And they answer him, John the Baptist, Elijah, and still others... one of the prophets.

Transcription

1 1 He knows people are talking. That they have opinions, and they re sharing them quite openly. On the way to the villages of Caesarea Philippi, Jesus asks his disciples, Who do people say that I am? And they answer him, John the Baptist, Elijah, and still others... one of the prophets. Then, Jesus makes the question more personal, cutting it closer to their hearts and minds: But who do you say that I am? Peter is the boldest in replying, You are the Messiah. And Peter is correct. So, what does Jesus do in response to Peter s confession? [H]e sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him. Scholars call this the Messianic secret. The idea that, in Mark s Gospel especially, Jesus wanted to keep his identity hidden. Because the authorities would have come after him. Because his time had not yet come. Because he wasn t your typical messiah. So he orders the disciples sternly to keep his messianic identity quiet. Then he goes on to teach that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, be rejected by everyone important with power, be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this, the evangelist reports, quite openly. He spoke these words about his suffering and resurrection frankly. Without concealment.

2 2 To the disciples, this news is so much worse than Jesus messianic identity. That the Son of Man, the anointed one of God, must suffer, be rejected, and killed is the worst version of events. Unimaginable. Inconceivable. And that he would rise from the dead? It s so horrible and incomprehensible, it might even be unspeakable. And yet Jesus says all of this quite openly. Jesus asks the disciples to keep the best part quiet, sternly ordering them to tell no one that he has come to save the world. And then Jesus says the worst part quite openly, frankly speaking of suffering, rejection, and death. * Consider what we, even here in the church, talk about quite openly. We tend to talk more openly of the good news of our lives. The resurrection and rising parts. The births of babies and grandbabies. The retirement celebrations. Vacation plans and job promotions. With the possible exception of the prayer list, we in the church typically share parts of ourselves and our identities that are worthy of celebration quite openly. Now think, for a moment, of the things we sternly do not talk about. We do not tend to tell anyone or perhaps a very closed, intimate circle of people we have known and learned to trust for a long time about the sufferings. More often we keep quiet about the worst of life. About imperfections. About things

3 3 we re ashamed of. About disabilities and domestic violence. About addictions. About financial woes (and suicide). Our prayer list enumerates people in need of physical healing, but we rarely lift up those with mental health concerns publicly. We church people and you all who took my funerals class may remember that this is one of my pastoral pet peeves don t even like to talk about or name death, choosing instead to say someone passed away even when that is theologically incorrect. In the church, in the community that seeks to follow Jesus, we tend to say the best of life quite openly and not tell anyone about the worst. Yet our Gospel for today shows how Jesus flips the cultural script that we usually use for talking about things quite openly or in secret. Speaking openly of suffering is weird and difficult, and it is also, as Jesus shows, the way of the cross. The way of overcoming shame, the way of healing and resurrection, the way that Jesus goes on teaching about. Imagine what it would be like if we talked about our sufferings quite openly or at least more openly than we typically do. It would be a process of denying oneself. Of coming out from behind the I-have-it-all-together masks that we daily wear and admitting that you too fall short and cannot save yourself. And it would be a process of taking up the cross the most humiliating, most shameful way to die in Jesus day where in owning what is utterly shameful means its shame is no more.

4 4 And it would be a version of heeding Jesus invitation Follow me, for when given by one who will suffer and die Follow me becomes a summons that puts us squarely in the arena of human need, beckoning us to the hurting parts of our world and bidding us to share the load of those who suffer. What would it look like if we truly lived Jesus example of openly sharing the bad and worst of our lives and our world? Ultimately, I don t know, but I perhaps got a glimpse of it on Wednesday, while serving lunch with our crew at Richmond Friends of the Homeless. A young man came up to me and asked if, as a pastor, I would pray with him. But not just a generalized Please pray with me. No, when he asked, he named his concern and the heart of his current suffering. He was so frank, it took me aback. Even so, I left the bowl of potato chips I was serving and walked over to the lunch table with this young homeless veteran. And over the course of no more than 10 minutes, I heard more about his life than most people in our church would share in 5 years. He shared his suffering quite openly. And quite openly, he also talked about his hope. About his classes at the Healing Place and CARITAS, his plan for securing housing, about coming to Richmond Friends on his lunch break each day.

5 5 It wasn t until I had started the prayer that I realized I hadn t asked this young man s name. Like Jesus with the disciples, he had kept his identity the basic detail of his name a secret, but had shared his current sufferings and hopes for resurrection quite openly. Looking back on the conversation, I m not sure which one of us was denying themselves and taking up the cross and following Jesus. I m not sure which of us left more transformed by the prayer. I think it was both of us. Because denying yourself, taking up your cross and following, speaking of sin and affliction and suffering quite openly is never something anyone does alone. It s a personal endeavor, surely, but it s not a solitary one. It s a collective process that draws us closer to one another, closer together in community and closer to Christ. * Perhaps you are the person who never speaks openly but who longs for companions to share the burden, to help bear the cross. Or maybe you know someone who needs you to be there, to listen, as they say what ails them quite openly. Whichever position you may find yourself in, the Gospel today helps us imagine a life where sharing what s shameful quite openly is what draws us together and draws us to Christ, transforms us, and brings us to resurrection. AMEN.