Liam found his brother, Mark, in the backyard, throwing a football with his son. Mark was the successful one, the one who seemed to have it all figured out. He was a partner at his law firm, had a beautiful family, and lived a life that Liam had always envied.

‘He’s got a great arm,’ Liam said, nodding toward his nephew.

‘He does,’ Mark agreed, a rare, unguarded smile on his face. ‘But he’s got no interest in playing for the school team. He’d rather be in the drama club.’

‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Liam said.

‘I know. It’s just… not what I expected.’ Mark paused, then looked at Liam. ‘You seem different this year. Calmer.’

Liam was surprised. He hadn’t realized it was so noticeable. ‘I guess I am,’ he said. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About what really matters.’

He decided to take a risk. ‘I’ve been reading the Bible. The Gospel of John.’

Mark raised an eyebrow. ‘Still into that stuff, huh? I grew out of it in college. All the contradictions, the theological debates… I couldn’t reconcile it all. Sovereignty and free will, predestination and choice… it’s a mess.’

‘I used to think so too,’ Liam said. ‘I used to think I had to have it all figured out before I could believe. But I read something that changed my perspective.’

He pulled out his phone and found the verse. ‘Jesus says, “All those the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away.”’

‘See?’ Mark said, gesturing with the football. ‘Contradiction. Either God chooses us, or we choose him. It can’t be both.’

‘I don’t think it’s a contradiction,’ Liam said slowly, working it out as he spoke. ‘I think it’s a paradox. It’s two truths held in tension. It’s like… it’s like this football. From my perspective, I can choose to pick it up or leave it on the ground. That’s my choice. But from a higher perspective, the laws of physics are governing everything about this ball — its mass, its velocity, the force of gravity acting on it. My choice and the laws of physics are both true at the same time. They operate on different levels.’

He continued, ‘The first part of the verse — “All those the Father gives me will come to me” — that’s God’s perspective. It’s the ultimate reality, the divine physics of salvation. It gives me security, knowing that this whole thing is in his hands, not mine.

‘The second part — “whoever comes to me I will never drive away” — that’s my perspective. It’s the human experience. It’s the open invitation. It gives me responsibility and assurance. It means the door is always open. I don’t have to worry about whether I’m one of the “chosen.” I just have to come.’

Mark was silent, looking at the football in his hands. He didn’t seem convinced, but he was listening.

‘I spent my whole life trying to earn my way, to prove I was good enough,’ Liam said. ‘For Dad, for you, for God. I thought it was all up to me. But realizing that God is the one doing the work, that he’s the one drawing me… it’s like a huge weight has been lifted. And at the same time, knowing that the invitation is open to whoever comes… it makes me want to come. It’s not a contradiction; it’s a comfort.’

He didn’t know if his words had made any difference to his brother. But they had made a difference to him. In trying to explain the paradox, he had come to understand it more deeply himself. His faith was not a philosophical puzzle to be solved, but a relationship to be lived, held securely in the tension between God’s sovereign hand and his open arms.

Despite seeing Jesus’s miracles, hearing his teaching, and witnessing his claim to be the bread of life, many in the crowd still did not believe. Jesus diagnosed their condition bluntly: ‘You have seen me and still you do not believe.’ Their unbelief set the stage for Jesus’s teaching on the Father’s sovereign role in drawing people to himself.