Who Do You Say That I Am?

Matthew 16:13-20

12th Sunday After Pentecost ~ Lectionary 21

Who is Jesus?  The answer to this question depends upon when, where and whom you ask.  Your 10-year old self will answer differently than your 45-year old sel.  Someone in Tanzania may answer in a way unlike someone from London or New York, or Williamsburg.  For Muslims, Jesus is one of the greatest messengers of God.  Jews have respect for Jesus, but do not view him as the son of God.  Some people say Jesus was a good teacher, or simply a moral person.

When Jesus asked his disciples this question, they answered, “’Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’”  At the time, Jesus and his followers were in Caesarea Philippi, formerly known as Panias. It was in this place that the Canaanites built a sanctuary to their god Baal.  It had been the place of the Gate of Hades for pagans, and Greeks received revelations from their god Pan.  In this setting, Jesus’ question had theological implications.

But there were political implications, too. It came to be that the Romans replaced the Greeks in this region, and Herod the Great’s son, Herod Philip, became ruler.  To honor both the Roman emperor Caesar and himself, he changed the city’s name to Caesarea Philippi. This Roman government was an oppressive system.  Standing among reminders of other gods, and in the midst of Caesar and Herod’s domain, Jesus asked, “Who do people say that I am?”[1]

Jesus followed this question with another, “But who do you say that I am?”  Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”   The Roman emperors called themselves sons of gods, and the Hebrew term Messiah means “God’s anointed one,” the one who would set the oppressed people free.  Jesus patted Peter on the back and said, “Well done! You got it!”  That was true in that moment.   Only a short time later, Jesus will reveal that he is going to be tortured and killed, and Peter will question his confession. The question of who Jesus is got quite confusing.

 

“Who do you say that I am?” If someone were to ask you who you say Jesus is, or what you believe about Jesus, how would you answer? [2]  What do you tell your children, and your children’s children about Jesus?  Jesus’ question was more than a question about theology and doctrine.  What does your life and how you live it say about who Jesus is to you?

This matters now, in this time and this place, as much as it did when Jesus asked the disciples in Caesarea Philippi.  When Jesus asks us, “Who do you say that I am,” it is, in fact, an urgent question.  When we call ourselves Christians, what is it we are teaching others about Jesus through what we say and what we do? Who we say Jesus is determines who we are.  It establishes what we are willing to do, the risks we take, and the hope we have.  Maybe the real question is, “Are you in love with Jesus?”

The depth of our love for Jesus becomes evident not only in our relationship with him, but in our relationship with one another.  Our kindness, our spending, and how we use our time are all reflections of who Jesus is to us.  Our relationship with Jesus shows when we choose to stand with those who are victims of hate and violence, when we vote for justice, and speak for those who have no voice.  Every time we choose forgiveness over retribution and love over hate, we confess Christ.  Who we say Jesus is shapes every part of our lives.

But we are not perfect.  Like Peter, we will confess Jesus as Lord one day and deny him the next.  Like Peter, we mess up. Not all the time, and maybe not even most of the time.  But sometimes. Sometimes we stay silent when we should speak the truth that every person is equal in the eyes of God.  Sometimes we provide food, but don’t sit down at the table together.  When we don’t trust that God empowers us to do those things God tells us to do, or ail to call on God when we are afraid of the storm, we deny Christ.

Thank God that who Jesus is does not depend upon who we say he is. We give thanks that, for all those times that we do not confess Christ with our lives, Christ comes to us. Christ comes confessing who he is in the faces of beautiful children, and in the words of scripture.  Jesus comes to us in the wine and the bread, in his body and blood, in forgiveness, given for you.

~ Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] I am indebted to Brian McLaren for his insights into the implications of the geographical location of this text.  See McLaren, Brian D.  We Make the Road by Walking.  New York:  Jericho Books, 2014.  116-124.

[2] Kolb, Robert and Wengert, Timothy J., eds. The Book of Concord.  Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress, 2000.  434.    What is it that Lutherans confess about Jesus?  Here’s how Luther answers that question in his explanation of the second article of the Apostle’s Creed:

I believe that Jesus Christ, true Son of God has become my Lord.” What is it “to become a lord”? It means that he has redeemed and released me from sin, from the devil, from death, and from all misfortune.  Before this I had no lord or king, bur was captive under the power of the devil.  I was condemned to death and entangled in sin and blindness. …[T]he little word ‘Lord’ simply means the same as Redeemer, that is, he who has brought us back from the devil to God, from death to life, from sin to righteousness, and keeps us there.

 

Faith and Fear

Matthew 14:22-33   

10th Sunday after Pentecost – Lectionary 19

Yesterday, Charlottesville, VA was filled with fear.  The alt-right community, which is a white supremacist, neo-Nazi community, protested the removal of the statue of the Confederate General Robert E. Lee.  Clergy, members of Black Lives Matter, along with others, gathered there to counter-protest, to confront, racism.  The event turned violent and deadly.  The pinnacle of violence, as of the time I am writing this, occurred when three cars plowed into a group of peaceful counter-protestors, and one driver then backed up, injuring more people.  One person has died from this event, two state police died in a related helicopter accident, and nineteen were hospitalized, thirty-five more were hurt.

At the heart of this prejudice and discrimination demonstrated by the alt-right is both ignorance and fear, fear of those who are different.  White supremacists fear the loss of their place of privilege. Fear can be contagious.  The alt-right’s fear, manifesting itself in violence, also brought fear to those who were there not only to confront racism and to condemn hatred, but to affirm God’s love.  Love is stronger than hate. God’s light will overcome all darkness.  We pray for both perpetrators and victims of violence.

