Who Do YOU Say I Am?
Zechariah 12:10-11, 13:1; Galatians 3:26-29; Luke 9:18-24
Sometimes offering an opinion can spark a debate or even a heated argument. Whether it be politics or religion, global warming, Obama-Care, gay marriage or whether or not the Yankees should get rid of A-Rod, sometimes there’s no such thing as an innocent and uncharged opinion. Recently, I added a “Friend” on Facebook who posted some very strong critical opinions about the contemporary Church. I bit my tongue when he remarked that rather than considering Blessed John XXIII for sainthood, the Church should have burned him at the stake for heresy for convening the Second Vatican Council. I gritted my teeth at his negative and pessimistic comments about Pope Francis, not thirty minutes after his election. But I finally lost it when he wrote: “I guess everyone in the Church realizes by now that Vatican II was a colossal and miserable failure.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to the voice of restraint, common sense and good judgment that said, “Bruce, just leave it alone. DO NOT REPLY!” And I posted this comment: “Well I’m in the Church and I think that Vatican II was a tremendous and glorious success, and demonstrates the wisdom and abiding presence of the Holy Spirit, moving and guiding the Church - which obviously ain’t happening with YOU!” Well! That opened a Pandora’s Box of a barrage of comments and opinions by him on such topics as the Latin mass, papal infallibility, heresy, sin, the Virgin birth, and proper priestly attire. After enduring this diatribe for an hour, I finally wrote back and said, “You know what, I’m tiring of this debate. Let’s just agree to disagree.” . . . Then I deleted him from my Facebook Friends!
It had been only a few weeks since Jesus sent them out on their own. All of the healings that he had done that were drawing people to him from every walk of life, they were now doing. And here they were all back together again sharing stories about everything that had happened. They were filled with excitement as each reported the miracles they had worked.
Jesus, who had been off on his own, joined the conversation. It is then that he posed a question, “Who do people say that I am?” There were lots of answers—they gave him the public opinion and passed on what they had heard, what others were saying. A safe and harmless question; one that was easy to answer. They had nothing at stake—simply passing on the opinions of others.
But then he asks a more loaded question—the one big question of all questions. “It’s all well and good what others are saying, but you, who do you say that I am?” Now Jesus is pressing them at a more personal level and far more is hanging on their answer. This time he wasn’t leaving them any wiggle room. This time he’s not interested in the general popular consensus or the prevailing public opinion. This time he’s not interested in what Google will come up with on the Internet when “Jesus Christ” is typed into the search engine.
You can just imagine the disciples standing around, looking at each other, hemming and hawing, trying to figure out what to say. And it’s Peter who impulsively speaks for all the others, and . . . and he gets it right: “The Christ of God! The One promised by God and sent by God!” And with the correct answer, Jesus then tells them what God expects of him and what he expects of them. He says, “If this is what you believe, what are you going to do about it?” Jesus was looking for more than a verbal response—he was looking for a life response.
It seems that giving the right answer to this question comes with consequences. There’s this business of the cross and making a choice to freely pick it up or put it down, and being willing to take it up each day when we wake up in the morning and rethink how we’ll respond to Jesus today. When Jesus was forced to carry his own cross on that Friday morning, it meant one thing and one thing only: death by the most painful and humiliating means possible. It wasn’t simply a symbol of the burdens we must all carry—strained relationships, thankless jobs, failures in school and in our careers, downturns in our investments, and physical illness. Taking up our crosses and following Jesus means how we live our lives and see ourselves in relation to Christ and how we treat others. The cost of accepting Jesus’ invitation is to pay the price in daily installments as we bear the hardships of being cross bearers.
Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Do you see hims as Good Shepherd? Savior? Redeemer? Master Teacher? Miracle Worker? Friend? Maybe you think of Jesus as your Beloved, one closer to you than even your spouse or child, father or mother. Perhaps you see Jesus as a somewhat naïve dreamer, someone whose teachings are nice, but which, in the real world, just can never be lived. Or maybe you see him as the “Push-over Savior,” and that you can do whatever you please because, in the end, you can rely on his love and forgiveness to get you into heaven no matter how sinful, or how undeserving, or how unrepentant you may be.
Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Not just intellectually, not just when you stand up in church on Sunday and recite the Creed, not just when you’re enjoying quiet moments of prayer. Who do you say that Jesus is, in those places where your lives are lived? In your home, in your workplace, when we’re with your friends who aren’t Christian, or for whom the teaching of Jesus and the church seem to matter very little?
And that question leads us to another series of questions. What difference does Jesus make in my life? What is it about my way of being and doing that would not be, could not be, if it were not for having Jesus in my life? Or are there areas where I am holding out, where my life is not noticeably different from the lives of those who see Jesus as an irrelevant relic of past superstition?
So, Jesus turns to us—“You! You there! Yes, you . . . Who do YOU say that I am?” The question hangs in the air—it won’t go away. We do our own hemming and hawing, and perhaps we hope others will answer for us. And Jesus says, “I’m not interested in opinions; I want to know what you think.” He has come into our lives and rearranged our worlds, so why can’t we come up with our definitive answer? We carry this question in our hearts throughout our lives—it is asked of us over and over. It’s a deeply personal question and it may be the most important question we’ll ever have to answer.
How are we going to answer? If we’re ready to take up our cross, it may not mean that have to risk our lives, but what about our friendships and having people talk about us behind our backs? What about alienation from our families? What about the loss of our jobs when we speak out against what’s wrong?
