“Question of Identity”
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost
September 12, 2021
Mark 8:27-38
One day, a rabbi was walking along the road, deep in contemplation. He was so lost in his thoughts that when he came to the fork in the road, instead of going his planned route by taking the road on the right, he ended up going left. Eventually he came to a Roman post from which a guard called out: “Who are you and what are you doing here?” The rabbi asked the guard how much he got paid to ask those questions, and he said 1 denarius. The rabbi said, “I’ll pay you double if you’ll come to my home and ask me those questions every morning.”
Who are you and what are you doing here? Do you even know? That’s the question that Jesus poses to the disciples when he asks them about the word on the street. “What are people saying about me?” The answers varied, but the disciples all knew that they were wrong. In a soft voice, Jesus poses, “And what about you? What are you telling them?” Peter jumps in with unbridled excitement. “You’re the Messiah!” And Jesus quickly rebukes the disciples, telling them not to say that any longer. At least, not yet. Don’t tell people what you know. Because they won’t understand.
Many of you have had the opportunity to join me this summer in watching a new series called, “The Chosen.” It is a ‘Jesus’ show. And I generally hate watching Jesus shows. They are typically too serious. Jesus is always white. And somber. And the shows are either gory or hoky. But this one…this one is an absolute home run.
One of my favorite characters is Simon—also known as Peter. Simon is so passionate. He’s passionate about providing for his family. He’s passionate about protecting Jesus. He’s passionate about the mission they’re on, wanting to lead the other disciples and call the shots so that they get things right. He’s passionate about getting the word out about Jesus. Because the show is so good about putting flesh on the characters of Scripture, it isn’t difficult to imagine this exchange between Simon and Jesus.
As you may already know, the people of Israel had been longing for the Messiah, the Christ, for centuries. Centuries of exile and occupation have left them desperate for someone to lead the way to freedom. And they see in Jesus this hope. He’s the Messiah. That much they know. What they don’t know is what that actually means. They’ve been watching him heal and hear him preach, but they’re ready for the next step. They’re ready to take up arms and gather the army, to get influential Jewish leaders to back them up, to take the battle to the Romans and drive them out, once for all. They’re ready for a new day. They’re ready to call the shots. They’re ready for revenge and victory.
But Jesus tells them something they are absolutely NOT ready to hear. “Friends,” he says, “the Son of Man didn’t come to be victorious. He came to suffer. He came to die. He came to be rejected.” And I imagine Peter putting his arm around Jesus and taking him aside like the leader he is. “Jesus, I think we have a miscommunication here. You’re just nervous. Let me handle this for you. I’ll get everyone sorted, and then we’ll start working on our strategy for attack.”
But Jesus knows what he’s thinking—what everyone is thinking. So, he turns the whole conversation on its head. He says, “Get behind me, Satan.” In Greek, it’s basically saying “Back me up. Follow me.” And the name ‘Satan’ simply means ‘Accuser.’ Tempter. Challenger. The opposite of one who follows. The opposite of one who aligns their will with God’s.
Jesus then turns to the whole crowd around them and tells them what it means to follow him. This is what to expect if you’re going to back the Messiah. There will be no victory. Instead, there will be suffering. There will be no glory aside from the death of the One sent by God. Anyone who goes into this thinking that they will get revenge will lose their life. But those who knowingly follow Jesus into the darkness will gain a life they never knew they were missing.
It's such a counter-intuitive statement. We think badly about Peter, but the truth is that we’re more like him than we want to admit. We define Jesus by the things we think are right or wrong. We label Jesus ‘king’ though he came to challenge earthly kingdoms. We try to align him with national identity when so much of our national identity tends to fly in the face of what Jesus was about—humility, generosity, healing, and forgiveness.
Twenty years ago, when our soil was attacked by terrorists, our leaders began the longest war we’ve ever fought with no clear result. Now, I’m not saying that they were wrong. As a nation, we needed to respond. But let us also not forget that in response, so many Americans of Arabic descent were labeled terrorists just because of their ethnicity. And the reality is that neither of these responses are Christ-like. Let us not pretend or attempt to suggest that any nation that wants to keep its borders secure through military effort or protect its citizens through violence is doing the work of Christ. Because that’s not what Jesus said.
Nations will do what nations must. Law enforcement, military—they are necessary in this world in order to protect humans from each other. But the Kin-dom of God is a very different entity, lest we conflate the two. Like Peter, we often try to align God’s agenda with what we want as Americans, or as Westerners, or as Christians, or as Lutherans, or as rebels, or as Republicans, or as Democrats, or as liberals, or as conservatives, or as white people, or as people of color. We try to define God according to how we DIVIDE ourselves. And God turns to us and says, “Get behind me, Satan. You’re not in charge of my will. You’re not in charge of my love. Stop tempting and accusing and challenging, and back me up. Align yourself with me. And then come…and die.”
Who are you, and what are you doing here?
The problem, of course, is that we don’t want to answer that question. Because a message such as this is not exactly desirable. It’s not going to win friends and influence people.
A Methodist pastor had been seeing a Catholic priest for spiritual direction. And as he was on his way there, he started throwing himself a pity party. He was angry that his congregation didn’t want to listen to him about difficult topics—like apartheid and racism and justice. And when he spoke to the priest, his pity party went full swing. He moaned and groaned about his difficulties in swaying opinions and how members were leaving because of what he was saying.
He ranted for a while, and the priest never said a word. Finally, when he had run out of steam, the priest spoke. He said, “Are you a Christian?” “Of course!” the pastor snapped back. “What does that mean?” “I follow Jesus,” the pastor said impatiently. Then the priest slowly removed his hand from the bells of his sleeves and pointed to the crucifix on the wall. “Well, look what they did to Him.”
The pastor shares the story and calls the priest his pity-party-pooper, because he put it all into perspective. Who are you, and why are you here? We are not here to get easy answers, to follow a God of convenience or victory or revenge, or even to gain friends and influence people. We are here to share the good news—the gospel of Jesus Christ. Ironically, the good news is that our God is a God of suffering and calls us to follow. Because our God knows the reality of being hurt, being misunderstood, being rejected, being labeled, being unjustly accused, being murdered by people who are scared of the power of change. The good news is that our God is a God of resurrection. Our God promises new life beyond all imagination—beyond what we can earn, beyond what we deserve, beyond what we can take at the tip of a sword.
If we call ourselves Christian, then that is our God, and we are God’s people. And we wake up each morning asking ourselves, Who am I, and what does God call me to today?
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
