Sermon: Who do you say that I am? (Sept. 15, 2024)

Pentecost 17B
September 15, 2024
Mark 8:27-38

INTRODUCTION

Isaiah begins today’s reading with, “The Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word.” But I might call today’s readings more wearying than sustaining. Isaiah goes on to describe what is known as “the suffering servant,” a description some Christians believe foretells Jesus and his ministry. James has some tough words for us about the dangers of an unbridled tongue – something that should hit where it hurts anyone who has ever said something that has hurt or caused harm, or that they later regret.

But the most difficult reading comes from Mark, in which Jesus will ask his disciples that famous question, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter will give an answer that’s partly right, but from there, Jesus will fill in what he missed – about his need to suffer and die – and well, that doesn’t go as well for Peter. Turns out the life of discipleship might be tougher and require less obvious victory and domination than the disciples first imagined. This conversation happens in a significant location, as well, which I’ll get into in my sermon – but for now you should know that Caesarea Philippi is a city that oozes Roman imperialism. And for Peter to call Jesus the Messiah in this place is an overtly political statement, that expresses a hope that Jesus will overturn this government and reinstate the throne of David. So: you might say, this is tense.

As you listen today, think about the question that Jesus poses: who do you say that Jesus is? Who do you want him to be, and how does he actually show up for you? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

When I was interviewing for placement for my first call out of seminary, those of us who were assigned to this region, region 7, had what we called “bishop speed dating.” In the course of one day, we interviewed with as many bishops from as many synods as time would allow, and then the bishops and their staff got together and placed all of us. No pressure, right? I interviewed with three synods, and looking back, the whole thing is now a blur except for one moment that stays with me. When I interviewed with the Upstate NY Synod, the bishop asked me, “Who is Jesus? I don’t want your seminary answer; I want an answer in everyday language that people in the pews would understand. Who is Jesus?” I don’t remember everything I said, but I do remember that by the end of my answer, several of us around the table (especially the then-bishop and myself) were in tears. 

This is a question that matters deeply. And as I’m sure you noticed, today’s text is where it comes from. The location of this conversation is everything: they are walking into Caesarea Philippi. You see, this was a very politically charged place. Once a place of great significance to the Israelites, it was now occupied by the Romans. It is the epitome of Roman imperialism. When King Philip gained power in 4 BC, he named the place “Caesarea” to flatter his patron, Caesar Augustus, and Philippi to acknowledge himself (so basically, Philip’s Caesarville). Caesar Augustus, by the way, had given himself another title: divi fillius, son of the divine. He liked this self-appointed title so much that he had it engraved on the coin that bore his image: “Caesar Augustus, son of God.”

And now here, in this place of idolatry and imperialism, this place named for the Roman oppressor’s hero, Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” And Peter gives a shocking answer: “You are the Messiah.”

Now, today we might not feel the full impact of this. Yes of course he’s the Messiah, we think. For some of us, it has rolled off our tongues since childhood. Jesus Christ, Jesus the Messiah, Jesus the anointed one. But this was an incredibly loaded title. You see, in the ancient world, among the Jews were those who were waiting expectantly for the Messiah to come – a messiah, who would be a great deliverer! It was generally thought this messiah, this anointed one, would be a king, who would come with military might, to deliver the people from bondage – at this particular time, someone who would liberate Israel from Roman occupation. This king would come in glory as a military conqueror, and restore the throne to the rightful line of King David (who was also called the anointed one, by the way, the messiah, and was a military conqueror under whom Israel was at its strongest). 

Based on what happens after Peter’s declaration, it was very likely that this violent, glorious vision of the Messiah was what Peter had in mind when he called Jesus by that name. He was expressing his deep hope that Jesus was there to restore the Davidic line, to deliver them, to liberate them from Roman oppression – and even, to use military might to do it. 

