Today’s gospel is one in which Jesus gives a sharp jolt to his good friend, Peter. They’ve traveled north to Caesarea Philippi. This is the northernmost point at which Jesus teaches the good news. And it is also a turning point in Mark’s retelling of our salvation story. When his work here is done, Jesus will return to Jerusalem -- to crucifixion, death, and resurrection. Jesus’ time is short. There is a new urgency in his need to prepare his disciples.
In such a pressing time, Jesus’ question, “Who do people say that I am” is not only uncharacteristic but surprising. When was the last time Jesus asked about the opinions of other people? He is far more likely to demonstrate how to live God’s will. Instead of saying “welcome all others”, he invites even the undesirable to dinner. Instead of saying “love all”, he cures Gentile children and restores unclean women and men. He embraces faithful Romans without buckling under negative reactions he receives for doing it.
Jesus’ second question is more important, “But who do you say that I am?” This is a make-or-break question, one that will help Jesus gauge just how well his disciples understand his purpose and presence in the world. Are his followers ready to embrace Jesus’ message fully into their own lives and become the leaders and teachers who will carry Jesus’ message throughout the earth?
“But who do you say that I am?”
When Peter enthusiastically says, “You are the Messiah”, I imagine Jesus’ heart fell in disappointment. ‘You are the Messiah – the anointed one. The anointed one who will lead us to freedom and prosperity by driving out the Romans with a great victory!’
Peter has missed the point. Jesus needs to be explicit about his future. As Mark writes, he will need to speak “quite openly.” His next words are the first of three unambiguous prophecies about his death. They are Peter’s shot of reality: Jesus will not lead a glorious military victory; Jesus will instead suffer and die.
Peter cannot bear such a horrifying prediction: not only will there be no temporal victory over the Romans, but his friend and lord will die in shame and agony. I think I, too, might cover my ears and tell Jesus to stop saying such things.
Even if Peter’s heart is in the right place, Jesus’ frustration bubbles over in his response: “Get behind me, Satan!” For you are setting your mind not on divine things, but on human things.”
Matthew says it a little differently: "Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are not setting your mind on God's interests, but man's."
We are so often stumbling blocks to ourselves where God’s interests are concerned. We set our minds on human interests so happily. Human interests are well within our control, and who doesn’t like being in control? Staying in our comfort zones is so much easier than taking a chance on God. Staying firmly planted among human interests means we don’t have to listen for God’s still, small voice or take that chance.
The whole point of Jesus life is to show us one thing: that it matters that we are open to divine interests, to doing God’s will. This is a terrific struggle for me. When I felt called to become a priest, I fought it with all I had. I had great human interests. I had a good job and a comfortable life. I had lots of friends and supportive, loving family members. I even had great opportunities to develop my spiritual principles and to live them among others. I enjoyed the endless gift of a community of faith.
This “call” idea was just too hard. It would change everything. Not only that, but when I first heard that call I decided it was asking way too much. I didn’t need any divine interest that was so big or so inconvenient or so – weird. It was completely crazy. I went into therapy. Maybe it would just go away. Why would anyone want to go down a dark path when the roads of my human interests are so brightly lighted?
Seven years later, here I am. And I still try my darnedest to make due with the human interests, with my own will, before becoming willing to listen to God’s. I never let go of a human interest without leaving fingernail marks all over it.
My problem is that, like Peter, I have too narrow an understanding of God. I tend to describe God like a fellow human, and one I don’t understand most of the time. I trust what I can see, and don’t easily trust what I cannot see or comprehend. My definition of God is not quite large enough to support my following God’s will gracefully. I have to struggle, and I think that struggle must stretch my vision of God, a little at a time, making God always bigger, always better able to support me in God’s will.
It sounds like I have living God’s will nailed, but the struggle is much harder to admit or describe in any given instance than the final acceptance is. You’ll have to trust me that it is a constant give and take: God gives me opportunities to elect divine interests, and I take something from the human category instead. I am only human.
Before I started in the seminary, I was talking to the admissions director. She had a painting on her office wall of an adult orangutan with a baby hanging on her back for dear life. The adult was in flight, in mid air, between one heavy vine and another. The baby kept her eyes closed and hoped for the best. It helps me to think of that orangutan as God and the terrified baby as me. I visualize God as the one who is truly taking a chance with divine interests, with me just along for the ride. It helps me to grow the trust I need to live in God’s will. Sometimes.
Being recalcitrant and selecting just those human interests does not leave me free for God. Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when he said, “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” Grabbing onto life as I know it, staying in safety, causes me to lose a greater life that can grow without boundary in God. But when I am willing to shove my ideas about life out of the way, there is plenty of room for expansion and a life of joy, one reflecting the kingdom of God. Funny thing, though, no matter how many times I learn this, every challenge throws me right back into that period of covering my ears in fear. Maybe Peter and I are not alone in that fear, and with Jesus’ help, we can all accept the unknown and soar to the next slender vine of God’s will.