Knowing hope through transformation
Proper 17A | Matthew 16:21-28
How empty was Peter’s proclamation just moments ago.
For us, it was a week ago. For them, it was seconds.
They had traveled throughout Judea and the borderlands. Jesus was healing and feeding the multitudes. Each stop was a new transformation of tradition. Raising new expectations. Miracles surround the man.
And he is asking his closest followers a simple question. They didn’t know it was a midterm exam.
“Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
Simple. Elijah or a prophet. Yeah, it makes sense. Those guys could do miracles, too. Fits.
Then
“But who do you say that I am?”
That is harder. More personal. The Messiah, is Peter’s response.
The Messiah. The great hope. Liberator.
And with that, Jesus affirms Peter and says that everything will be built upon him.
We can’t read Peter’s mind.
But if we could, there’s no doubt he’s thinking big thoughts.
Every student who gets an A from a teacher thinks they’ve mastered the material. Write one paper and we’re an expert.
Now, don’t make fun of each other, because we all do it. As an English major, I discovered early on that I couldn’t read everything. So I could never truly be the expert my mind claimed to be. I could never know it all.
Peter’s doing what any of us would do. Heck, he’s doing what Christians did just a few hundred years later. In the third century, when catholicism was just developing as a concept, “Peter’s seat” was becoming something of value. The head of the class went to Rome. It was the seat of wisdom.
This moment was the reason. Because Peter is looking like the star pupil.
Seconds later, Jesus is rejecting him.
His first action, as The Rock, is Peter’s greatest mistake. Bigger than the three-fold denial.
He made himself bigger than Jesus.
We might not want to think that. Because we’re probably thinking like Peter, not Jesus. He is, after all, just trying to protect The Messiah. Doing what any of us would do. Keep the mission afloat. Keep the walls from falling in. Wanting everything to last.
This is a good impulse. Objectively. In a worldly sense. It is good.
But in a Jesus sense, it is a grave mistake. Because this attempt to protect Jesus could destroy absolutely everything. And it is not what they are called to do! In fact, it goes against what God has called them to do.
Peter has it completely wrong.
Peter’s two-fold mistake
He does two things wrong at the same time. He messes up as a disciple and as an apostle.
It helps to visualize this moment—to imagine how it works in the physical world. Jesus is the rabbi, the teacher. The job of the disciples is to follow the rabbi. To watch, listen, imitate, learn, and do.
So Peter’s proper place is behind Jesus, so he can follow him.
To confront Jesus, Peter has to move from behind Jesus to stand in front of him, facing him. What this means is that, as Jesus has turned his face toward Jerusalem, Peter has literally put himself between Jesus and the mission of God.
And what he does is not swear to protect Jesus, but stop him from walking into the lion’s den. He tempts Jesus with life; with the preservation of his life. In other words: the power to overcome death. One of the things the adversary tempted Jesus with in the wilderness. To cheat death. Force God to protect his life.
But the mission isn’t to protect the Messiah’s life. It is to face death. Then live again.
Get behind him, Satan!
Peter, The Rock, makes himself a stumbling block to trip Jesus. Not a move we should associate with wisdom, greatness, or inspired leadership. He quite literally does the work of the adversary, not God.
This is Peter speaking to Jesus as apostle, away from his role as disciple. Peter isn’t taking the lead, as if his actions are natural, as if everybody is thinking it, but somebody has to stand up and say it! No, this is Peter standing up to Jesus for the sake of Jesus. Thinking he’s doing God’s will.
But he’s doing the opposite.
Peter is the Everyman.
Not the great leader we imitate. He’s the one we all are most of the time. The one who stumbles into the right answer because it is the best guess, not because he understands why. And the one who threatens the whole thing trying to save it.
And this moment proves how Peter, like us, doesn’t fully grasp the nature of Jesus as the Messiah. Because it means recognizing that a peace revolution doesn’t involve guns.
We might call it a “hearts and minds campaign”. But this, too, misses the mark. Confusing the place of persuasion; that it isn’t to force our way, but persuade others to see that death-dealing always leads to death. Abuse begets abuse. But only peace can bring peace. And only love can bring love.
Jesus embodies a messiah that is consistent within tradition, but isn’t shackled to the expectations that we place upon tradition. And one which offers a way out of the certainty of death: new life.
The Way of Life, Death, Life
Jesus foretells his own death. But he also prepares his followers to face death, too. Not simply because the way forward is deadly. And not just because he knows that the Temple leaders and Roman authorities will seek his death.
Jesus prepares the disciples to follow him to face death. To face their own deaths. To not avoid death or avert death. And no, not to seek or cause death. But face it. Head on. Because we all die. But, because of God’s grace, we also live.
The only way to truly believe that our deaths are not the end of everything is to act like it. Not just believe it as a belief we must agree to in a creed. And not trust in because we think we’re supposed to.
But to live our lives as if life itself is the point. That living is good and true and the point of our being here.
You know what happens when people spend decades chasing immortality? They die. They die, having spent years of their lives fearing death, and worse: fearing actually living their lives.
Jesus urges his followers to face death like people who live. Knowing death comes for us all. But then God blew all their minds with a great big PSYCH! You thought it was life then death. No. Life, then death, then life.
We should know this is true.
If we see the world itself. How everything lives this cycle of living and dying and living again. Our fixation on autonomy and consciousness is so selfish and literally ego-centric. Plants, animals, everything from nature is fuel for new life.
The life cycle isn’t life and death. And our work isn’t prolonging life and preventing death into perpetuity. The very same idea fuels our faith.
Live, die, live.
We can’t relive the past but we can live in a new way now.
This was the midterm Peter failed.
He knew that the signs pointed to Jesus being the Messiah. But he refused to hear what that meant for them. That they’d need to face off with death and let God have a say in what happens next.
Live, die, live. And Peter was fixated on that dying. He couldn’t see it, wouldn’t see it. He didn’t listen.
God said to listen to him. Listen!
This is our midterm.
“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”
We can’t actually avoid death. But living like we can avoid it isn’t life. And living like death is the end isn’t a life of faith.
Live now. Vibrantly. In the present tense.
Live. Not like this place will be here forever. Or like our family and friends are immortal. But live. And trust. And seek. Because God makes miracles. God breathes life into old bones. She makes new life where we expect only death.
We know this from the signs.
From our tradition. A tradition which reminds us how eager God is to transform tradition. That it, too, lives, dies, and lives.
From nature, which brings life from the soil. And uses death to bring new life from the soil.
From our heroes. Our friends and family. Everyone who has overcome and risen from the ashes. Found new life after death—at any age.
Signs of life. These signs are for us. Not to save us. But transform us. To live. Become new. Like all good things. Like Jesus. God.