THE FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST

September 17, 2006

 

Isaiah 50:4-9

James 2:1-5,8-10, 14-18

Mark 8: 27-38

Proper 19/B

 

Many years ago now, when I had completed the first two years of seminary basics, I was deep into what I considered to be the really exciting stuff, systematic theology, where the purely philosophical and theological meet; and the men and the women are definitely separated from the boys and the girls. In the midst of all that exercise of grey matter, one of my theology professors gave us a handout. It read:

 

And Jesus said unto them, “Who do you say that I am?” And they replied “You are the eschatological manifestation of the ground of our being; the Kerygma in which we find the ultimate meaning of our interpersonal relationship”…and Jesus said unto them, “WHAT?!”

 

That message was posted on the professor’s office door and we all knew what it meant. It meant that as soon as we become impressed with our own thinking about God, we will be catapulted back into the reality that God is beyond our knowing. That’s what happened to Peter. It happens to all of us. It’s about expectations vs. reality. It’s about who we think God is as opposed to who God actually is.

 

It’s the same with Jesus. Ask us who Jesus is and we’ll tell you he’s meek and mild, bringing to us a feel-good sort of God, adding a bit of security here and a dash of pleasure there. Most people want just enough of Jesus to feel protected, like a vaccination; enough to protect you but not enough to cause you undo distress. It is into those kinds of expectations that Jesus comes today, ripping Peter apart; not to mention the other disciples perhaps cowering in the background.

 

Mark, Chapter 8, verse 27, is known as the lynch-pin, the watershed of the entire gospel. Every previous moment, every previous expectation leads up to this place. The place was Caesarea Philippi. Caesarea Philippi had once been the worship center of the god Baal. To this day it is called Banias, which is a form of Panias; because on the hillside there was a cave said to be the birthplace of the Greek god Pan. In the hillside rose a temple of gleaming white marble, which had been built to Caesar, the one true god, as the Roman world called him.

 

It was against this backdrop that Jesus spoke to Peter and the others today. Up until now Jesus has run out demons, healed all manner of diseases, and told lots of interesting stories. But Peter seems to be getting impatient.

 

It is well to remember here that the concept of the Messiah in Jewish thought did not imply a divine being, but a human being. The popular hope was that a descendant of King David would raise an army to drive any oppressors out. Then, like David, the Messiah would be installed as king and would set up an earthly reign.

 

So when Jesus asks, “Who do people say that I am?”, after everybody else has pointed out the obvious possibilities, Peter says, “You are the Messiah”, as in, ‘So let’s get on with it. Let’s go to Jerusalem so the revolution can begin!’. But when Jesus says that instead of a revolution suffering is looming on the horizon Peter will not hear of it. And that’s when Jesus let him have it.

 

Why does Jesus become so angry with Peter? It’s because Peter was willing to cave in to a lie about God.  No doubt Peter wanted – and expected – Jesus to just keep on healing people and telling parables and blessing babies until he died a greatly admired benevolent leader of Jerusalem. Instead, all the storybook endings and expectations crumbled that day at Caesarea Philippi, because when Peter says, “This must not happen to you!”, what he really means is “This must not happen to you because if it can happen to you it can happen to me!”.

 

As one professor of New Testament writes: “Although it is true that ‘with God all things are possible,’ it is hard to speak truth to power and then spend summers at the lake. Jesus will speak truth to power, and power will squash him like a gnat.”

 

And that’s where the rub comes in, isn’t it? Because Jesus will not lie about who God is. If God is Love, as Jesus says, then risk and vulnerability cannot be taken out of the equation. Lest we are tempted to see the Kingdom of God as just another power structure, what the cross shows us are two diametrically opposed kinds of power. Herod used his power to lock up dissenters and behead John the Baptist. Jesus used his power to heal the sick and raise the dead. He consistently refused to use coercive power. He rejected every compromise with the authorities, the crowds, the Romans; even with Peter whom he loved.

 

Philip Yancey writes:  “Despite Jesus’ plain example, many of his followers have been unable to resist choosing the way of Herod over that of Jesus…History shows that when the church uses the tools of the world’s kingdom it becomes as ineffectual, or as tyrannical, as any other power structure….Power, no matter how well-intentioned, tends to cause suffering. Love, being vulnerable, tends to absorb it. In a point of convergence on a hill called Calvary, God renounced the one for the sake of the other”.

 

It is through the servant’s wounds that we are healed, said Isaiah, not his miracles. So the question is, if God can wrestle the triumph of Easter out of the jaws of apparent defeat in the horrific events of Good Friday, what might that mean for our own personal fears and failures in this world?

 

We are just common ordinary disciples. We are not up against the powers of Rome, but we know about power and we know about fear. We don’t like it that God calls us to bold and risky journeys. It’s easier to slide under our bed or under a pew. It’s easier to listen than to answer, easier to be an observer than a doer, easier to pray than to move. At times our fears may squeeze the very breath out of us. But Jesus says if you allow your fears to hold you hostage they will kill you long before you physically die.

 

In his book “The Silver Chair”, C.S. Lewis gives us a dialogue between the little girl Jill and the lion Aslan, Aslan says to Jill, “Are you thirsty?” “I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill. “Then drink,” said the Lion. “May I, could I, would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill. The Lion answered this only by a look and very low growl. And, as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked a mountain to move aside for her convenience. The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic. “Will you promise not to do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill. “I make no promise, said the Lion. Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer. “Do you eat girls?” she asked. “I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it. “I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill. “Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion. “Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream them.” “There is no other stream,” said the Lion.

 

In the same way, as scripture declares, there is no God BUT God and the God Jesus reveals to us is a God who chooses vulnerability because sacrificial love is the essence of God’s Being. Two thousand years after Jesus walked this earth fear of Rome is not at the top of our list, but other fears and powers remain alive and well.

 

 

Barbara Brown Taylor writes:

 

“Jesus) does not tell his followers to go find their crosses.. he is pretty sure they already know right where they are. He just encourages them… to stop covering them up and tripping over them and pretending they are not there. He urges them to squat down and pick them up...My guess is that each of us has something of which we are deathly afraid.. Maybe it is the fear of standing up for something you believe in, or telling the truth about who you are to people….that is your cross….If you turn away from it then you deny God the chance to show you the greatest mystery of them all: that right there in the dark fist of your worst fear, is the door to abundant life”.

 

This week I had a lengthy conversation on the telephone with someone out of state who told me about coming to the moment when she faced a great fear. It involved a letter she had to write. She said, “The moment I put  that letter in the mail I felt a weight lift from me that was incredible”.  This is what Jesus means when he tells us that in losing our lives we will find them. This is what Peter would ultimately come to understand; so much so that he was willingly lifted onto his own cross. But because of who Jesus is, we trust that he was lifted to the dazzling brightness of God’s presence, whose name is Love and everlasting Savior.

 

                                                                                                       AMEN

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rev.Virginia L. Bennett, D.Min.

St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church

Edwardsville, Illinois

 

 

  *Hooper Walter, ed, C.S. Lewis: Readings for Meditation and Reflection, HarperCollins Pub., 1992, p.1.