
The fruit has to give itself to become something greater.
Jesus Himself was crushed. His blood like wine. His life poured out like oil.
He entered the void — the tomb — so we could be filled.
And that’s why discipline and restraint aren’t punishment — they’re preparation.
Restraint reveals what you’ve been feeding on. Fasting exposes what controls you.
You can’t feast on Jesus if you’re stuffed with everything else.
So if God plants seed in the void, the question is: What is He actually inviting us to eat?
THE KNOCK
I want to end by going back to Revelation 3. Jesus isn’t just diagnosing the problem. He’s offering the solution.
But notice the difference now.
In John 4, Jesus offered living water to a woman at a well.
In John 6, He said, ‘I am the bread of life.‘
In John 7, He cried out at the feast. An invitation. Compassion. ‘If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.’
Now, in Revelation 3, it’s counsel. It’s admonishment. Because time has passed. The Spirit has been given. And the church still hasn’t come to drink.
Revelation 3:18-20 (NKJV)
“I counsel you to buy from Me gold refined in the fire, that you may be rich; and white garments, that you may be clothed, that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed; and anoint your eyes with eye salve, that you may see. As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten. Therefore be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.”
God’s answer to your starvation isn’t ‘try harder’ or ‘sin less.’
It’s: ‘Come eat what I’m offering.’
Gold refined by fire — real treasure, not the counterfeit wealth of the world.
White garments — covering your shame, not the fake confidence you’ve been wearing.
Salve for your eyes — so you can actually see, not just consume what looks good.
And then: ‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.’
This is written to a church. Jesus is outside His own people, knocking.
Think about that. The One who created the feast is standing outside, asking to be let in.
The One who said ‘I am the bread of life’ is now saying, ‘I’m at the door. Will you let Me in?‘
CHRISTMAS AT THE TABLE
And maybe that’s what we’re really celebrating this season.
Christmas isn’t just a story about a baby. It’s about God stepping into the void we created.
A seed planted in a forgotten town.
The Bread of Life starting His story in a feeding trough.
That’s not an accident. That’s a sign.
God looked at our starvation — our fake feasts, our false eating, our constant hunger that nothing could satisfy — and He said: I’m coming to you.
Not in power. Not in a palace. But as bread. As wine. As something to be broken and poured out.
The One we’ve been thirsting for became something we could taste.
The Feast came to the table.
Jesus didn’t come to judge the world’s celebration. He came to offer something better. Something real. Something that actually fills.
And He’s still knocking.
Still saying: ‘If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in and dine with him.’
You can’t feast on Him if you’re gorging on everything else.
Restraint isn’t punishment. It’s clearing room at the table.
Real spiritual life begins the moment you stop numbing the ache and start owning it.
That’s where Jesus meets you. Not at the end of your striving. But at the edge of your need.
ACTION STEP
Identify one thing you’re constantly consuming to not feel empty.
Say no to it once when you normally say yes.
Use that ache as a cue to turn to Jesus — prayer, scripture, worship, honest silence.
Not done as a formula. But as a posture.
Because the table is set.
CLOSING
And in just a moment, we’re going to come to that table together.
So here’s the question before we do:
What have you been calling a feast that’s actually starving you?
Will you let Jesus tell you the truth about it so He can actually feed you?
Let me read one more thing.
Psalm 42:1-2 (NKJV)
“As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.”
Go ahead and grab the elements from your table.
COMMUNION
We do this every week. But I want us to do it differently today.
This isn’t habit. This isn’t tradition.
This is the answer to the ache. This is Jesus saying, ‘I AM the bread. I AM the wine. Come and be filled.’
And this is what Christmas is about. God looked at our starvation — our fake feasts, our false eating — and He said: I’m coming to you.
Not in power. But as bread. As wine. As something broken and poured out so we could taste what’s real.
The Bread of Life started His story in a feeding trough. That’s the sign. God becomes consumable. God becomes the feast.
So when you take this bread, you’re not just remembering. You’re receiving. You’re saying: Jesus, I’m hungry. Feed me.
[Take the bread together]
“This is His body, which was broken for you. He died so that we may be made whole.”
[Take the cup together]
“This is His blood, poured out for you.”
[Prayer as musicians come up]
Father, thank You for not leaving us empty. Thank You for stepping into the void. For becoming the feast when we were starving. Meet us here. Fill us with what only You can give. Teach us what it means to be satisfied in You. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
[Song: “Take Emptiness Away”]