August 21, 2005; 14th Sunday after Pentecost; Proper 16, Year A; Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 16:13-20) – Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" And they said, "Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets." He said to them, "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answered, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." And Jesus answered him, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

 

The disciples did not meet in Jesus something which resembled God's love, or something which taught them what God's love was like; they did not simply encounter something which transformed their understanding of God's love: they encountered God's love itself. They encountered, in Jesus, God loving them.¹

Let's go back a while. A few months, maybe a year or more. Peter, James and John and the rest of their group of friends accepted the invitation of an unknown Rabbi when he said to them, "Come and see." So they did. They followed him -- living together, traveling together, working together, eating together, drinking together. Gradually it began to dawn on them that there was something remarkable about this man. Through him they began to deepen and clarify their understanding and experience of God. The experience transformed them. It was wonderful and frightening. It was full of awe -- both awesome and awful.

In Jesus they met such a profound love and acceptance that it simultaneously healed them and judged them; disarmed them and made them whole again. Within the embrace of his acceptance, their own self-centeredness became exposed as though under a searchlight. Every time they surrendered to that searing love, something in them became more coherent.

In the light of his goodness they recognized their own guilt... and tasted forgiveness. In the weakness of his vulnerability they felt their own brokenness... and were made whole. In the probe of his compassion they experienced their own sickness... and were healed. In the courage of his being they knew their own bondage... and were freed. In the vision of his love they knew their own blindness... and they were enlightened. "They encountered God's love itself. They encountered, in Jesus, God loving them." And they were changed. But it wasn't easy. It's never easy being confronted by such piercing love.

There was a rich man who asked Jesus what must he do to be saved. He's followed the moral law of the Torah from his childhood. He is a good man. Sincere and upright. It says Jesus looked at him and loved him. In this loving look, Jesus knew the one little thing that was keeping this man from perfect happiness. "Sell your possessions and give them to the poor and you will have riches in heaven." I imagine a profound pause at this point. Jesus has exposed his guilt, his brokenness, his illness, and bondage and blindness. And he cannot trust the love enough to release the grasp of his attachment. We read that he went away grieving.

There was another man who had been ill for thirty-eight years. He lay by the pool of Beth-zatha where is was said that when an angel would disturb the pool, the first one in the water would be healed. He had been there a long time. Obviously his needs were met. He was fed, clothed, accommodated. Jesus pierced him with the question, "Do you want to be made well?" Here I think the response was immediate and reflexive. "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up." He's probably used that line a hundred times. Excuses. Rationalization. Jesus has exposed him -- his guilt, his brokenness, his real illness, his bondage and blindness. Then Jesus says to him, "Stand up, take your mat and walk." I wonder if he paused. If he takes up his mat, he abandons the familiar life of dependence he has known for almost forty years. If he walks, he will have to start looking for a job tomorrow. He will have to take responsibility for himself. But something inside him is drawn toward Jesus' invitation to life, and he is made well.

It's not easy being confronted with such piercing love. Not many of us handle it very well. If we try to maintain any of our self-serving traits in the face of such love we will be frustrated. The ideal model, it seems to me, is the Samaritan woman. Jesus meets her alone at the well at mid-day. You remember the story. They have some conversation about water. He offers her living water. She is intrigued. Then Jesus pierces into her soul. "Go, call your husband." "I have no husband." "You are right," says Jesus, "...for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband."

I imagine there is a long pause at this point as this woman weighs things. This man has exposed her guilt, her brokenness, her illness, her bondage, her blindness. When a stranger invades your space like that, the most natural reaction is one of self-defense, isn't it? But there is something more than natural about this man. There is something about the way Jesus is that allows her to be disarmed. And she pauses long enough to let her reactive defenses down. She tastes the promised living water -- forgiveness, wholeness, healing, freedom, light. Strangely thrilled she returns home exclaiming, "Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!" Told her everything she has ever done? And she's happy about it?! This is like meeting God.

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid. You can only risk that kind of exposure when you know you are truly and deeply loved.

Maybe that's why the stories of the apostle Peter are so endearing. His dance with the disarming love of Jesus is a complicated one, back and forth. In his boldness he is willing to risk walking on water for Jesus, but then he loses his focus and sinks. He boasts of his willingness to follow Jesus even unto death, and betrays Jesus three times. He intuits the reality of the depth of Jesus' identity as "Messiah, the Son of the living God," and then he resists Jesus' vulnerable journey toward suffering.

In Peter we see our own guilt, brokenness, illness, bondage and blindness. But also in Peter we can imagine the possibility of our own forgiveness, wholeness, healing, freedom, and enlightenment. Because if Peter can keep responding to this piercing love, so can we. On that rock Jesus can indeed build a church. And the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.

That rock is the willingness to embrace the piercing love of God in Jesus, and fail, over and over, and to get up to face that disarming love again. It is the willingness to face our guilt in the light of divine goodness, and be forgiven; to feel our brokenness in the vulnerability of Jesus and be made whole; to experience our own sickness through his probing compassion and be healed; to recognize our bondage in the presence of his courage and be freed; to know our own blindness in the brightness of his unbounded love and be enlightened.

But we simply can't hold on to our defensiveness and self-concern while we simultaneously empty our hands to receive his love. Only our thankfulness for his piercing acceptance can disarm us enough to loose the bonds of our selfishness and bind us to his love. And whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven.

Peter's repetitive story of loosing his grip on his defensiveness and binding himself to love is the rock on which the church is founded. The only way Peter could find to loose and to bind is through the piercing love of Jesus. What he met in Jesus was not something that resembled God's love, or something that taught him what God's love was like; he didn't simply encounter something which transformed his understanding of God's love: he encountered God's love itself. He encountered, in Jesus, God loving him.

Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid.

You can only risk that kind of exposure when you know you are truly and infinitely loved. Do you want to be made well? Come and see a man who will tell you everything you have ever done, and make you grateful for it.

 

1.  Mike Higton, Difficult Gospel, p. 29

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