Wherever the Messiah Is

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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[1] Fred Craddock first said this so well, and so clearly. See his sermon “Hoping or Postponing,” originally recorded on the National Radio Pulpit in 1978.

[2] Thanks, Fred Craddock. Op. cit.

Treasure

Matthew 13:44-46

August 6, 2017

William G. Carter

“The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it."

We have been working through the thirteenth chapter of Matthew’s gospel, a collection of parables that Jesus told. The best definition of a parable came from the British Bible scholar C. H. Dodd. You may wish to write this down:

“At its simplest, the parable is a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.”

I think that’s a great definition. It reminds us that we are dealing with a literary form, a figure of speech. We hear the words “metaphor” and “simile” and we returned to that seventh grade English class when we weren’t paying attention when the teacher taught us about metaphors and similes. Those are comparisons, as in “the kingdom is like hidden treasure” or a “like a merchant search for fine pearls.”

And the parable, says Dodd, is vivid and strange. The meaning is not obvious which is precisely why Jesus told so many of them. He wants his listeners to work at it, to chew on it, to be teased (as Dodd says) “into active thought.”

As we have worked through the thirteenth chapter of Matthew over the last few weeks, we have heard some of the strangeness of the parables:

The kingdom is like a farmer who throws seed all over the place. Some of it takes root, some does not. He is sloppy, which is another word for generous, so he throws the seed everywhere he can. He is not cautious or calculating. That’s strange.

The kingdom is like a farmer who sows good seed in his own field. Somehow weeds appear in his favorite crop. When the servants suggest he purify the crop, he says, “No, let’s wait.” That’s strange. I wish I knew that parable when my parents sent me out to pull weeds out of the family garden.

The kingdom, says Jesus, is like a little bitty seed that grows so large that it takes over the whole field. We don’t expect the little one to become so large.

And as we heard last week, the kingdom is like a woman in the kitchen who works some yeast through a lump of flour. What’s odd about that? It is a sixty pound lump of flour! That’s a lot of flour.

So today we hear the kingdom of heaven is like a hidden treasure. What’s so strange about that? It seems pretty clear that a lot of people never find the treasure. It is out of sight. It is not obvious. It is not readily available for just anybody to saunter along and pick it up. No, the treasure is hidden. So what’s the vividness, the strangeness of this parable?

Simply this: it is found by a man who is trespassing. The man who finds it has stepped onto land that doesn’t belong to him. It is not his land, so it’s not his treasure. So, in a way, when he goes off to liquidate his assets and buy that field, he’s going after something that still doesn’t belong to him. It’s not quite ethical. He has to have that treasure.

Please notice what he does not do. He doesn’t find the treasure, stick it under his shirt, and slip away. That would be stealing. He is not interested in stealing it; rather, he wants to own this valuable thing, whatever it is.  And he is willing to give up everything else in order to possess it.

At the same time, take note of what he does do. After he finds the hidden treasure, he hides it again. He hides it really well, because he doesn’t want anybody else to have it. He found it and he just has to have it. So much so that he will cash in everything else he owns, just to get that treasure.

Now, once again, that’s strange. If he gives up everything he has, how’s he going to eat? Where is he going to live? How will he take care of his family?

I mean, it reminds me of the man who was happily married for a long time. He had a few kids, had a nice house, drove a nice car, and all his bills were paid. One day, he comes home at supper time and says, “You’re all going to have to go and live somewhere else.” Why? “Because I found a hidden treasure.”

What do you mean you found a hidden treasure? He says, “Well, I was poking around a used bookstore, and there on a dusty shelf, was a first-edition Gutenberg Bible. You know, the very first bible printed on a printing press. It’s in excellent shape. It has buried under a couple of comic books, near some old Reader’s Digest condensed books. It’s priceless. I couldn’t believe my good fortune!”

Well, says his wife, what did you do? He says, “I covered it up, and then meandered around the store so I wouldn’t look suspicious. After a while, I found the owner and said, “I’d like to buy this book store.”He looked up from his computer and said, ‘You would?’ And I said, ‘How much money would you like for the bookstore?” Without blinking he said, ‘A million dollars,’ so I said, ‘It’s a deal.”

