Which Leader Should We Follow?
Commentary
Coaching is nothing without a team that responds. Leaders are merely overblown egos if there is no one who will follow. During the tumultuous French Revolution of 1789, mobs and madmen rushed through Paris streets. One journalist reported a wide-eyed, wild-haired wastrel lumbering along one day, feverishly demanding from all he saw, “Where is the crowd? I must find them! I am their leader!”
God is the greatest coach, of course, but most often teams on earth seem unwilling to follow. Because of that, people mill about or wander aimlessly, losing their way and muting the testimony of the church.
It is a bit like England, prior to Churchill—only a patchwork of competing ideologies, stymied at the crossroads of the 20th century’s critical international events. Or, think again of India, before Gandhi: lacking cohesive identity, and playing games of competitive kowtowing to expatriate authorities, and only turned around when the “Great Soul” helped inspire a national common cause. But of course, even more tragic is the situation in the church, when God’s people skirt from the light in embarrassment or timidity or simply tiredness.
The problem, as each of our readings today explore, is that the great leader has recently come, but those who are sub-coaches now think they can play the game without the head coach. They use a different play book and try to win minor trophies that will gather dust on their mantles, rather than looking for the winning season that would honor the owner.
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended “historical prologue” to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel’s precarious situation in Egypt (chapter 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh’s agent for recovering Yahweh’s enslaved people (chapter 2), the calling of this deliverer (chapters 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to Suzerain status over this vassal nation (chapters 5-19).
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start, there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that “Joseph” has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backwards, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile “miraculously” ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa, thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt’s farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus, it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile’s currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute, and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
Moses’ own name ties him to the royal family of Egypt and its influence (note the frequent occurrence of the letters MSS in the names of Pharaohs of the eighteenth through twentieth dynasties—Thutmoses, Ramses, etc.), and his training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities. Moses’ time in the wilderness, on the other hand, made him familiar with Bedouin life, and similarly fortified his ability to stand at the head of a wandering community once Israel was released from slavery.
Romans 12:1-8
Paul’s powerful testimony in the first half of his letter to the Roman congregation seems to cause him to reflect ruefully on a truly knotty theological problem. If Paul can be so certain about God’s strident grace toward us in this new age of the Messiah (Romans 4-8), why did God’s declarations of favor toward Israel in the previous age of revelation seem to fail? Why did Israel lose its privileged place in the divine plan, while the spreading church of Jesus Christ is suddenly God’s favored child?
These questions become the research matters for Paul’s internal intellectual debating team in Romans 9-11. First up, comes the standard reflection that God is sovereign. This means, for Paul, that God’s special relationship with Israel was God’s choice to make and is not undone now that God wishes also to use a new tactic in the divine attempt at recovering the whole of humanity back into a meaningful relationship with God.
Nevertheless, according to Paul, there has been something amiss about Israel’s side of this relationship with God. Rather than understanding its favored position as enlisting it into the divine global mission, the nation tended to become myopic and self-centered. Instead of believing that she, too, needed to repent and find God’s care through grace, Israel supposed that she had an inherent right to divine favor.
In the end, Paul believes that partly through Israel’s false presumptions, and partly because of God’s temporary change of strategies in order to better fulfill the original divine redemptive mission, Gentiles have come to the center of God’s attention, while Israel, though not forgotten, is partially sidelined for a time. But even this alteration in the temperature of God’s relationship with Israel is a lover’s game: Israel needs to feel the good jealousy for a partner that she has too long taken for granted, so that she will recover her passions of great love. In the meantime, however, all win. God wins in the divine missional enterprise. The Gentiles win because they have a renewed opportunity to get to know God. And Israel wins because she is never forgotten and is coming round to a renewed love affair with her beau. No wonder Paul ends these reflections with a passionate doxology culled from Isaiah 40:13 and Job 41:11—"Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him the glory forever! Amen.”
Paul may well have had to wrestle his way through that problem of divine election at least in part because of the mixed Jewish-Gentile makeup of the Roman congregation. This possible tension seems to reassert itself again in Paul’s applications of Christian behavior in the chapters that follow. First, Paul urges a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus (12:1-2), shaped by spiritual giftedness (12:3-8), and energized by love (12:9-21).
This is the essential thrust of today’s New Testament lectionary reading.
