The Promise of Faithfulness
Mark
8:27-38
27Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of
Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say
that I am?” 28And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others,
Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” 29He asked them,
“But who do you say that I am?” Peter
answered him, “You are the Messiah.” 30And he sternly ordered them
not to tell anyone about him.
31Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man
must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests,
and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32He
said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33But
turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind
me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human
things.”
34He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to
them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up
their cross and follow me. 35For those who want to save their life
will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of
the gospel, will save it. 36For what will it profit them to gain the
whole world and forfeit their life? 37Indeed, what can they give in
return for their life? 38Those who are ashamed of me and of my words
in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed
when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
This text comes to us after a series of events
in which Jesus has shown himself to be a man of remarkable power. In chapter 8,
he has already fed the 4,000 with a meager serving of bread and fish, healed a
blind man, and withstood the indignity of the Pharisees asking for a “sign”
after they have witnessed these things first hand. When Jesus warns the
Disciples about the “yeast” of the Pharisees, they misunderstand him and ask, “‘It
is because we have no bread.’ 17And becoming aware of it, Jesus said to them,
‘Why are you talking about having no bread? Do you still not perceive or
understand? Are your hearts hardened? 18Do you have eyes, and fail to see? Do
you have ears, and fail to hear? And do you not remember?” (Mark 8:17-18). This
question rings with hilarity after Jesus has done so many remarkable things in
their presence.
But,
when Jesus asks the Disciples who people say that he is, he is inviting
dialogue. This is not a test, as the Pharisees sought to test him. Rather, it
is an earnest engagement with how the world receives his ministry. Jesus asks
one of the best questions in the Gospels, posing it to his Disciples who are
having an atypical moment of lucidity.
Jesus
asks plainly, “’But who do you say
that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.” This is Peter’s shining
moment of insight. The time when his earnestness and wonder coincide to produce
the right answer to a very difficult question. This is Peter’s confession of
faith. “You are the Messiah,” he says. The one who has come to save us. The one
who abides with us. You are God, with us.
In a sermon series on the topic of promises: this
text could begin and end right here. It is this confession of Peter’s faith
that underlies our own testimonies to why we show up here week after week. But,
it’s the fact that he is correct that keeps us going. After all, we are not
disciples of Peter. We are disciples of Christ, the Messiah. That means that
even before Peter or you or I could recognize the gift of grace we receive
through the life, death and resurrection we receive in Christ, that God had to
decide to become one-with-us. This is
the promise of faithfulness we receive.
So, let us ask our selves the same compelling question: Who do we say that Jesus is? This forces us to look clearly at our faith and own it for ourselves. If we say that Jesus is someone who taught us how to live well, then we must reflect whether or not we are. If we say that Jesus was a prophet, then we must observe the ways in which his words are becoming real. If we say that Jesus is the son of God, then we must consider how we are living out our lives as brothers and sisters in Christ. This is the foundation of who we are as a faith community.
So, let us ask our selves the same compelling question: Who do we say that Jesus is? This forces us to look clearly at our faith and own it for ourselves. If we say that Jesus is someone who taught us how to live well, then we must reflect whether or not we are. If we say that Jesus was a prophet, then we must observe the ways in which his words are becoming real. If we say that Jesus is the son of God, then we must consider how we are living out our lives as brothers and sisters in Christ. This is the foundation of who we are as a faith community.
But, as we read on, there is one
line in our scripture today that has always given me trouble. Jesus says to the
crowd and his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny
themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 35For those who
want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my
sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” Jesus spends some time
speaking candidly with his disciples just prior to this about the events that
are to unfold. He tells them about his suffering, rejection, death and
resurrection after 3 days. Peter
famously rejects the notion that this is possible and necessary, and Jesus
rebukes him. Even though Jesus is so clear with his disciples about these
events, there is something about his use of the phrase “take up thy cross and
follow me” that has plagued me for years. How could they know the depth of what
this means? How could they possibly understand? We have the benefit of
hindsight – we know the story and when we hear, “take up thy cross,” it means
something particular to us. I always thought this was an outreach to us – the hearers through history. That
we might know - in a way the disciples
never could - that this call to
discipleship has clear and noticeable ramifications for how we live our life.