But Jesus has something else in mind. Jesus does not intend, as Peter expected, to lead them marching into Caesarea Philippi as weapon-bearing conquerors. In fact, Jesus says, it would be the opposite of that. He chooses this moment to introduce his most difficult and counter-intuitive teaching of all: that he, Jesus, must undergo suffering, be rejected, and be killed, and in three days rise again. This teaching is so important, that Jesus will repeat it in chapter 9, and once more in chapter 10. 

Imagine how Peter must feel, hearing this! This is not at all what Peter hoped for! How could Jesus be the conqueror, the winner, the restorer of Israel, if he was going to suffer and die? This was no Messiah, at least no Messiah that Peter was interested in getting behind.

Now, what would you do, if you had put all your hope in someone, in some specific outcome – indeed that you had dropped everything to pursue that hope – and you were told by that person that something very different would happen? If I really and truly believed in that thing, I would stay and fight for it. “No, no,” I’d say. “That isn’t right. That is not how this is supposed to go! Listen, let me tell you how it really is.” And that is just what Peter does. Mark tells us, that Peter took him aside (he didn’t want to embarrass his friend, I suspect!) and began to rebuke him. “Jesus,” I imagine him saying, “This is no good. If you’re the Messiah, you can’t be talking about suffering and dying. That’s not good messaging. No one will want to get behind that.” Really, it was the kind thing to do, the thing that could save the mission, and keep people from turning away.

But Jesus flips the script, rebuking Peter instead. “No, Pete,” he responds. “No, you need to get behind me, get behind this message. You are trying to push me in the opposite direction of the way I now must travel. Get out of my way, and get behind me. This is the way we are going.”

And then Jesus calls them all together – because everyone needs to hear this next part. And there, within view of that temple of empire and domination, Caesarea Philippi, Jesus describes his vision. “If you’re here for a violent campaign,” he says, “if you’re here for domination or triumph, then you can turn back now. That’s not who I am, or what I’m about. We’re not here in this place to conquer this temple. We are heading all the way to Jerusalem, and then on, to conquer the cross, that weapon of imperial terror. From the cross, we’ll head to the tomb, but then into new life, and then beyond that into a new community that is characterized not by violence and domination, but by love, gentleness, and justice. This is not a movement based on self-centered grasping for power; that is the way of Caesar. My way, is to let go of all that, to give it up, for the sake of the gospel of love and justice. We are not going to seek out suffering, but we must be willing to endure it, to take up the cross, because suffering is often along the way toward this radical gospel of love. Violence and attack are the easy way. Love, is the way of life.”

“If you want to come,” Jesus goes on, “then take up your cross and come on. Let’s move together toward justice and love and humility and kindness and compassion – those things that may seem weak or fragile but are stronger and more impactful than anything the empire has to offer. They are things that can heal this hurting world. But have no illusions. This will not be a triumphant march. Like all movements of love, kindness, and justice, there will be suffering along the way. There will be crosses to bear. But far more than that, there will be resurrection and new life. So take up your cross, and follow me.”

The Roman empire has long since fallen. But the problem of empire is still very much a part of our reality. We are always faced with the choice to choose love over fear, and justice over complacency, and compassion over anger. We always have the choice to seek domination and self-serving, or, building each other up. We can approach life with hands clenched into fists, ready to cling to our own way, or punch down someone else, or we can open our hands in generosity and strength – and be ready to faithfully and gratefully receive the gifts of God.

We all want to be saved from something, just like Peter. But rather than grasp for power, let’s “lose our lives,” as Jesus says, and focus instead on turning toward our neighbor, even toward our enemies, in love and generosity, knowing that we will no doubt encounter suffering, but we’ll encounter resurrection and new life, all the more.

Let us pray… Jesus Messiah, we often crave power, crave winning. But yours is a way of compassion, humility and love. Give us the courage to follow your way. Sustain us when we suffer for the cause of love. And open our fisted hands so we are ready to serve one another, and receive your mercy. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.