Matthew 16:13-20
Among other things, faith is a matter of appearances. It is important that we understand who Jesus is, not just in our sometimes-mistaken notions of who we would like him to be, but who he is by his own testimony and actions. That seems to be why Jesus challenges his disciples to read the appearances well as they walk one day in the north country of Palestine. “Who do people say I am?” he asked them.
The setting was quite appropriate for such a question, even if it does not immediately strike us that way from our first reading of the text. They were wandering in the region of Caesarea Philippi, we are told. This was a relatively new city built near the site of an ancient gathering place of spiritual significance on the slopes of Mount Hermon.
Mount Hermon is the highest point in Galilee, a striking conical dormant volcano that provides the only significant ski slopes in modern Israel. Because of its high altitude and its position in the northern regions of the land, Mount Hermon receives more rain on its slopes than do many parts of Palestine. The waters not only run down in creeks and streams, but they also sink below the surface to produce springs on the lower skirts of its foothills.
Near Caesarea Philippi there are springs and streams that create an exceptionally well-watered area. Trees grow in abundance and provide a shaded canopy filled with the sounds of gurgling and trickling waters, and a chorus of bird song. It is no wonder that Jesus would take his disciples there for a strolling Socratic teaching session.
But the place held more than just pleasant park-like settings. Because the waters bubbled and gurgled up from caves at the base of the mountain, area residents had long believed this to be the doorway into the underworld. Here, they thought, the spirits of the deep tried to communicate with creatures on the surface. Sometimes sulfuric gasses were emitted, and these only confirmed the presence of other-worldly voices and the breath of Hades.
Over the centuries a variety of religious sects had used the place as a cultic shrine. They cut niches in the rock walls of the mountain just above the burbling caves and set up statues of gods they thought might be resident there. They even gave the place a spiritual name. They called it “The Gates of Hades.” Here, they believed, was the doorway between the realm of the living and the abode of the dead. Those with keen faculties would be able to hear the whispers of the departed and the voice of the underworld gods. It was considered to be a very holy place.
But appearances can be deceiving, so Jesus comes with his disciples to test their perceptions. “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”
We ought not read too much into Jesus’ self-identification here. Some think he is making a divine claim already in the question that he asks his disciples. But it is more likely that Jesus is using the term “Son of Man” in a manner similar to that found in the prophecy of Ezekiel. According to Ezekiel, when he was approached by heavenly messengers to form a link in the communication process between God and God’s people, the angels called him “Son of Man.” The designation was more of a representational term than anything else. In effect, it was an acknowledgement that Ezekiel was truly human, but that he was being used in these settings as the conduit between the celestial and the terrestrial.
The “Son of Man,” thus, was someone who had no unusual powers in himself, but who had been entrusted with a special revelation that was now supposed to be passed along to others. If Jesus used the term in this manner, he was merely asking his disciples what people thought about him, now that he had become a point of contact between them and God.
So, the answers came. “Some say John the Baptist,” they told him. This was Herod’s favorite and fearful line. Herod had long been fascinated with Jesus’ cousin John, a wild man who lived outside the system. But John was also a prophet who criticized the system and those who ran it, and no one came under more of John’s judgmental tirade than did Herod. Herod’s forebears had taught him how to survive in politics: it was a matter of deception, bribery, murder and power plays. When Herod dared to kill his brother and marry his brother’s wife, it surprised few. After all, they had been carrying on an openly “secret” affair for year. Moreover, the new alliance produced political benefits for a variety of courtiers and solidified Herod’s rule in territorial acquisition and the conferring of titles.
Herod wanted to get rid of John, but he hesitated to kill the man. For one thing, John was a popular figure, and Herod didn’t want to build too much resistance. After all, he fancied himself a true “king of the Jews,” even if his ethnicity made that a huge stretch, and his religious devotion announced it to be a farce.
Fear of a popular uprising wasn’t the only reason Herod didn’t want to execute John. Herod was also superstitious enough to believe that John actually spoke for a powerful divinity. So, Herod was trying to play it safe. He was not about to garner more ire than necessary, especially if it came from transcendent sources. To have a powerful God against you was an unwise political bargain.
Still, John’s public indignation against Herod, especially after Herod stole his brother’s wife, was more than the king could tolerate. Herodias, too, disliked the man. She was at least as cunning as her new husband and would not dismiss John quietly like some quack or minor irritation. Together they had John put in prison. Even there, however, the prophet refused to be silenced. Herod himself made many secret trips to see the man, now that he was so close at hand. And others who claimed to be John’s disciples had ongoing access to their leader through sympathetic guards. The martyr-like John in prison was almost more powerful than was the former wild man of the Jordan valley. His mystique only grew larger.