But, if we are to push a little
harder, taking up the cross sounds like a mandate for us to receive a burden we
don’t want to bear. I look back on the previous few months and the turmoil
we’ve seen in so many communities. The fall was filled with conversation around
the events in Ferguson, MO. We watched as our country took to conversations
about race and reconciliation with the same passion that we saw during the
height of the civil rights movement, and we listen to modern-day prophets sing for the hope of Glory. We have been praying for ways to help the
homeless community in Laguna Beach and beyond; and, yesterday, in less than 8
hours, our leadership and missions committee drew up a plan for how we can open
our doors to serve as an overflow shelter during the cold and rainy nights. We have
been called to work for immigration reform and seek how to serve migrant children. Our congregation has seen an
incredible response to our willingness to engage the topic of how the churchcan re-visit the texts that sought to exclude and oppress the LGBT community.
Today, in Georgia, my clergy colleagues are fighting hard to save the life of a
woman on death row who is to be executed tomorrow.
Take
up thy cross is hard to hear, because the cross is rarely something we would
choose. But, let us look to Jesus. Part of the reason this language is so
abrasive to us is because Jesus did nothing to deserve the cross himself. It’s
offensive to us because this man – this son of God – doesn’t deserve the burden
of the cross.
But,
here’s the thing: he did it anyway. He did it because the cross was never his. The cross was ours, and ours
alone. And he took it up for us.
So, when Jesus says, “Take up thy
cross and follow me,” he doesn’t mean, bear your own burdens. He means, lift up
the burdens of others that they might not be carried alone. He means that we
are to do things, not because they benefit us, but maybe because they don’t.
We are called to feed the hungry, not because we’re hungry, but because they are. We are called to advocate for
those who are marginalized, not because we were once marginalized, but because they are. We are called to speak out for
the voiceless, because people will listen to those with strength. We are called
to open the doors, not because we want to grow our church, but because there
are people hungering for a vibrant community in which to live out their lives
of faith. The work we do, the ministry we share is not about us. We do
not, can not do anything to earn
God’s love or grace. We can only act out of our own conviction that if we take
up the cross and follow Christ, then we widen the reach of those who will come
to know God’s love. This is the true cost of discipleship – denying ourselves
and our own self-interest that others may be considered. This is how we use our
privilege. This is how we are the church.
We
gather today, not only to hearken to
a call of social justice and mission in the world, but to remind ourselves why
it is that we do such things. Theologian Rebecca Chopp argues that “The church
is not created for fellowship, continued support, spiritual nourishment, or
even social service; rather, the church is called to give to the world news of emancipatory
transformation.” That means
when we “deny yourself and take up your cross,” we are invited into what the
cross can also mean – “not just death and suffering, but God choosing human
relationships. The cross represents God’s commitment to humanity (it is truly
the symbol of God’s faithfulness to us). The cross represents what we do when
we are not in relationship with the other and think only for ourselves. Because
we realize it’s not just about our own selves. Lent is a denial of the self in
the best way, the self that refuses community. The self that thinks it can
survive on its own. The self that rejects the deep need of humanity --
belonging.”[1] God promises to be faithful to us by being willing
to do the very things God asks of us.
Our
call is to pray to see how we can live into a life of discipleship for its own
sake, remembering that Christ took up the cross on our behalf, that we might
take it up on behalf of others. Jesus is the embodiment of perfect love,
absolute grace, and total acceptance. The cost of discipleship, then, has a
reward beyond what we can imagine in heaven. The cost of discipleship yields
the gift of community, compassion, forgiveness, reconciliation. When we deny
ourselves, we give up the stronghold on all that keeps us from loving openly,
that keeps us from becoming transformed into people who live into the promise
of God’s faithfulness to us.
So,
let us be changed by the Good News that Christ comes to give. If we seek to
serve only ourselves, then we are bound
by our interpretation of Scripture, our history, our narrative, our
expectations. But Christ comes and says: I am not bound by your expectations. I
am the Son of God, the living Christ, and I have come to teach you how much God
loves you, and how we are called to be in relationship with one another –not
just with the people who are like us or nice to us or praiseworthy or
acceptable. This Good News is for the people who have never had a good word
spoken to them, and today – that doesn’t mean you. It means those who are
outside freezing in the rain, unable to be cured, locked up in prison, marginalized
because of their sexuality and silenced by the government. We are called to
tend to them, heal them, listen to them, and remind them that THIS is the year
of the Lord’s favor, so that they may
be the ones to say, “MY eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”
And we can, at last, gather together in worship and praise of the God who
refuses to let any of us go, so that we can be transformed into a people of living
into the promise of God’s faithfulness.
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Amen and Amen.
1 comment:
Rebecca Chopp!
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