Matthew
16:13-23
August
27, 2017
William G. Carter
Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he
asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that the Son of Man is?’ And they
said, ‘Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah
or one of the prophets.’ He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I
am?’Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living
God.’ And Jesus answered him, ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh
and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I
tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and
the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys
of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in
heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.’ Then he
sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.
From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that
he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders
and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And
Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘God forbid it, Lord!
This must never happen to you.’ But he turned and said to Peter, ‘Get
behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling-block to me; for you are setting your
mind not on divine things but on human things.’
If
you were ever a little kid, did you have a favorite super hero? You know, the
kind that you could read about in the comic books.
Batman
was pretty cool, sticking to the shadows of night but full of ingenuity and
agility. And he had all those nifty gadgets in his utility belt! Or there was
The Flash, who could run faster than the speed of light. Or the Incredible Hulk
with his radioactive strength. Of course, the favorite for a lot of us was
Superman. Faster than a speeding locomotive, he could leap tall buildings in a
single bound and catch bullets in his hand.
I
was like most little kids. I spent a lot of time daydreaming about those super powers.
If only we could have some special ability that would make us stand out or lift
us above the pack. A lot of kids dream about that.
One
of my daughters was enchanted by Harry Potter. When she was little, she would
have loved to wave the magic wand to change back the clock, alter nature, cast
a spell, clean her bedroom, or direct some zombies to do her math homework. Unfortunately
she didn’t have the power. No super powers.
When
you’re a kid, part of the appeal is the possibility of transcending your
circumstances. If only you had that super power, you could say to the wind, “Be
still,” and it would be still. You could say to the stones, “Become bread,” and
there would be plenty of food for the multitude to eat. Why, I suppose you
could even walk on water!
No
wonder, then, that a kid like me could hear the stories of Jesus and be drawn
to him. The Bible stories about Jesus revealed someone of great power and
authority. That’s the Gospel of Mathew’s favorite word: “authority.” Three
different times, Matthew says Jesus had the authority to heal every single sick
person (4:23, 8:16, 9:35). Every one!
Jesus
also had extraordinary power in his words. He could speak truth to the
Pharisees and scribes, and make them quiver in their boots. He could speak
mercy and restoration to the leper who had been cast out of town. He could
speak forgiveness and healing to the one who was paralyzed.
Jesus
was unusual. If you didn’t know better, you might think he can from the planet
Krypton
So
I can understand why Simon Peter has a hard time making sense out of him. Not
only does Jesus have the power, but sometimes when he speaks, it sound like
jibberish. Some of his words just don’t make sense. This man who seemed to have
amazing power says to Peter, “I am going to the cross. I must give my life. I
must hand over everything and sacrifice my life.” And Peter says, “That’s just
crazy. It’s never going to happen to you. Not you, of all people.”
Jesus
says, “Get behind me. You see things only from a human point of view, not a
holy point of view.” You’re thinking from the perspective of a little kid who
wishes he had super powers. You’re thinking that advancement is the key to all
of life. You’re thinking beyond a first-century peasant who lives under
constant occupation by a hostile military power. And it’s confusing. It’s
extremely confusing.
It
was confusing for many in that first circle of disciples. If Jesus is the
Messiah, what is he doing on a cross? The Messiah was going to come and get rid
of all the crosses. That’s what they believed. The Messiah would ride into town
on a gleaming white horse. He wears a pure white robe, he is morally unstained,
he stands taller and stronger than anybody we know.
And
that means he will redeem Israel out of a thousand years of degradation. They
have been kicked around by all the other nations, and the Messiah will make
things right. He is going to restore the kingdom. He’s going to fix things that
don’t work. He’s going to drive out the people from other nations. He’s going
to make Israel great again! That’s what they wanted in a Messiah.
Whatever
they needed, that’s what they wanted. Whatever they wanted, that’s what they
expected. And why is Jesus talking about a cross?
No
wonder most of them dwindled away after Jesus was arrested and condemned. He
didn’t look strong and mighty. So much for all his super powers.
Yet
here’s the crazy truth, the upside down truth: that Jesus is not only the
Messiah, but that his “super power” is something called “kenosis.” That’s the
New Testament word for it. “Kenosis” is the word from one of Paul’s letters. It
means “to empty oneself,” to “lose oneself,” to “give one’s self away.” Jesus
sets aside the glory that is rightfully his own and takes up the mantle of a
servant.
This
is hard for us to swallow, difficult to understand.
A
number of years ago, my friend Jane was being examined by the presbytery as the
final step before she could be ordained as a preacher. Some of you might have
been there. The meeting was up at Camp Lackawanna. They asked her all kinds of
questions. One old duffer, a minister well known for his grandstanding said, “Jane,
tell us why Christianity is superior to all other religions.” (It tells you much
more about the questioner than the one being questioned.)