So Herodias devised a plan to push Herod into the executioner’s chair. Using her daughter’s beguiling dancing as a lure, she created a scenario where Herod had to buckle. At a heads-of-states banquet where Herod hosted his powerful friends, Herodias got her daughter to serve as entertainment, and then coaxed out of Herod a drunken public promise to reward her seductive whirling in any way she wished. Too late Herod realized his wife’s part in the plot when it was John the Baptist’s head the young woman demanded as payment (Mark 6:14-28).
Herod followed through on the recompense, for he had made a kingly vow. But since that time, he had not slept well, believing that John would come back to haunt him. One may connive and kill others in the royal household, because that is the price of playing with power and living in its vortex. But John was an innocent from outside the system, and there would surely be divine retribution stalking Herod until blood was satisfied with other blood.
So when Jesus showed up looking like John, sounding like John, and running an itinerant school of prophets like John, Herod was sure John had come back to do him in. This new John was probably even more powerful than his previous incarnation—hence the many miracles Herod had heard about—and was probably building a broad base of support to take Herod down in a very painful and public way. Herod believed Jesus was John reborn and had great reason to fear.
But Jesus wasn’t John, and the disciples knew it. They had seen John and Jesus together, and knew the one from the other.
There were other rumors about Jesus’ identity floating around, of course. “Elijah” was a favorite among the scribes. They copied scripture and knew it well. Since every manuscript was a hand-written, labor-intensive work of faith, the scribes were committed to knowing every detail of the holy books and transcribing them accurately.
Among the many prophetic notes they painstakingly reproduced was the one left by Jeremiah. More than any of the other prophets Jeremiah entered scripture with a well-developed personality and a clearly articulated identity. He often reflected introspectively on his divine calling and the painfulness of his vocation. Jeremiah’s friend Baruch added to the mystique by including biographical information into the record that contained Jeremiah’s prophetic tirades.
Moreover, Jeremiah did not disappear from the scene easily. At the end of his prophecies, he urged the remnant remaining in Jerusalem to stay there and rebuild. But they were fearful of a return visit from the Babylonian armies, so they kidnapped Jeremiah and forced him to march with them to Egypt. It was at that point that Jeremiah slipped into the hazes of history. Many believed that soon he would recover and roar again out of the fog of time. So, when Jesus quoted Jeremiah’s prophecy on several occasions, many were quick to pin the ancient seer’s name on this new man of God.
Yet Jesus knew better than anyone else that he was neither John nor Elijah, neither Jeremiah nor another of the prophets come back to life. So he put the matter squarely to those who shared his meals and his snoring and his daily dusty walk, “But who do you think I am?”
It was Peter, of course, who answered. The rest of the disciples don’t really know what to say. Can they call Jesus a miracle worker? Should they say he speaks with a prophet’s voice? Dare they admit they think he might be Messiah?
All their fears of communication faux pas are put to rest when Peter jumps too quickly into the embarrassing silence and blurts out that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. But there is no satisfaction here, for the answer is more troubling than the question. As long as Jesus was merely interested in public opinion this discussion was a pleasant way to pass time and share a place in the spotlight of success. But now that Jesus has demanded clarification from them, they cannot hide behind other skirts.
Application
God is good; creation is good; and human alienation from the good is a late introduction brought about by our sinful choices. Time after time God initiated a restoration of relationships with humanity. All are welcome to be part of the team. As part of our latter days, in fact, God sent in Jesus to spur the team to new spiritual victories. Jesus is the expression of God’s righteousness inserted recently into our world, and the means by which we are attached to the eternal righteous endeavors of God. Jesus is the glue that binds the team together and keeps us connected both to the Owner and the Game.
Jesus has clearly expressed his divine power and wisdom. Enough so, in fact, that winning the real game of life means playing by a set of rules that has not been used for a long time on planet earth. It is like the “deep magic” of Aslan in C. S. Lewis’ great tale, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Most don’t understand it, but without it the game becomes a never-ending cycle of violence in which there are only losers.
For that reason, as Paul indicates, reminding his readers about the process that led them to come onto the Jesus team in the first place. It is not self-preservation but service that counts. It is not superiority but selflessness that wins points. It is not stridency but sacrifice that finds recognition from the owner of the club. Jesus is building a team that will change the world. Unfortunately, on that day, too few people seemed willing to show up at the try-outs.