On a larger scale, at the heart of the issue of discrimination of any kind are systems that promote evil against others, and rationalize that evil by blaming the victim.  But God created us all in God’s image.  What we heard this morning in  St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, he expands in his letter to the community in Galatia, “ There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (3:28). In our sinfulness, sometimes we refuse to acknowledge that.  Even worse, we knowingly or unknowingly participate in systems that contribute to and enable prejudice.  It is frightening.

Is it discrimination that scares you the most?  Is it nuclear weapons in the hands of North Korea?  Are you afraid for your children’s children and their children because our climate is changing?  Fear can also be deeply personal.  Maybe you are losing physical function, and worry because you don’t know what your future holds.  Maybe you are scared of being left alone.  What is it that you fear?

If you have been out in the ocean during a storm, or standing in the middle of a sea of hate-full and fear-full people, you may be able to identify with the disciples and Peter.  Our gospel story of tumultuous waves rocking the disciples’ boat follows another fear provoking event, that of John the Baptizer having his head chopped off by King Herod.  After hearing this news, Jesus tries going into the desert to be alone so that he could process his emotions, but over 10,000 people found him. When it was dinner time, he took five loaves of bread and two fish, blessed them, and gave the food to the disciples to feed the people, all the people.  There was more than enough.

Our reading begins with Jesus trying once more to be alone.  Immediately after feeding the crowds, he made the disciples get into the boat and go across the water ahead of him.  Jesus, in the meantime, went up the mountain to pray.  In the dark of the night, the waves became bigger and stronger, and, fighting the force of the winds and the water, the boat did not make it to the shore as expected. It must have been a restless night for the disciples.  By early morning, the boat and the people were still bouncing around. The disciples were soaked to the skin. Suddenly, they were terrified by someone walking on the sea.  They cried out, “It’s a ghost!” “It’s me!” Jesus said. “Don’t be afraid!”

Peter’s response to seeing Jesus is curious. He did not say, “Jesus, stop the storm!”  What he does say is, “IF it Is you, command me to come to you on the water.”  Peter, the one who will confess Jesus to be the Messiah, and then say he does not know the man.  Peter, the bold and brash disciple who speaks before he thinks.  Peter, the one who loves Jesus and yet disappoints him.  Peter, the one whose faith reminds us of our own.

“Command me to come to you on the water,” Peter says.  Jesus doesn’t respond, “Peter, don’t be ridiculous.”  Jesus honors his request.  “Come,” he says.  Peter moves forward, across the water, until he becomes aware of the wind. He looks at the boat behind him, Jesus in front of him, and the water underneath of him.  The more scared he gets, the deeper he sinks.  “Lord, save me!” Peter shouts.  Immediately, without any hesitation, Jesus reaches out.  As Jesus extends his arms, he says to Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Can you hear the lament in Jesus’ voice?  “Oh, Peter. Again?”

Have you ever been in a situation, and looked around, and began to feel as if you were sinking deeper and deeper?  Have you ever been in a place where you feel like the storm will never end?  Part of being human is living in the not-yet kingdom of God where storms come and go, some more quickly than others.  Storms take all forms.  Storms show up in chaotic and violent demonstrations of hatred. Tempests arise when systems of oppression are confronted. Personal storms come when unemployment compensation runs out, and there are no job offers coming in, and when a family member or friend is addicted to drugs, and cannot break free from the demons.  Storms intensify when illness changes how we live.

Despite the storms, we believe in God.  We cling to God. We pray for a miracle.  But, if we are honest, we will confess that fear and doubt creep in.  The sinking, and the fear, and the doubting,—which comes first doesn’t really matter.  The winds are so strong, the sea is so big, and they, along with many things in our lives, are beyond our control. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Why?  Because as human beings, that is who we are.  We are people of courage, and people of fear.  We are people of faith and people of doubt.  Not just once, but over and over again.  “Save me, Jesus,” Peter cries. “Save us, Jesus,” we cry, too.

We are saved.  We are saved every day.  Martin Marty in his book, Lutheran Questions, Lutheran Answers, the book which is the object of our next book study, writes, “To be saved is to be appraised by God and found lacking—and then being picked up by God and placed in a new situation.  Whatever held me back— ‘sin, death, the devil, or the self,’ [or fear, or the hatred others have] has lost its hold and I am made free.” In both our life and in our death, “Whatever we picture and however we picture it, ‘to be saved’ means to be situated where God’s presence will never be revoked and where God’s light will shine.”[1]  To be saved is to be given God’s grace that empowers us to live our lives differently than we would have had we not been met by God in Christ Jesus.  To be saved is to stand witnessing to God’s love for all people despite our fear.

“Save us, Jesus!”  Save us from the storms that terrify us.  Hearing Jesus’ response, our ears sting. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Then we remember Jesus telling us that a tiny mustard seed grows into the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree in which birds will make nests.

If we could walk on the water in the middle of a storm all by ourselves and not sink, we wouldn’t need a savior.  But we can’t, and we do. In the chaotic waters of our lives, we realize both who we are, and whose we are.  “Save us, Jesus!” we cry, and immediately, Jesus reaches out his hand.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] Marty, Martin E.  Lutheran Questions Lutheran Answers.  Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress, 2007.  80-82.