Proper 17 Year 2008

Peter wanted a Messiah.  He wanted a Messiah so badly that he was willing to leave his job, his home and his family to follow the one called “Messiah.”  To understand that commitment you have to understand something of the history of Israel.  Israel has always been a small country. You can drive from one end of it to the other in a day.  It is, however, strategically located.  All ancient trade routes went through Jerusalem and on to the port city of Haifa.  These people were different from their surrounding neighbors.  They spoke a different language, they were principally merchants and bankers, and they worshipped a different God.  In the course of their history, on three different occasions, their country had been invaded, their capitol city destroyed, their most sacred shrine, the Temple, desecrated, and a large portion of the population dispersed around the world.  Over a period of hundreds of years there had grown up the belief that God would restore Israel to its former greatness under King David by sending an “anointed one”, a Messiah.  This Messiah would be descended from David, a great warrior, but also a holy person in the tradition of the great prophets.  This Messiah would restore the glory and fortunes of Israel, repel the occupation forces, bring peace and prosperity.

Peter wasn’t the only one who wanted a Messiah.  In a very real sense we all want a Messiah, one who will make “our Kind” and us great.  That helps explain why we try to take our great military figures and make them into politicians.  When we are truly honest with ourselves, however, we have to admit that there is no political figure who can make me feel good about myself or who can take away the pain that gnaws at my gut.  Jesus knew this.  On his journey to Tyre and Sidon he had encountered a woman whose heart was breaking because of her daughter’s illness.  She wasn’t a Jew, she wasn’t rich, and she was a nobody.  She begged for her child’s healing and Jesus was deeply moved.  He granted her request for healing and in doing so acknowledged what we all need, one that can heal our broken hearts.  That’s the kind of Messiah he was going to be and he would proclaim a God whose mercies were blind to race and color and nationality and status.  He knew that concept wouldn’t play well with the leading figures of his own people.  He knew that proclaiming that kind of message in Jerusalem could get him killed, but he had to do it.  A good indication of how unpopular that kind of Messiah was is Peter’s reaction when Jesus tells the disciples what is about to unfold.  Peter has just acknowledged him as the Messiah and Jesus responds by saying that he must go to Jerusalem where he will suffer at the hands of the leadership, be killed, and rise again.  Peter only hears the first part of that sentence, the part about making everyone mad and getting killed.  He takes Jesus aside and says, “God forbid that should happen to you.  I won’t let it happen!”  And it is at that point that Jesus calls his best friend a “Devil.”

What strikes me about this passage is that Jesus makes it abundantly clear that what he is talking about is life itself.  It’s not just about being alive, but it’s about the quality of life.  “Of what value is it if a man gains the whole world and loses his life, his soul?”  And then he goes on to say, “Let me tell you what you have to do to live, to really live, to have soul.”  He says there are three things you have to do.

First, you have to deny yourself.  Now that is about as popular as a root canal!  We are not big into self-denial.  Oh, every now and then we can work up a little enthusiasm for the latest diet fad, but that is about as far as our self-denial goes.  A friend of mine maintains that she has lost over three thousand pounds so far, and her self-denial is good for about ten days.  We are a self-indulgent people whose motto seems to be, “If it feels good – do it!”  I don’t’ think self-actualization was what Jesus had in mind.  First century Middle Easterners weren’t into “doing their own thing.”  You see, in their culture, who you are is determined by lineage – who was your father and your grandfather before him?  This is why Matthew begins his gospel with a genealogy.  Peter was Simon, son of Jonah until Jesus called him “Cephas” or “Rock”.  James and John were always known as “Zebedee’s boys.”  Denying one’s self has to do with reorienting who you belong to, whose son or daughter you are.  That’s why in the baptismal service we make such a point of naming a child and then “marking them as Christ’s own forever.”  You are still the son or daughter of your natural parents, but in a very real way you are God’s child and you will be forever.  Denying one’s self means taking seriously whom you belong to.

The second command is to “take up your cross.”  What does that look like?  Depending on time and circumstances it may mean great personal sacrifice, as was the case with the martyrs.  It may mean enduring great hardship as a result of proclaiming God’s word, as was the case with Jeremiah in our first lesson this morning.  But beneath all that it seems to me that if we take seriously our belonging to God, our eternal “son ship” and “daughter ship”, we have to come to grips with the fact that we are intrinsically linked to all of creation.  We are brothers and sisters, not only with other folks, but also with all creation.  Taking up one’s cross has to do with being vulnerable to one another and life itself.  When you are vulnerable to others you will invariably feel pain, but you will also experience great joy.  When two people stand at this altar and pledge that they will love one another in sickness and health, for richer or poorer, in good times and bad, they have no idea that they will spend the rest of their days living into that reality.  As they go about taking that relationship seriously, they will inevitably hurt one another, but if they can learn to forgive, they will also experience great joy.  Taking up one’s cross means being vulnerable to your brothers and sisters in God.

And last of all, Jesus says, “You’ve got to follow me.”  In the Baptismal Service there is a question asked which is repeated at Confirmation, “Will you follow Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?”  That is the pivotal question.  Everything else leads up to that asking.  In ancient liturgies the candidates would be facing west when that questions was asked.  It was believed that west was the direction of darkness and despair.  When the question was asked and the candidates had answered “Yes,” they came around the font and faced east, the direction of light and resurrection.  Following Jesus, letting him be Lord and Savior, means that he is the one in charge.  “Following” has to do with a daily struggle to allow him to lead rather than me.  That’s why when Jesus rebuked Peter he says, “Get behind me!” – “Follow me!”

Not long ago I attended the funeral of an old friend, a clergyman in this diocese. The preacher was Bishop Frank Allan, our former Bishop, and also a friend of the deceased. In his homily Bp. Allan talked about our friend’s humanity and his “realness”. He went on to say that our friend wasn’t into ecclesiastical finery and fancy liturgy. He then said, “The Eucharist isn’t about changing bread and wine into body and blood, but rather it is about making us more human.” That is our calling—to be more human. Amen.