There is a scene in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring where a partnership is forged among those who would accompany Frodo on his journey to destroy the ring of power, the symbol and driving force of all that is evil. The movie version makes for a very gripping visual illustration, and the original literary text is equally as moving. What comes through as the bond that unites these creatures is a sense of selflessness. Each subsumes his will to the greater cause and trusts an unseen and transcendent good for an outcome that will bless all of Middle Earth, even if the trek itself causes the demise of any or all of the compatriots.
So it is in Jesus’ small glimpse of the mission of God, echoed in each of these passages. In a world turned cold to its Creator, in an age riddled by Delphic oracles and temple prostitutes and emperors claiming divinity, in a little corner of geography where messianic hopes ran high, God called together a strange team to make its mark by playing a different game. These folks are part of a great divine mission of transformation. Still, many are losing nerve, getting weak-kneed, and slipping back from the light of grace into the shadows of fear and alienation. They need a great pep talk from the coach, and it resonates through the voice of the author of creation itself. “Come on, people! You started brilliantly! But you have lost heart, and you’re losing the game! Remember who you are! Remember whose you are! Get back in, and let’s see this thing through! You are winners, but you have to play the game!”
Walter Wangerin, Jr., in his great allegory, The Book of the Dun Cow (along with its wonderful sequel, The Book of Sorrows) captures both the scope of the divine mission as well as the under-rated character of the team. If the focus remains on the team, apart from the mission, the point is lost. God is reclaiming God’s creation but does so through human agency. The game is fierce, and the playing field is rough. Only those who can tear up their personal score sheets in order get into God’s game will make the team. Only they are truly called. Only they are equipped to serve and follow and play on the greatest winning team of all time.
Jesus took the road to the cross, and now he calls others to join him in that same pilgrimage. The Cost of Discipleship, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted,is self-denial. The words of the writer of Hebrews are a strong call to that vocation, not as an end in itself or as a means to a self-help goal (like dieting), but rather as a counter-cultural missional testimony. Those who travel this road do not get to Easter without first enduring Good Friday; they do not presume a glorious outcome that gathers the media like paparazzi vultures, but sense that the journey of service brings light in darkness, hope in despair, healing for pain, and faith where power corrupts and destroys.
Have you entered the cause?
Alternative Application (Matthew 16:13-20)
Jesus is our familiar stranger. He is the man who lives down the hall yet remains an enigma. The disciples know they don’t really know him, yet they are willing to live with the tension as long as nobody has to name it. We are not that different from them.
One of the college courses I often teach is called “Which Jesus?” In it, I take my students through Jaroslav Pelikan’s book Jesus through the Centuries (Yale, 1999) and the writings of the New Testament, and reflect on the variety of ways in which people think about Jesus. Each time I teach this course, I ask my students to write a paper which requires that they talk with their parents about how Mom and Dad view Jesus. Invariably I get some papers still wet with tears from students who never before knew the Jesus of their parents’ religious devotions. Too long they had passed by one another snickering at the religious folly of others while never having to face the question of Jesus’ identity themselves.
Somehow Peter had learned enough during his time as a student in Jesus’ rabbinical school to get the answer right on the oral exam. Somehow, he managed to sift through the files of mistaken identities and come up with the declaration that Jesus is more than a prophet, more than a religious curiosity, more than a spiritual guru superstar. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus brought heaven to earth and earth to heaven. Jesus is the link between imminent and transcendent, and all of us need to know that if we are to get firm footing on the rock that really matters.
With the wall of religious trends there at Caesarea Philippi framed in the background, Jesus affirmed Peter’s testimony. None of these other superstitions, commonly known as the “Gates of Hades,” spanned the gap between heaven and earth. They never do. We reach and hope and hedge our bets and pray. But unless we know the identity of Jesus, our religious actions are like bad gas burping from the caves of an old volcano.
So the question Jesus asked back then is always relevant. “Who do you say I am?” Do you know?
God is the greatest coach, of course, but most often teams on earth seem unwilling to follow. Because of that, people mill about or wander aimlessly, losing their way and muting the testimony of the church.
