Christopher Thomas
Sermon for Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A – 8/23/20
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Psalm 124
Romans 12:1-8
Matthew 16:13-20
“Who do you say that I am?”
Seriously.
Who do you say that I am?
This is not a hard question, or at least, it shouldn’t be.
Who do you say that I am?
Do you say that I am?
Are you saying to anyone that I am?
What does your saying “I am” look like? How are you saying, “I am?” If you are saying, “I am,” why are you saying, “I am?”
Have you given any thought to these things?
I would venture to guess that this may be one of the most important things Jesus, our Jesus, has to say, to ask, of the disciples (and of course, you realize, that means of us) throughout the entirety of the great Good News of the Gospel.
Who do you say that I am?
There is a reason for this. There is a reason that this is THE pivotal point of the Jesus story. There is a reason that Jesus wants to know where they are in the process.
“Who do you say that I am,” this simple, and yet pivotal question, is a, no, the most important question of identity.
Oh, Peter, dear, dear Peter. You just have to love Peter. Imperfectly perfect! Peter always makes it ok for us to be us, perfectly loved by God, in all of our human imperfection! Sometimes he gets it, and sometimes not so much. And yet, Jesus still trusts Peter enough to build the Church (capital C) on this rock. Whether you believe that it’s Peter or Peter’s faith in which Christ places this trust really is only consequential; the point is, when Jesus asks, Peter ventures into the question of identity without hesitation.
“Who are you?”
“You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
Peter’s confession here, in this moment, is historic. It’s revelatory. transformational. For Peter, for Jesus, for the disciples, for everyone involved.
Here’s why. Up to this point, Jesus has been preaching, and teaching, and healing, and going all around the countryside multiplying loaves and fishes, and turning water into wine. At some level, Peter’s been paying attention. Probably the other disciples have as well. They’ve given up their lives and livelihoods to join this weird, wayward, rag-tag band traipsing around preaching and prophesying about all sorts of apocalyptic events. Something, though, has been activated at a deeper level. Something in their very core has been stirred up, changed, for the better. They are not the same people they were when they started. The journey has made them different.
And so, when Jesus asks what amounts to a searing question of his disciples, after all of this, Peter’s answer, their collective answer, is crucial, to where this life-changing ministry is headed. Jesus is not just the next hot prophet following in the footsteps of John the Baptist or Elijah or Jeremiah. He’s not just some well-intentioned teacher. He’s not the political or militaristic savior they’ve hoped and dreamed of.
Something deep within, down in the DNA, is different. And even the disciples recognize it.
It’s GOD! They recognize the face of God in Jesus!
The mere fact Peter can answer this question, that he can recognize the face of God in Jesus, says something about the transformation that has occurred deep down in Peter’s own DNA. Peter’s identity has changed. It’s been transformed, by the mere witnessing and acceptance of God in Jesus Christ. In that moment, Peter testifies to Jesus’ identity, but really, he’s saying something more important about his own identity. Jesus knows who Jesus is. He doesn’t need Peter (or them or us) to tell him.
What he’s really asking is, “Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
OMG! That’s an even more indicting question!
Identity is a funny, odd, queer sort of thing. Identity doesn’t really work in isolation. I don’t have much identity by myself. It takes someone, or something else, to develop a sense of identity. I am not a son without having had a mother and/or a father, a rector without having a parish, a husband without having a spouse, a Christian without Jesus. Identity gets measured based on what gets reflected back to me, and how I interface with the world around me. It happens in fits and starts, and I work on identity throughout this journey-process called my life.
Paul wasn’t among the original twelve (I guess he was the Aggies’ “13th-man!”), but he must’ve gotten this. The “Road to Damascus” experience opened his eyes, changed the way he thought about God, and the world, and his place, his identity within the world. And so, as he wrote to the Romans, he pleaded with them to consider their identities. What were their lives, their very bodies, saying about their identities? If you looked at them, could you tell that they were different?
Will they know we are Christians by our love?
“For I beseech you brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies, a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.”
Those words are not only from today’s epistle, but also from John Ireland’s great choral anthem, “Greater Love Hath No Man.”
“Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it. Love is strong as death.
Greater love hath no man than this,
that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
Those words are etched into the Crucifixion window residing high above the Great War memorial dedicated to those who lost their lives in World War I in Christ Church Cathedral, Houston. The window is amazing in its power to tell the story of this passage because it offers the viewer so many different ways to weave themselves into the story it is telling, the story Paul conveys in this passage.
This passage revolves around the revelational, transformational power of sacrifice. This new identity comes with a price; it is borne in relentless sacrifice, of self, to the radical other.
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God – what is good and acceptable and perfect.”
Sacrifice is transformational.
So, who are you?
I love that quote that is attributed to Maya Angelou. You know how it goes.
“When people show you who they are, you should believe them.”
What am I showing people about who I am? When Jesus asks that same searing question of me, because, believe me, if he asks them, he’s asking us too, “Who do you say that I am,” and what he is really asking is, “Who the heck are you,” how am I responding to him, and to you, and to the world, about his identity, and, more importantly, about my own?
Now, as a Christian, and particularly, as an Episcopalian, I like to claim that my identity is rooted firmly in my baptismal covenant, those five questions that get asked, again and again, and answered, “I will, with God’s help.” Am I living my life in a way that demonstrates that? Are my actions showing people, testifying to the fact that I am, in fact, a disciple of Jesus Christ? Will they know that I am a Christian by my love?
Do you see how Jesus’ question that day, the question that seems so simple, “Who do YOU say that I am,” is, quite frankly, THE most important question that you and I will be asked, and that we will be compelled to answer, when the roll is called up yonder?
“Who do you say that I am?” says as much about you as it does about me. We should be asking that question to everyone around us. If you’re brave enough, try asking some of the people in your life what they say. See how you are showing up to people. It’s a scary proposition, but one worth taking on.
Will they know that you are a Christian by your love?
“Who do you say that I am?”
Amen.
