Christopher Thomas
Sermon for Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year A – 8/30/20
Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c
Romans 12:9-21
Matthew 16:21-28
Once upon a time…
In a land far, far away,
Far from anything that we might possibly imagine, or even conjure up today,
There lived saints.
Saints that roamed the earth, to and fro, hither and yonder, leading lives that, on the surface, seemed so ordinary, so plain, so simple. And yet, come to find out, they were anything but, ordinary! They were, in fact, extra-ordinary! And there they were, roaming, to and fro, fro and to, saintly acts they performed, some not even realizing it.
(You have memorialized many of those saints in this room, in this very ceiling, in these very walls, in that very garden, and maybe even below us!)
Make no mistake, these saints were not perfect. These were people, after all, people like you, and like me. Some stuttered, some had lisps. Some were tall, and thin, and wispy, and some were short, and a little dumpy. Some were eloquent, and elegant, and well-spoken, while others could only manage to annoy. They came in all shapes and sizes and fits and starts, these saints of God, and it didn’t seem to matter, for the work that they were called, you might say, to do. Because they shared at least one thing in common, their ability to dream.
Big dreams.
Audacious dreams.
In another corner of the kingdom, in that time, so far and long ago, the was a little child (this one we’ll call boy, but it could have been girl, or they, or x, or z). This one emerged joyous, and joy-filled, with laughter, and love, for life, and for living, as most children do. The child played, and ran, and jumped, and exuded all the beauty that creation had to offer. You know that child. Maybe, in fact, you were that child.
And then (cue the sinister music), the world stepped in. You can’t do that. You must not do that. Little boys don’t behave that way. Little girls don’t play that way. Those colors are for girls, these for boys. Don’t cross your legs or sit like that. Speak like a man! Play sports, not the piano. Those things are too this for you, or too that for you. All this stuff that’s of the world, not of God’s creation. Pushing and shoving that child, those children, all those children, further down, into some bizarre mold, struggling to stifle that God-given joy of creation.
The world.
When those kids dared to dream the things that children so often dream, “What will my wedding day look like, when I stand before an altar, my loved ones and God, and profess love for a beloved,” the world laughed and said, “That will never happen.” “You are damaged goods.” “You don’t deserve even to dream of such things.” “That will never, can never, won’t ever happen in your lifetime.”
It’s as if all these saints, those above me, and around me, and below me, surely must have heard the world say these things, and I imagine their collective response in glorious chorus being:
“Get behind me, Satan!”
I don’t know that any more delicious, show-stopping words have ever fallen out of Jesus’ mouth. What in the world overcomes Jesus, our Jesus, in this very moment, that elicits such vitriolic response? Jesus literally turns to the person he’s just named “The Rock,” the foundation upon which this movement called “The Church” is to be built, and seemingly calls him “Satan.”
It’s only moments ago that we were in the “Who are you, who am I,” roll-clarifying dialogue, and Peter’s gotten it right! “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!” Remember. That says something about me, but more importantly, it says something about you, and your identity. “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” says as much or more about Peter (and all of us who say it) than it does about Jesus.
This week, Jesus is telling us what “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” means, for him, for Peter, for the disciples, and for you and for me. And Peter doesn’t like it. Because this view into the future is not the one that Peter expects. It is not the view into the future that the disciples expect. It is not the view into the future that, quite frankly, any of us expect. Because it is not the view into the future that the world WANTS us to expect.
After all, little gay boys and girls shouldn’t expect to stand before an altar, and their loved ones, and their God, and profess their love for their beloved. Isn’t that what the world has told us, for oh so many years? You must be kidding! Not in this lifetime.
So, I don’t know that Jesus is so much admonishing Peter, calling him “Satan,” in this moment, but giving him a good slap across the face, trying to get him to snap out of it. The reality of following Jesus is NOT the reality of the world. Jesus doesn’t incarnate to fulfill the world’s expectation. It is a whole different set of expectations. Jesus must suffer, and die, and be raised up, if this new reality has any hope of being birthed.
“I am not the Messiah you want, but I am the Messiah that you got, and that you need!”
If you choose to follow me, if you answer the question, “Who am I,” with the response, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,” then you take on this whole new set of assumptions and expectations for yourself. Like Peter, you cannot have it both ways. You can’t be my foundation, and the world’s foundation. It simply won’t work. You must choose. Otherwise, Jesus will be saying “Get behind me, Satan,” to you or me!
