Matthew 16:13-20
Presented August 24, 2008, by J.D. Kline
The Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Some years ago United Methodist pastor Robert Raines wrote an intriguing book, Living the Questions, in which he reminds us that “the Bible is a book of journeys and questions—of people asking God questions, and God questioning people.” He begins with a powerful quotation by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, spoken in response to a would-be writer approaching him for advice about his writing skills. Asserted Rilke,
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart. And try to love the questions themselves. Do not seek answers that cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
Live the questions now. Many approach religious faith, little wanting to struggle with life’s deepest questions, little wanting to live patiently with that which is unsolved in their hearts. To the contrary, they are hoping beyond hope for answers that are set in stone; they yearn for simple formulas guaranteed to explain away every possible eventuality. The noted preacher William Willimon laments,
Lots of people in our world today want a faith that they can put on a bumper sticker; [they want] three spiritual laws, six basic fundamentals, and four Christian principles to live by. But our God is so much more interesting than that. Jesus is so much larger than that, and life is so much more demanding.
Truth is, faith frequently raises far more questions for us than it answers, and the life of faith centers on the challenge of living in the very midst of questions—our own questions, and the questions God would ask of us. The New Testament is filled with a host of questions Jesus asks—questions that can be unnerving, questions prodding us to realign the values and commitments that give shape to our living, questions that lead to personal transformation. Perhaps no question is more challenging than the one that stands at the heart of this morning’s Gospel lesson. A question Jesus directs to the disciples, and by implication, to each one of us: Who do you say that I am?
John Dear, formerly executive director of the Fellowship of Reconciliation, in his book The Questions of Jesus, suggests that this may well be the question of the entire gospel. At some point along our faith journey, Jesus finds a way to turn to you and to me, prodding us to grapple with this very question, Who do you say that I am? And how we choose to respond to that question can make all the difference.
Jesus takes the disciples to an intriguing location before first directing this question to them.That location is the city of Caesarea Philippi, located a good two days’ walk, some 25 miles north from the Sea of Galilee, where the bulk of Jesus’ ministry was centered. Caesarea Philippi, of course, was named after the emperor, Caesar, whose regime occupied and dominated Jesus’ people and homeland. In addition, Philip, son of Herod the Great, honored himself, for by this time the elder Herod had died, and Philip controlled the area that included Caesarea Philippi, formerly called Panais. The city was built near the base of a steep cliff from which a spring emerged—a spring originally serving as center of worship for the Canaanite god Baal, then later for the Greek god Pan. The vast majority of Jesus’ fellow Jews would have resented the city for its name reminding them that they were an occupied land, but even more, for its history as the site of a battle that led to the rise of a political regime whose goals included imposing Greek religion and culture upon the ancient Hebrews.
In his book Everything Must Change Brian McLaren asserts that the trip to Caesarea Philippi “wasn’t the kind of trip you would make unless you actually wanted to be there.” So why would Jesus choose this city as the site to ask the critical question, Who do you say that I am? Why would Jesus want to lead his followers to a place likely to evoke such intense hostility and resentment when asking this grave question about identity?
Because we have become so familiar with biblical labels for Jesus—Lord of life, Son of God, Redeemer, the Christ, Prince of Peace—we often overlook their remarkable significance. For in the days of Jesus, similar language was used to speak of Roman emperors. The emperors had come to be deemed as “sons of the gods;” coins from that era label Caesar as Lord and as Savior, asserting the conviction that the hope for peace in the land comes through the emperor. Pax Romana, peace through Rome, peace through the sword—this is the claim Caesar made in that day, and perhaps Jesus uses Caesarea Philippi as a backdrop to proclaim that he has come to offer a radical alternative. Not peace through Rome but peace through Christ; not peace through the sword but peace through the power of self-giving love, the power of grace beyond measure.
When Peter asserts of Jesus, You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God, is he not making a profound, and even dangerous, political statement? In effect is not Peter speaking words many would claim to be subversive, even traitorous, when confessing of Jesus, You are the true king, the liberating king, the One Israel has long waited for, the One who will end our oppression and set the captives free. And is not Peter asserting his own willingness to sign up as participant in Jesus’ royal challenge against the powers of the day?Sadly, however, it soon becomes clear that Peter doesn’t fully understand the commitment he’s making; Peter is not yet on the same wavelength as is Jesus. Peter little understands how radically different is the movement Jesus initiates. For along with the other early disciples, Peter anticipates a Messiah with sword in hand, a Messiah whose methods are not much different from the hated oppressive Roman rule, a Messiah who would forcibly seize control of Jerusalem, destroying the Romans in his wake. John Dear suggests that the Messiah Peter and his fellow Jews had long anticipated would be “part Che Guevera, part George Washington, part Napoleon.”
Continues John Dear,
But Jesus knows who he is, and he is first and foremost not a violent Messiah . . . . He is the embodiment of nonviolence, the incarnation of the God of love and compassion. Jesus will save humanity not through military might but through peaceful, loving means. He tells Peter that, contrary to an all-powerful, imperial, war-making Messiah, Jesus will suffer. Soon, he will be betrayed, arrested, tortured, and brutally executed. He is the Suffering Servant described by the prophet Isaiah.
And as Suffering Servant, Jesus challenges us to walk the same pathway of self-giving love and servanthood. Yet today, even within the Christian community, precious few are willing to grapple with this radically new way Jesus sets before us. Many yearn for Jesus as Savior, but it is a savior who would take away our struggles and questions rather than adding to them—a savior who fits into neat formulas of faith, rather than a savior who invites and challenges us to deny self, take up a cross, and walk in paths of self-giving love.
When Jesus, yet today, turns to us with this question, Who do you say that I am? will we respond with rote answers we have carried since days of childhood, or will we grapple anew with the radical identity of the One who invites us to walk in pathways of justice and peace, mercy and compassion, abundant love and servanthood? How we answer the question makes all the difference. Biblical scholar Marcus Borg reminds us that relationship with God is not simply a matter of being able to affirm right doctrine. Much more, it is a matter of openness to transformation—embracing a radically new vision of life in God’s kingdom and opening ourselves—heart, mind, and soul—to the renewing, re-creating, redeeming Spirit of Christ. “The Christian life is ultimately not [simply] about believing or about being good,” asserts Borg; “it is about a relationship with God that involves us in a journey of transformation.”
A journey of transformation. David Radcliff presented a paper a year ago at the Young Center for Anabaptist and Pietist Studies, as part of a conference focusing on “Three Hundred Years of Brethren Heritage.” Entitled “Back to the Future,” David suggests that the value of any focus on our spiritual heritage is in its ability to serve as a springboard for our future life and witness. One of the key qualities of the early Brethren, asserts David, is their being bold enough to dare to “get back to Jesus.” The originators of our movement, he says, “gave us the great gift of taking Jesus seriously, in all his boundary-crossing, justice-talking, simple-living splendor. He’s not just “savior” [in the limiting ways that image has been understood]. If you only go that far, you’re just in it for yourself. Jesus is also leader and lord.”
Who do you say that I am? How shall we answer that question? For how we respond Jesus makes all the difference. We need to look long and hard into the story of Jesus, into the Gospels, to begin to comprehend who Jesus really is and to grasp the vision for life Jesus sets before us. The challenge is to let go of our desire for simplistic answers and to embrace instead life with the One who ever urges us to embark upon a journey of trust and hope, a journey of transformation, a journey of faithful living.
How shall we answer?