A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, March 8, 2009
Mark 8:27-38
“Who do people say that I am?” Jesus asks. We assume that he knows. Obviously. He must know, but apparently not. Apparently, beyond our assumptions, Jesus must undergo great suffering. That’s a terrifying must, but Jesus must have this figured out. He’s just testing the disciples to see if they get it. However, that’s not what’s happening here at all. Jesus is turning to his community for answers. He’s asking them who he is and what he’s supposed to do, because in Mediterranean cultures “identity is clarified and confirmed only by significant others.” Jesus can’t figure this out by himself, so he turns to his closest friends to ask, “But who do you say that I am?”
This is not what we do. We don’t think this way. We are all on our own journey to figure out our own answer to that question. And though we might ask for help, we believe it’s healthier to trust our own instincts and figure it out for ourselves. This is exactly how I found myself staring at my checkbook this week. That’s not true. I don’t balance my checkbook. I carefully monitor my online banking account without doing the math myself. Nonetheless, like 12 other members in our Lenten study Climbing the Sycamore Tree, I found myself staring at the computer screen reflecting the past 60 days of my spending, asking, “Who do people say that I am?”
After all, this is what people see. They see where we spend our money. They might not know why but they can see the choices that we make. They can see me trot over to the Buttered Biscuit for lunch every day in my stubborn insistence to not pack a lunch. This is what people can see in my spending. I eat out a lot. They might even judge me for it – but I’ll only sigh and remark about our great suffering because it is, isn’t it?
Our great suffering is this economy. We’re in it. This isn’t something that might happen somewhere off in the future. This is something that is happening to all of us, right here and right now. Unemployment is soaring. Stocks are plummeting. This is indeed our great suffering, so what do we do? Do we save? Do we spend? Is there an easy answer to this?
The Markan Jesus doesn’t think so. Instead, Jesus says: “Deny yourself and take up your cross and follow me.” This is anything but easy. Still, we think Jesus has it all figured out. He must. He’s brave enough to teach about his own suffering. Unlike our current economic crisis, he must know how the story ends. Jesus must know that he will die and be resurrected, and so he must know how to talk about money. After all, he talks about it enough. When the disciples first began, the Markan Jesus tells them not to bring any money. He tells a man to sell what he owns and give it to the poor. And then, of course, there is the temple tantrum with the money changers. However, he doesn’t have it figured out. He’s still looking for support. He’s looking to his community for clarification. Before teaching anything, he turns to his friends and asks, “But who do you say that I am?”
This is what God does. God doesn’t teach us without first asking us, “But who do you say that I am?” God wants to know what we think. God wants to know what it feels like for us to fear unemployment, to lose a job, to count pennies or to watch retirement slip away. God wants to hear these things so that God can know how to respond. “Who do you say that I am?” God asks when we find ourselves in our greatest suffering. God never wanted this. God never wants us to suffer. God will challenge us. God pushes us. But, it is never God’s intention for us to suffer. Instead, it is the world that causes suffering. That’s very Buddhist, isn’t it? It was Buddha that said that all life is suffering, but isn’t it true? God doesn’t intend for Jesus to die anymore than God wants us to be gripped by economic fears.
Still, no matter how much God hopes to ease our pain, there is suffering in the world. It is not that Jesus must die, but something that happens because of how Jesus lives. He challenges what was accepted. He pushes toward another way of being in the world. And ultimately, as he teaches the disciples here, Jesus dies for this challenge to the world’s suffering. This is how Jesus ends up on the cross, so that others can be liberated from the grips of “self-preservation” and “live for others.”
And so, Jesus instructs, Deny yourself. Don’t preserve your self. God doesn’t want that for you. God wants you to let go and live your life for others. God wants you to see that you are not the only one She created. She wants you to see how you are related to each and every living thing on this planet. This is anything but easy, which is why after you deny yourself, Jesus instructs to take up your cross. It follows automatically in those moments where you struggle with your choice to live your life for others. Of course, this is a challenge. These are not simple steps. God knows, these are hard things to do. It’s not just a matter of being self-reflective or seeing the world in another way. It’s making a choice, again and again, for love. For love of yourself. For love of God. For love of the world.
But, if denying yourself and taking up your cross is just too hard, perhaps it’s best to simply follow Jesus’ example. Not what he teaches, but what he does. Before offering any wisdom, Jesus asks a question about himself to those he loves. Maybe this is a way through these economically hard times. If you want to become followers, turn to your community, your significant other, or person that sees you balance your checkbook at lunch, and ask, “But who do you say that I am?” And then, just listen. Listen because God may speak to you, as she did for me in the words of a favorite Mary Oliver poem that has been echoing in my head all week long.
You do not have to good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
God wants you to find your place in the family of things, no matter what the great sufferings of the economy bring. God doesn’t have any easier answers but hopes that you will find your place to ask questions and seek support. As the poet says, you don’t have to be good. You just have to know that you’re not alone. That’s all God hopes for you.