And those saints, these saints, the ordinary, and yet oh so extra-ordinary ones that are all around me, too numerous to count, the ones who dared to dream audacious, bold dreams, persevered. They were persistent; some might even say “nasty.” When the world said “No, that will never happen,” “No, that will not happen in your lifetime,” “No, that will not happen in many lifetimes,” thank God in heaven, those, these saints persisted. For all those little queer children everywhere, who can now stand safely before altars, in front of their loved ones, and God, and profess their love for their beloveds.
The world did not win. “Get behind me, Satan!” A little bit more of the peaceable kingdom was birthed into existence.
Good for us. Isn’t this great? We carved out our piece of the peaceable kingdom. Isn’t this where we say, “And they all lived happily ever after?”
Except…
Except they didn’t “…all live happily ever after.”
Not yet.
Because, in that tale, there are still children, going to bed, and waking up, and laughing, and playing, and being the joy-filled presence of God expressed in creation, who, for some insane reason, continue to be told that they are different, or odd, or queer, or strange, not good enough, lesser than, not equal to. There are children who have to be told by their parents that the world perceives them as different, is afraid of them, and will try to hurt them if they are not careful (“The Talk”). There are parents who go to bed every single night wondering if their precocious, precious, loved and beloved children will come home in one piece, paying some undue price simply because of the color of their skin.
That peaceable kingdom that the Messiah incarnates, and suffers, and dies, and rises again to initiate, and that Peter gets slapped into, and we finally get our piece of, still does not extend to everyone.
Three months. It is hard to believe it’s been three months since we witnessed the knee forced into the neck of another human being, listened to a human cry out for his mother, and watched in horror as the very last breath of spirit and life escaped the body of George Floyd. Yesterday, and yet a lifetime! We marched, and protested, and said things had to change. This simply would not, could not stand.
And here we are again. Jacob Blake. Another day, another mother watching, gasping for her own air as her son is viciously, needlessly gunned down.
But, the truth is, we’ve been here, we’ve witness this, many, many, many times before. I could say many names for you, and you know them as well as I. They are already written on your heart, just as they are on mine.
Michael Brown
Tamir Rice
Atatiana Jefferson
Sandra Bland
George Floyd
Breonna Taylor
Ahmaud Arbery
I could go on, and on, and on.
So, I had a conversation this week, one that really disturbed me, one that I have had before. As I was rehearsing through my frustration about the fact that nothing seemed to have changed in the three months between George Floyd and Jacob Blake, the well-intentioned person said to me, “Well, Christopher, these things have taken lifetimes to put into place, and they will take many lifetimes to change.” As a marginalized person, I have been slapped with that statement many times before. It is almost always spoken from a point of privilege.
Could have been Peter. Could have been you. Could have been me.
If I had had presence of mind and clarity of Gospel, in that moment, I would have found some way to access Jesus’ words, “Get behind me, Satan,” because that is exactly what the world wants us to think. Don’t bother trying to change anything, because it will take so many lifetimes to change, that there is no hope of change ever happening. And by God, that is not the Gospel we live! Ask anyone who has ever been marginalized, and lived to tell about it. They will tell you so!
The world wants you, us to think that we can’t make a difference, but that is a lie, and all of these saints around me now attest to that. We can make a difference, in this lifetime, even now! Don’t believe what the world would have you to believe!
“Get behind me, Satan!”
We are on the brink of welcoming the very newest member of God’s great creation to our midst at the Episcopal Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, the newest Doubter, one Emmett Russell Sanchez-Brown. He is about to be born into the world of Amanda and Juan Sanchez-Brown. We owe Emmett Russell something different than what we were ascribed. He never needs to be told, or to hear, that he is anything less than the absolute perfect manifestation of God that he is, exactly as he is, however he is. He never needs to be given something called, “The Talk.” His parents must never have to worry in fear that the color of his skin is a reason that he won’t come home at night. They deserve the very same piece of the peaceable kingdom that each of us has.
How? How are we to insure this? Just one of me, just a few of us, just our little band of rag-tag followers, Doubters as we are? How are we ever to make some sort of credible difference, in Emmett Russell’s life, within these walls, much less beyond? How?
What did all these saints, above, around, and below, do? What did they do, that secured our piece of the peaceable kingdom?
“Take up your cross, the Savior said,
if you would my disciples be;
take up your cross with willing heart,
and humbly follow after me.”
Amen.