Jane
looked at him and asked him to repeat the question. “Jane, why is Christianity
superior to all other religions?” That prompted me to think about it as well.
Now,
Jane was good on her feet. Like a good rabbi, she questioned the question: “Why
do you think we’re superior? What happens to others if we start declaring we
are superior?”
Meanwhile,
I was thinking how I would answer the question. And one answer seemed to come
to me, as if a light went on. If I were to answer how Christian faith is
superior to all other expressions of faith, I think I would say its superiority
is in its humility. True Christian faith is shaped like Jesus, who set aside
all the glory and took on the mantle of a servant, even to the point of death
on a cross.
It’s
hard to understand this. Jesus says the only way to understand it is through an
experience of revelation, through an “a-ha moment” which comes as a gift from
God’s Holy Spirit. That nobody can apprehend this truth unless the Spirit comes
and breathes it anew, so that mind and heart can understand what is not
obvious. Otherwise it will not make any
sense to those with any power or privilege.
And
in those recurring moments through history when the church has been intoxicated
with its own sense of power or privilege, it doesn’t understand – much less
follow – the Christ who gives up everything for the life of the world.
For
this is the truth at the heart of it all: once we used to say, “when the Messiah
comes, there will be no more misery,” but now we affirm “wherever there is
misery, there is the Messiah.”[1]
Try
to let that sink in for a little bit, if you can. That’s the hidden truth at
the heart of our faith. It’s not about being superior, but about becoming
available. It’s not about being first, but humbly choosing to be last. It’s not
about being right, but about being so completely humane that you shine like the
sun in holiness.
Henri
Nouwen wrote a book some years ago, based on a few talks about the move from
setting aside all glory for the sake of becoming deeply human and thus holy.
The title says it all: The Downward
Mobility of Christ. It’s not about advancing, but emptying. It’s not about
jangling the keys to the kingdom as if they are your accomplishment or your private
possession, but rather about unlocking the prisoners and setting them free to
experience the deep love of God . . . which is precisely what Jesus is all
about.
And
what would that look like, as a model for you or me? How might the followers of
Jesus become more like him?
A
woman who runs an after-school tutoring program was talking about her
volunteers. It’s a pretty effective program. Kids stop by after school, before
the parents pick them up after work. There’s a snack, and a few minutes of fun.
As you would expect, the core of the program is a group of concerned volunteers.
She
said they come in two kinds. The first group of volunteers has great concern for
the kids. They exude expertise and years of experience. “Sit down, kids, and
let me show you how it’s done. Let’s straighten out your nouns and verbs. Let’s
make sure all your numbers add up. I will be the expert and tell you what to
do.”
But
the second group of volunteers, a much smaller group, takes a different
approach. They don’t tell the kids to sit down; they go and sit with them. They
learn their names. They never claim to be experts. They ask a lot of questions:
where are you struggling? What don’t you understand? What would you like me to
show you? Then they just sit there and listen. They set their pre-conceived agendas
aside and let the kids do the talking.
“I’m
grateful for all of my volunteers,” said the director, “but I’ve noticed that
the second group is more effective over time. They come alongside the kids and
try to understand the world as the kids experience it. They actually change the
kids for the better.”
Simon
Peter didn’t completely understand this. He knew Jesus was special, that he was
different somehow. He saw the healings, the miracles, the astounding abilities.
All he could perceive was the Lord’s power. But his insight went only halfway.
What he didn’t yet understand is that the true power of the Christ (the super power,
if you will) is his humility, his setting-aside the glory for the sake of
serving others, his compassion, his willingness to come alongside us – and all
others who need him.
Simon
Peter figured out that the Messiah had come, and it was Jesus. The Spirit of
God opened his mind just wide enough that he could perceive that. But he didn’t
yet realize the whole truth of the Gospel: that the Messiah, the Christ, comes
to us . . . not to fish us out of our humanity, but to inhabit it with us. For
that is the promise that opens and concludes the Gospel of Matthew: Jesus is
God-with-us always, even to the end of the age (1:23, 28:20).
There
is nowhere so dark that the light of Christ is not present.
There
is no place of suffering that the Messiah cannot enter.
There
is no cross that we carry that he has not carried already.
There
is no tomb so desolate and absent that Jesus will be shut out or shut in.
He
is with us. Always.
And
this is the will of God, the divine gift, the Gospel truth that we are known
and we are found because we are loved. That’s good news.
The
Messiah is here, and it’s Jesus. And as someone has said, “The first task of a
Messiah is to get people to stop looking for one.”[2]
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
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