There comes a time when we have to answer this question and make our own confessions, just like Peter. Jesus is here with us right now, present in this gathering as he always is—the walking, talking, living presence of God in our lives. And in a few moments, he’ll be on this Table. When we process to communion, when we extend our hands, when we eat and drink, will we be able to give him our final answer—no opinions, just the testimony of our lives?
“Who do YOU say that I am?”
Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to the voice of restraint, common sense and good judgment that said, “Bruce, just leave it alone. DO NOT REPLY!” And I posted this comment: “Well I’m in the Church and I think that Vatican II was a tremendous and glorious success, and demonstrates the wisdom and abiding presence of the Holy Spirit, moving and guiding the Church - which obviously ain’t happening with YOU!” Well! That opened a Pandora’s Box of a barrage of comments and opinions by him on such topics as the Latin mass, papal infallibility, heresy, sin, the Virgin birth, and proper priestly attire. After enduring this diatribe for an hour, I finally wrote back and said, “You know what, I’m tiring of this debate. Let’s just agree to disagree.” . . . Then I deleted him from my Facebook Friends!
It had been only a few weeks since Jesus sent them out on their own. All of the healings that he had done that were drawing people to him from every walk of life, they were now doing. And here they were all back together again sharing stories about everything that had happened. They were filled with excitement as each reported the miracles they had worked.
Jesus, who had been off on his own, joined the conversation. It is then that he posed a question, “Who do people say that I am?” There were lots of answers—they gave him the public opinion and passed on what they had heard, what others were saying. A safe and harmless question; one that was easy to answer. They had nothing at stake—simply passing on the opinions of others.
But then he asks a more loaded question—the one big question of all questions. “It’s all well and good what others are saying, but you, who do you say that I am?” Now Jesus is pressing them at a more personal level and far more is hanging on their answer. This time he wasn’t leaving them any wiggle room. This time he’s not interested in the general popular consensus or the prevailing public opinion. This time he’s not interested in what Google will come up with on the Internet when “Jesus Christ” is typed into the search engine.
You can just imagine the disciples standing around, looking at each other, hemming and hawing, trying to figure out what to say. And it’s Peter who impulsively speaks for all the others, and . . . and he gets it right: “The Christ of God! The One promised by God and sent by God!” And with the correct answer, Jesus then tells them what God expects of him and what he expects of them. He says, “If this is what you believe, what are you going to do about it?” Jesus was looking for more than a verbal response—he was looking for a life response.
It seems that giving the right answer to this question comes with consequences. There’s this business of the cross and making a choice to freely pick it up or put it down, and being willing to take it up each day when we wake up in the morning and rethink how we’ll respond to Jesus today. When Jesus was forced to carry his own cross on that Friday morning, it meant one thing and one thing only: death by the most painful and humiliating means possible. It wasn’t simply a symbol of the burdens we must all carry—strained relationships, thankless jobs, failures in school and in our careers, downturns in our investments, and physical illness. Taking up our crosses and following Jesus means how we live our lives and see ourselves in relation to Christ and how we treat others. The cost of accepting Jesus’ invitation is to pay the price in daily installments as we bear the hardships of being cross bearers.
Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Do you see hims as Good Shepherd? Savior? Redeemer? Master Teacher? Miracle Worker? Friend? Maybe you think of Jesus as your Beloved, one closer to you than even your spouse or child, father or mother. Perhaps you see Jesus as a somewhat naïve dreamer, someone whose teachings are nice, but which, in the real world, just can never be lived. Or maybe you see him as the “Push-over Savior,” and that you can do whatever you please because, in the end, you can rely on his love and forgiveness to get you into heaven no matter how sinful, or how undeserving, or how unrepentant you may be.
Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Not just intellectually, not just when you stand up in church on Sunday and recite the Creed, not just when you’re enjoying quiet moments of prayer. Who do you say that Jesus is, in those places where your lives are lived? In your home, in your workplace, when we’re with your friends who aren’t Christian, or for whom the teaching of Jesus and the church seem to matter very little?
And that question leads us to another series of questions. What difference does Jesus make in my life? What is it about my way of being and doing that would not be, could not be, if it were not for having Jesus in my life? Or are there areas where I am holding out, where my life is not noticeably different from the lives of those who see Jesus as an irrelevant relic of past superstition?
So, Jesus turns to us—“You! You there! Yes, you . . . Who do YOU say that I am?” The question hangs in the air—it won’t go away. We do our own hemming and hawing, and perhaps we hope others will answer for us. And Jesus says, “I’m not interested in opinions; I want to know what you think.” He has come into our lives and rearranged our worlds, so why can’t we come up with our definitive answer? We carry this question in our hearts throughout our lives—it is asked of us over and over. It’s a deeply personal question and it may be the most important question we’ll ever have to answer.
How are we going to answer? If we’re ready to take up our cross, it may not mean that have to risk our lives, but what about our friendships and having people talk about us behind our backs? What about alienation from our families? What about the loss of our jobs when we speak out against what’s wrong?
There comes a time when we have to answer this question and make our own confessions, just like Peter. Jesus is here with us right now, present in this gathering as he always is—the walking, talking, living presence of God in our lives. And in a few moments, he’ll be on this Table. When we process to communion, when we extend our hands, when we eat and drink, will we be able to give him our final answer—no opinions, just the testimony of our lives?
“Who do YOU say that I am?”