It is a bit like England, prior to Churchill—only a patchwork of competing ideologies, stymied at the crossroads of the 20th century’s critical international events. Or, think again of India, before Gandhi: lacking cohesive identity, and playing games of competitive kowtowing to expatriate authorities, and only turned around when the “Great Soul” helped inspire a national common cause. But of course, even more tragic is the situation in the church, when God’s people skirt from the light in embarrassment or timidity or simply tiredness.
The problem, as each of our readings today explore, is that the great leader has recently come, but those who are sub-coaches now think they can play the game without the head coach. They use a different play book and try to win minor trophies that will gather dust on their mantles, rather than looking for the winning season that would honor the owner.
Exodus 1:8-2:10
Exodus 1-19 forms an extended “historical prologue” to the Sinai covenant by declaring Israel’s precarious situation in Egypt (chapter 1), the birth and training of the leader who would become Yahweh’s agent for recovering Yahweh’s enslaved people (chapter 2), the calling of this deliverer (chapters 3-4), and the battle of the superpowers (the Pharaoh and Yahweh) who each lay claim to Suzerain status over this vassal nation (chapters 5-19).
The struggles of chapters 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start, there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that “Joseph” has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backwards, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile “miraculously” ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa, thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt’s farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus, it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile’s currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute, and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
Moses’ own name ties him to the royal family of Egypt and its influence (note the frequent occurrence of the letters MSS in the names of Pharaohs of the eighteenth through twentieth dynasties—Thutmoses, Ramses, etc.), and his training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities. Moses’ time in the wilderness, on the other hand, made him familiar with Bedouin life, and similarly fortified his ability to stand at the head of a wandering community once Israel was released from slavery.
Romans 12:1-8
Paul’s powerful testimony in the first half of his letter to the Roman congregation seems to cause him to reflect ruefully on a truly knotty theological problem. If Paul can be so certain about God’s strident grace toward us in this new age of the Messiah (Romans 4-8), why did God’s declarations of favor toward Israel in the previous age of revelation seem to fail? Why did Israel lose its privileged place in the divine plan, while the spreading church of Jesus Christ is suddenly God’s favored child?
These questions become the research matters for Paul’s internal intellectual debating team in Romans 9-11. First up, comes the standard reflection that God is sovereign. This means, for Paul, that God’s special relationship with Israel was God’s choice to make and is not undone now that God wishes also to use a new tactic in the divine attempt at recovering the whole of humanity back into a meaningful relationship with God.
Nevertheless, according to Paul, there has been something amiss about Israel’s side of this relationship with God. Rather than understanding its favored position as enlisting it into the divine global mission, the nation tended to become myopic and self-centered. Instead of believing that she, too, needed to repent and find God’s care through grace, Israel supposed that she had an inherent right to divine favor.
In the end, Paul believes that partly through Israel’s false presumptions, and partly because of God’s temporary change of strategies in order to better fulfill the original divine redemptive mission, Gentiles have come to the center of God’s attention, while Israel, though not forgotten, is partially sidelined for a time. But even this alteration in the temperature of God’s relationship with Israel is a lover’s game: Israel needs to feel the good jealousy for a partner that she has too long taken for granted, so that she will recover her passions of great love. In the meantime, however, all win. God wins in the divine missional enterprise. The Gentiles win because they have a renewed opportunity to get to know God. And Israel wins because she is never forgotten and is coming round to a renewed love affair with her beau. No wonder Paul ends these reflections with a passionate doxology culled from Isaiah 40:13 and Job 41:11—"Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgments, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him the glory forever! Amen.”
Paul may well have had to wrestle his way through that problem of divine election at least in part because of the mixed Jewish-Gentile makeup of the Roman congregation. This possible tension seems to reassert itself again in Paul’s applications of Christian behavior in the chapters that follow. First, Paul urges a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus (12:1-2), shaped by spiritual giftedness (12:3-8), and energized by love (12:9-21).
This is the essential thrust of today’s New Testament lectionary reading.
Matthew 16:13-20
Among other things, faith is a matter of appearances. It is important that we understand who Jesus is, not just in our sometimes-mistaken notions of who we would like him to be, but who he is by his own testimony and actions. That seems to be why Jesus challenges his disciples to read the appearances well as they walk one day in the north country of Palestine. “Who do people say I am?” he asked them.
The setting was quite appropriate for such a question, even if it does not immediately strike us that way from our first reading of the text. They were wandering in the region of Caesarea Philippi, we are told. This was a relatively new city built near the site of an ancient gathering place of spiritual significance on the slopes of Mount Hermon.
