The Big Question
Isaiah 50:4-9 James 2:1-5, 8-10, 14-18 Mark 8:27-38
Those of us in the choir often share common reactions to music. After practicing a particular hymn, not infrequently one of us is heard to say with mock dismay, “Oh, darn, now I’ll be singing that one all week.” And we all smile and nod in recognition. You’ve undoubtedly experienced that phenomenon, too. You know, the tune or phrase that, no matter how hard you try, will not leave your head.
Those of us who preach also experience this phenomenon. Like the lilting refrain of that haunting hymn, one Bible verse grabs hold and demands attention. So it was for me in preparing for this week’s sermon, to the point that more than once I would awaken in the night with the pesky question drumming in my ears, refusing to slide into graceful oblivion.
Yes, that one. Jesus’ question to Peter: Who do you say that I am?
In the beginning, I avoided the challenge of that particular question, preferring to remain on the safer ground of Jesus’ earlier question: Who do people say that I am? That one is easier to answer because we have the benefit of knowledge accrued through the ages, starting with the varying answers of the disciples. “John, the Baptist,” some said, while others said, “No, he is Elijah,” and “He is a prophet.”
As we approach the question of who the people say Jesus is, we have a wealth of resources. John’s Gospel, for example, gives us a running start: Jesus is the Good Shepherd, the Light of the World, the Vine, the True Bread. We know him also as Prince of Peace, Son of God, Son of Man, Master, Healer, King of Kings. We call him Intercessor, Savior, Redeemer, Lord. Undoubtedly you could add to this list.
Weighty, holy titles–all. And yet in His own day there were others: rabble-rouser, madman, blasphemer, charlatan, imposter.
In today’s Gospel story, Peter and the disciples have given Jesus their best shot at an answer to the question “Who do people say that I am?” and have undoubtedly told Him nothing He didn’t already know. Then he hits them with the vastly more important question: “Who do you say that I am?”
Peter, ever the impetuous one, steps forward. “You are the Messiah.” Aha, we think, you hit the nail on the head. And perhaps for a brief moment Peter enjoys the satisfaction of going to the head of the class.
But then the mood changes. Jesus tells his followers that He is going to suffer, be rejected, killed, and in three days rise again. Can’t you just picture the stupefied looks, the stroking of beards, and scratching of heads? In the current vernacular, they must have muttered, “Say what?”
They look around at one another. Somebody needs to challenge this radical idea. Peter pulls Jesus aside and confronts Him, an act which in itself is evidence of the preposterousness of Jesus’ claims. Everyone knows the Messiah doesn’t suffer; the Messiah comes like a king, entering the Holy City with pomp, honored as Lord of all. This business about being rejected, killed, and rising again is dangerous and misleading and certainly does not fulfill the Jewish expectation of the Messiah.
How taken aback Peter must’ve been when Jesus administers so stinging a rebuke: “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
This must’ve been another of Jesus’ when-will-they-ever-learn moments. His Kingdom is not of this earth; His Messiahship will lack the panoply and ceremony of an earthly coronation.
The challenge to Peter and the other disciples is to trust Jesus’ word that suffering is part of God’s plan for Him and to lay aside their own grandiose visions of who Jesus, the Messiah, should be.
All of this brings up interesting implications for us. To what extent, like Peter, do we try to fit Jesus into the box of our own expectations? Or trap Him as do those who mistakenly wonder why He is complicit in the bad things that happen?
As productive as is the question “Who do people say that I am?” the more penetrating, intimate one, is “Who do you say that I am?”
Initially, we come to Jesus by what someone else says or shows through example. Yet we cannot rely solely on the faith journeys of others to provide our individual answers to the question, “Who do you say that I am?”
Focused for several weeks on searching for my own answer, I have learned at least three things. First, that second-hand testimony is not sufficient and misses the point. It is not the beliefs of my parents, the platitudes of others, or the research in which I have engaged that Jesus asks of me. It is my prayerfully considered personal response to the question. Second, I have learned my answer varies and is not limited to any single label for Jesus; and, third, that the practice of meditating on the question is a fruitful spiritual aid.
One cannot seriously consider the question without becoming aware of the myriad ways we encounter Jesus daily. In the chirping of birds during morning meditation, in the loving voice of a friend, in the rheumy eyes of one approaching death. But, likewise and far less comfortably, we find Him in the angry voice of a disturbed man, in the vacant stare of an elderly, wheelchair-bound woman, and in the cynicism of a rebellious teenager.
“Who do you say that I am?” is not merely a matter of labeling; it is a matter of recognizing the Christ in all whom we meet.
Many years ago I saw a film which affected me profoundly. It starred Hayley Mills and was called Whistle Down the Wind. As best I can remember from so long ago, I will try to recall it for you. Filmed in England, it is the story of three children who live on a farm outside the local village. It is clear that they are gullible, well-behaved, church-going children, who try to do the right thing. As the movie opens, the audience learns that a murderer has escaped from a nearby prison and is on the loose.
Early in the evening, the children go out to the barn to do their chores. There in a horse stall, they discover a dirty, disheveled, wounded man lying in the hay. They creep closer, wondering who he is, wondering if he is dead. Finally the older sister dares to speak. “Who are you?” Startled from deep sleep, the man rears up, and upon seeing the children staring at him, utters an oath, “Jesus Christ!”
Swearing the children to secrecy, he asks for some food and something to drink. On their way back to the house, the children discuss the stranger who seemingly awoke from the dead and named himself, and they become convinced that he is, in fact, Jesus. After all they found him a manger, didn’t they?
And, they reason, for Jesus there is only one appropriate form of nourishment—bread and wine. Getting into their father’s liquor stash is no mean feat, but they manage it and smuggle the bread and wine to the man. Through the next few days, they care for him and ask him questions. The escapee recognizes it is to his advantage to play the role of Jesus for them as he buys time to regain his strength.
As children will do, they cannot keep their mouths closed, and one by one they tell their friends that Jesus is in their barn. The friends scoff. “Show us,” they say. So one day after school, a large group of children go to the barn. Too many people are now in on the secret and word leaks to the constable and the men of the village, who gather with guns and pitchforks to march on the barn to capture the convict.
When the three children become aware of what is happening, they try to warn “Jesus” and save him. At the conclusion of the film, the escapee must choose whether to put the children in jeopardy or to submit to his fate. Staged to resemble a crucifixion, the final scene depicts the capture of the convict, who, influenced by the trust and faith of the children, has achieved redemption.
Jesus, our Lord, lives in each one of us, even in the escaped convict. Even in the poor and unwashed of whom James speaks in today’s second lesson. What might happen if we accepted the Christ in each person, just as the children in the movie did?
“Who do you say that I am?”
Comforter, intercessor, teacher, healer, companion---whatever our individual responses to the question, imagine the result if we looked around at our fellow human beings and whispered to ourselves, “You, you are the Christ. And you. And you. And you.”
As he did with his disciples, Jesus is asking us to search our hearts for an answer to the question that shapes our faith: “Who do you say that I am?”
AMEN.
Laura Shoffner
September 17, 2006
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