His wife is looking at him like he has two heads. “You just bought a bookstore?” He said, “I have to put together the financing. But if I cash in my retirement savings, and sell the house and the car, and sell you and the kids into slavery, I think I can acquire that book by buying that bookstore.”

She said, “What are you going to do with that book? Will you resell it?” He says, “Oh no, I’m going to keep it.”

She said, “I’ve grown attached to living here. I think I’d like to stay.” He said, “Well, I simply have to have that book…”

Can you believe that? I can’t believe it. The story is so ridiculous, such a complete exaggeration. What’s so special that you would give up everything to get it?

Good question. The parable doesn’t say. It’s an open question where we must fill in the answer. What answer would you give?

To tell you the truth, I was sitting in a picnic bench in New Mexico last month, and somebody asked me a version of that question. We were eating enchiladas at a conference center. Evening was upon us. We finished our dinner, took a sip of coffee, and watched the hummingbirds flit around. And my host posed the question this way: “What is the one thing so special to you that you could never give it up?”  

I looked at my beautiful wife and she said, “Be careful what you say.” She’s a smart woman. But I said to her, “You married a guy who got a philosophy degree in college. I like questions like this.” Besides, the friend who asked the question is a retired geologist from NASA, so he was used to dealing with extremes. I mean, if you take it seriously, it’s really some question.

What’s the question again? “What is the one thing so special to you that you could never give it up?”

What prompted the question was a decision that my friend’s daughter had made. She was raised Presbyterian, but she converted to another faith when she fell in love and married.

So I thought about that: could I ever give up being a Presbyterian? I’ve been taking part in the church for 57 years. Is that the one thing I couldn’t give up? Well, I wouldn’t want to give it up, but the day will probably come when I retire, and there might not be a Presbyterian church wherever I go. And if I retire and stay here, it would not be neither fair nor helpful to keep worshiping here. I would inevitably step on my successor’s toes, so I’d have to worship somewhere else. That wouldn’t be the end of the world. If I had to give it up for the greater good, I would do so.

What is the one thing that I couldn’t give up? My friends? I love my friends, but friends have been coming in and out of my life since I was eight years old. I have a lot of long-term friends, but none of them are permanent.

Could I give up my family? I wouldn’t want to; I love them very much. But who knows how much time we will have together? It’s taken a long time to get the kids launched. We hope they stay launched. And I’m hopeful that I’ll have another thirty years with my wife. But who knows? It is a happy marriage, and fruitful in so many ways, but one day death will separate us. That’s just reality. And life will go on. Different, but it would go on.

Could I give up my relatively good health? I wouldn’t want to; I’m feeling pretty good these days. But when you’re a pastor, you know that one good slip on the ice could ruin your health. Illness an strike at any time. Weakness can surprise us. None of us are exempt from that. I think of my father, gone two years ago this July. Strong as an ox, tallest man in my world, and then his rational mind started to go, and there was a long, long slide to the end. Would I want to cling to my health, stay strong, and live forever? Truth be told, that’s not reasonable. Wisdom comes from numbering our days.

“So what is it?” he asked. What is the one thing you want more than anything else, the one treasure that you have to have, the one thing you would never give up?

I’ll tell you what it is for me. It’s Jesus. Because if I had to lose everything else, I’d want to know that I could lean on him. That I would land safely with him. That in spite of my imperfect faith and wayward inclination, he would still take me in

It’s like the passage where Paul writes to the church in Philippi. He loved those people, but he was separated from them. He loved his Christian freedom, but he was stuck in a prison cell. He had a tremendous family of faith, a righteous religious heritage, but that didn’t count for much when you live behind bars. So he writes to those good people in Philippi with words that will be read at my funeral some day. Listen:

I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things . . . in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own …but one that comes through faith in Christ.[1]

When all is said and done, when everything is cashed in, when we (quite literally) buy the farm, our hidden treasure is Jesus. He is the Christ, the Living One, the Life-Giving One. And he is at the center of all things, waiting to be found, waiting to take first place in everything.

Because there is nothing more important than him, nothing more important than his truth and his grace. So we seek him, and keep seeking, in the great promise that he has already found us.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] Philippians 3:8-9