Mount Hermon is the highest point in Galilee, a striking conical dormant volcano that provides the only significant ski slopes in modern Israel. Because of its high altitude and its position in the northern regions of the land, Mount Hermon receives more rain on its slopes than do many parts of Palestine. The waters not only run down in creeks and streams, but they also sink below the surface to produce springs on the lower skirts of its foothills.
Near Caesarea Philippi there are springs and streams that create an exceptionally well-watered area. Trees grow in abundance and provide a shaded canopy filled with the sounds of gurgling and trickling waters, and a chorus of bird song. It is no wonder that Jesus would take his disciples there for a strolling Socratic teaching session.
But the place held more than just pleasant park-like settings. Because the waters bubbled and gurgled up from caves at the base of the mountain, area residents had long believed this to be the doorway into the underworld. Here, they thought, the spirits of the deep tried to communicate with creatures on the surface. Sometimes sulfuric gasses were emitted, and these only confirmed the presence of other-worldly voices and the breath of Hades.
Over the centuries a variety of religious sects had used the place as a cultic shrine. They cut niches in the rock walls of the mountain just above the burbling caves and set up statues of gods they thought might be resident there. They even gave the place a spiritual name. They called it “The Gates of Hades.” Here, they believed, was the doorway between the realm of the living and the abode of the dead. Those with keen faculties would be able to hear the whispers of the departed and the voice of the underworld gods. It was considered to be a very holy place.
But appearances can be deceiving, so Jesus comes with his disciples to test their perceptions. “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”
We ought not read too much into Jesus’ self-identification here. Some think he is making a divine claim already in the question that he asks his disciples. But it is more likely that Jesus is using the term “Son of Man” in a manner similar to that found in the prophecy of Ezekiel. According to Ezekiel, when he was approached by heavenly messengers to form a link in the communication process between God and God’s people, the angels called him “Son of Man.” The designation was more of a representational term than anything else. In effect, it was an acknowledgement that Ezekiel was truly human, but that he was being used in these settings as the conduit between the celestial and the terrestrial.
The “Son of Man,” thus, was someone who had no unusual powers in himself, but who had been entrusted with a special revelation that was now supposed to be passed along to others. If Jesus used the term in this manner, he was merely asking his disciples what people thought about him, now that he had become a point of contact between them and God.
So, the answers came. “Some say John the Baptist,” they told him. This was Herod’s favorite and fearful line. Herod had long been fascinated with Jesus’ cousin John, a wild man who lived outside the system. But John was also a prophet who criticized the system and those who ran it, and no one came under more of John’s judgmental tirade than did Herod. Herod’s forebears had taught him how to survive in politics: it was a matter of deception, bribery, murder and power plays. When Herod dared to kill his brother and marry his brother’s wife, it surprised few. After all, they had been carrying on an openly “secret” affair for year. Moreover, the new alliance produced political benefits for a variety of courtiers and solidified Herod’s rule in territorial acquisition and the conferring of titles.
Herod wanted to get rid of John, but he hesitated to kill the man. For one thing, John was a popular figure, and Herod didn’t want to build too much resistance. After all, he fancied himself a true “king of the Jews,” even if his ethnicity made that a huge stretch, and his religious devotion announced it to be a farce.
Fear of a popular uprising wasn’t the only reason Herod didn’t want to execute John. Herod was also superstitious enough to believe that John actually spoke for a powerful divinity. So, Herod was trying to play it safe. He was not about to garner more ire than necessary, especially if it came from transcendent sources. To have a powerful God against you was an unwise political bargain.
Still, John’s public indignation against Herod, especially after Herod stole his brother’s wife, was more than the king could tolerate. Herodias, too, disliked the man. She was at least as cunning as her new husband and would not dismiss John quietly like some quack or minor irritation. Together they had John put in prison. Even there, however, the prophet refused to be silenced. Herod himself made many secret trips to see the man, now that he was so close at hand. And others who claimed to be John’s disciples had ongoing access to their leader through sympathetic guards. The martyr-like John in prison was almost more powerful than was the former wild man of the Jordan valley. His mystique only grew larger.
So Herodias devised a plan to push Herod into the executioner’s chair. Using her daughter’s beguiling dancing as a lure, she created a scenario where Herod had to buckle. At a heads-of-states banquet where Herod hosted his powerful friends, Herodias got her daughter to serve as entertainment, and then coaxed out of Herod a drunken public promise to reward her seductive whirling in any way she wished. Too late Herod realized his wife’s part in the plot when it was John the Baptist’s head the young woman demanded as payment (Mark 6:14-28).
