21 June 1998
As part of an experiment for a sociology seminar, a student spent an afternoon at a local mall asking the same questions to several dozen passersby. "Who are you? How would you identify yourself?" The answers were as varied as the respondents. Some identified themselves by their role in their family: "I'm a grandfather"..."I am a wife and mother."
Others did so in terms of their occupation: "I'm a sales clerk"..."I work at the music shop"..."I teach at the community college." Some identified themselves along ethnic or racial lines: "I'm an Afro-American"..."I'm a third-generation Italian American." A few simply offered their age and/or gender as a means of identification: "a forty-three-year-old man"..."I'm seventeen!" A few people offered character traits: "I'm an honest, hard-working individual"...Some described themselves in terms of their feelings or physical condition: "I'm happy"..."I'm exhausted." Several, thinking that a political poll was being conducted, responded as regards their chosen party : "a Democrat"..."I'm Republican." Still others claimed their city or state of residence as a means of identification: "A life-long New Yorker"..."I'm from Texas." A few respondents answered the student's question by designating their religious affiliation. "Christian"..."Baptist"..."I'm an agnostic"...and one person simply rattled off his Social Security number. (1)
Obviously, there are myriad ways of offering information as to who we are. If you were to ask family or friends, "Who do you say that I am?" how do you think they would describe you? It could be an interesting exercise.
As Jesus came out of the wilderness after 40 days to begin his public ministry, I believe he knew who he was and what he was to do. I also believe that many who first encountered him quickly formed opinions about who he was and what he was to do. Assumptions and expectations about this Jesus of Nazareth were quite firm, quite secure as he began his work. The more educated knew what to expect from this newest holy man, they knew about Jesus, they knew what he was, where he was from, they would not be fooled like the crowds.
But neither would Jesus be deterred by their easy dismissals. From village to village, along the shoreline, in the hills, along the roads, in their homes, Jesus spoke, Jesus touched and healed, Jesus shared meals and joined in worship, he went alone to pray. With each word, each touch, each new action, each familiar action repeated, Jesus revealed something about the one who sent him. Those who could approach him with an open mind and heart were stirred, were challenged, were broken open to receive the Good News.
I can picture the moment described in this morning's gospel. Jesus has again gone a short distance from the disciples in order to pray. Huddled close to one another, speaking in low voices so as not to unduly disturb Jesus, the disciples are wrestling with a question that one of them had finally spoken aloud: "Who is this man?" What they have seen, what they have heard, what they have begun to suspect, to dream, to hope, is all together too much. It is burning within them, they must give voice to these questions and hopes. It hurts to hold them in.
"I tell you he is one of the prophets come back to life! Have you heard him speak? Who but a prophet could speak like this?"
"No! No! Not just a prophet, he is Elijah! The world will end soon, you'll see, Jesus (Elijah) will prepare the way, the Messiah will come. We are the disciples of Elijah, my friends."
Back and forth, each man more sure than the last that he has it figured out. Each man lost in the passion of his understanding and insight. Only Peter is not speaking. It is so odd, usually he is the first with an opinion or a statement or something. Finally uncomfortable with his silence, the others are about to draw him into their argument when Jesus approaches and everyone becomes quiet.
Whether they had spoken too loudly, whether he sensed it was the right time, whether he understood with the clarity of God that this was the moment, Jesus shattered the silence with his question: "Who do the crowds say that I am?" At first, no one spoke, though the energy of the argument was begging to be expressed. Finally, someone spoke up and then all of them let loose what they had heard, what they had come to believe, what they had come to champion. And Jesus listened. Curiously, Peter was again silent.
Pleased with themselves and their answers, Jesus' next question caught them off guard: "Who do you say that I am?" It was one of those moments that could not have been predicted at the start of the day: a life changing moment that comes unbidden and catches you wishing you had been better prepared. And, unlike the first question, which permitted them to hold a strong opinion and provided an escape hatch, this question would reveal their heart, there would be no escape hatch, there would be no distancing themselves from the answer if they were wrong. It was an uncomfortable silence that followed.
Eyes downcast, tongues silent, they peeked up to see that Jesus was looking right at Peter. Whew. They were off the hook for the moment. The two men stood, staring into the others' eyes. Bringing their gaze up the others could see the tension in Peter, he held his body still, his eyes were unblinking and focused. They could see the struggle still active behind those eyes, however. They held their breath. The silence seemed to last forever. It was a hard silence.
He spoke softly, when at last he spoke, but the words came like an explosion into this silence: "The Messiah of God." Peter answered without flinching, "You are the Messiah of God." In that moment, with those words spoken aloud and still hanging in the air, it was as if something snapped in the others as well. It would be variously described as a light shining in the darkness, a blindness lifted, a lameness made strong and healthy, a captivity shattered, a way to truth and love, found. The group was changed, every disciple was changed. There would be no going back now.
I am well within the mark when I say that every one of us gathered this morning has been in Peter's place. Jesus is looking at us, when he asks, "Who do you you say that I am?" Jesus wants to know our answer.
Over the years and the hundreds of stories I am still amazed and in awe about when and how Jesus speaks his question. I am always enthralled with the variety of responses when his question is finally heard. The moment does not always come with high drama and clarity. Many of us cannot even pinpoint the moment of question and decision, it seems like we have always understood. Others of us can give precise details of the moment of decision. All of us, though, can speak about moments when our knowledge of Jesus deepened or broadened. We will speak of how he became more real, more of a friend, more awesome, more present, more important in our lives. Conversion is like that.
As long as we have breath, as long as we can suspend our assumptions and bias, as long as we can approach Jesus with a capacity to be surprised and taught we will learn and grow and our relationship will become stronger and broader and deeper. We can even hear the second part of what Jesus has to say, about taking up a cross and following, knowing with a profound joy that Jesus walks with us, shares the burden with us, never leaves us, not for an instant.
I give thanks for all of you who have come to know Jesus and have found ways to share that knowledge with others. I give thanks for all of you who have come to know Jesus and have shared your knowledge with me. I give thanks for all of you who continue to care enough to deepen your relationship with Jesus, and I give thanks that you have invited me to do the same. Together let us continue to follow the Way as faithfully as we can through this parish, and let us continue to invite others to join us on this amazing adventure into and for God's glory. Amen.
(1) Patricia Datchuck Sanchez, "A question of identity," Celebration, [Celebration, P.O. Box 419493, Kansas City MO 64141] June 1998) 265. Proper 7C—21 June 1998, Luke 9.18-24
The Rev. Daniel Rondeau
drondeau@stmargarets.org
21 June 1998