“The will of God” can be an intimidating phrase, with connotations of fear and control. In today’s reflection, Justin Telthorst reminds us that the will of God is actually an invitation to a relationship of love and trust with God.

November 2, 2025: The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed (All Souls Day)
Wisdom 3:1-9
Psalm 23:1-3a, 3b-4, 5, 6
Romans 5:5-11 or Romans 6:3-9
John 6:37-40

This Is the Will of God

A reflection by Justin Telthorst

For this is the will of [Abba God], that everyone who sees the [Only Begotten One] and believes in him may have eternal life. John 6:40

Our gospel for this Sunday could easily sound like a pithy list of religious platitudes. Words like “believe” and “eternal life” have often been used to harm and shame, and stripped of context, they can become little more than background noise. But one phrase makes me pause and listen again: “This is the will of God.”

In a time where so many claim to know what God’s will is, I want to pay attention to the moments when Jesus actually names it himself. He says, “This is indeed the will of [Abba God], that all who see the [Only Begotten One] and believe in him may have eternal life.”

At first glance, these words still sound like familiar religious jargon. So, let’s look at where they sit in the story. Just before this, Jesus feeds a crowd of five thousand people. The next day, the crowd comes looking for him, hoping for more bread. And honestly, with today’s grocery prices, who can blame them?

Many interpretations of the subsequent interaction we read today conclude that Jesus is inviting the crowd to “go deeper” and focus more on spiritual matters than physical needs. But that misses something essential. If we reduce the story to spiritual needs over physical ones, we ignore the fact that Jesus is pushing back against the idea of a transactional relationship with God. He is not saying “you give me belief, and I’ll give you bread or eternal life.” He is inviting us to something more human and relational.

The first word to pay attention to here is “see.” This isn’t about a passing glance. It means to observe intently, to contemplate, to investigate. It implies a kind of distance, the space to watch before approaching. Jesus does not demand blind faith or instant trust. He invites us to look, to pay attention, and to consider who he is.

Then comes belief. But belief here isn’t about agreeing to a list of statements. It’s about trust. It’s about entrusting yourself to someone, deciding they are reliable. This is not a single moment; it’s something that grows and unfolds. It’s human.

For many of us, the language of “believing in God” can feel flat or even painful. Too often it has been used like a gatekeeper, deciding who’s in and who’s out. But the story of Jesus points to something different. God became human not to demand unquestioning loyalty, but to be known through relationship. God gives us time to watch, to draw near, to trust.

And for many of us who have been part of the church, trust has been broken. We’ve been rejected, hurt, and told we don’t belong. Jesus’ invitation does not erase those wounds or ask us to pretend they aren’t real. It simply says: there is space here. You can take your time.

What is this all building toward? Eternal life? That phrase can sound hollow and intangible. But this phrase is also much richer. It speaks of an age of divine renewal, the restoration of life itself. It’s about God’s vision for all of creation made whole, not just my personal afterlife. Western Christianity has often reduced heaven to something individualistic, but the biblical vision is always communal. And we aren’t waiting passively for this world to be fixed. Our Christian faith holds that the work and presence of God are already here.

We see God in prayer and in the sacraments, in neighbors and strangers. We entrust ourselves to God through our spiritual life, and every act of trusting one another. The divide between daily bread and heavenly bread is not an either-or. It is a single movement, a shared flow between the human and the divine, an invitation to step into what is already unfolding. The life of God is embodied, tangible, and present, at work here and now.

So when Jesus says, “This is the will of [Abba God],” he isn’t giving us a doctrinal checklist. He is offering an invitation. God’s will is not about control or fear. It is about a relationship, learning to trust again, and drawing us into the work of restoration.

For those who have felt far from faith, this is not a demand to perform belief. It’s a gentle invitation to be seen, to take your time, to rebuild trust. For communities that claim to follow Jesus, it’s a call to mirror that same patient love and to earn trust where it has been lost.

This is the will of God: that all who search and trust may share in a life that restores and makes Whole.

May it be so.

Justin Telthorst is a speaker, writer, and content creator who is passionate about LGBT+ and Catholic dialogue. He has over a decade of experience navigating Church ministry, including five years as a missionary with FOCUS. Drawing from his rich background in philosophy, theology, and psychology, he offers a thoughtful and compassionate approach to the pastoral care and inclusion of LGBT+ Catholics, rooted in years of deep formation and pastoral experience. He is dedicated to fostering community among LGBT+ Catholics and making the Church a safe and welcoming place for all. When not working as a nurse, the Colorado-based advocate enjoys hiking and trail running. You can find his work at Empty Chairs.