Herod followed through on the recompense, for he had made a kingly vow. But since that time, he had not slept well, believing that John would come back to haunt him. One may connive and kill others in the royal household, because that is the price of playing with power and living in its vortex. But John was an innocent from outside the system, and there would surely be divine retribution stalking Herod until blood was satisfied with other blood.
So when Jesus showed up looking like John, sounding like John, and running an itinerant school of prophets like John, Herod was sure John had come back to do him in. This new John was probably even more powerful than his previous incarnation—hence the many miracles Herod had heard about—and was probably building a broad base of support to take Herod down in a very painful and public way. Herod believed Jesus was John reborn and had great reason to fear.
But Jesus wasn’t John, and the disciples knew it. They had seen John and Jesus together, and knew the one from the other.
There were other rumors about Jesus’ identity floating around, of course. “Elijah” was a favorite among the scribes. They copied scripture and knew it well. Since every manuscript was a hand-written, labor-intensive work of faith, the scribes were committed to knowing every detail of the holy books and transcribing them accurately.
Among the many prophetic notes they painstakingly reproduced was the one left by Jeremiah. More than any of the other prophets Jeremiah entered scripture with a well-developed personality and a clearly articulated identity. He often reflected introspectively on his divine calling and the painfulness of his vocation. Jeremiah’s friend Baruch added to the mystique by including biographical information into the record that contained Jeremiah’s prophetic tirades.
Moreover, Jeremiah did not disappear from the scene easily. At the end of his prophecies, he urged the remnant remaining in Jerusalem to stay there and rebuild. But they were fearful of a return visit from the Babylonian armies, so they kidnapped Jeremiah and forced him to march with them to Egypt. It was at that point that Jeremiah slipped into the hazes of history. Many believed that soon he would recover and roar again out of the fog of time. So, when Jesus quoted Jeremiah’s prophecy on several occasions, many were quick to pin the ancient seer’s name on this new man of God.
Yet Jesus knew better than anyone else that he was neither John nor Elijah, neither Jeremiah nor another of the prophets come back to life. So he put the matter squarely to those who shared his meals and his snoring and his daily dusty walk, “But who do you think I am?”
It was Peter, of course, who answered. The rest of the disciples don’t really know what to say. Can they call Jesus a miracle worker? Should they say he speaks with a prophet’s voice? Dare they admit they think he might be Messiah?
All their fears of communication faux pas are put to rest when Peter jumps too quickly into the embarrassing silence and blurts out that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. But there is no satisfaction here, for the answer is more troubling than the question. As long as Jesus was merely interested in public opinion this discussion was a pleasant way to pass time and share a place in the spotlight of success. But now that Jesus has demanded clarification from them, they cannot hide behind other skirts.
Application
God is good; creation is good; and human alienation from the good is a late introduction brought about by our sinful choices. Time after time God initiated a restoration of relationships with humanity. All are welcome to be part of the team. As part of our latter days, in fact, God sent in Jesus to spur the team to new spiritual victories. Jesus is the expression of God’s righteousness inserted recently into our world, and the means by which we are attached to the eternal righteous endeavors of God. Jesus is the glue that binds the team together and keeps us connected both to the Owner and the Game.
Jesus has clearly expressed his divine power and wisdom. Enough so, in fact, that winning the real game of life means playing by a set of rules that has not been used for a long time on planet earth. It is like the “deep magic” of Aslan in C. S. Lewis’ great tale, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Most don’t understand it, but without it the game becomes a never-ending cycle of violence in which there are only losers.
For that reason, as Paul indicates, reminding his readers about the process that led them to come onto the Jesus team in the first place. It is not self-preservation but service that counts. It is not superiority but selflessness that wins points. It is not stridency but sacrifice that finds recognition from the owner of the club. Jesus is building a team that will change the world. Unfortunately, on that day, too few people seemed willing to show up at the try-outs.
There is a scene in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring where a partnership is forged among those who would accompany Frodo on his journey to destroy the ring of power, the symbol and driving force of all that is evil. The movie version makes for a very gripping visual illustration, and the original literary text is equally as moving. What comes through as the bond that unites these creatures is a sense of selflessness. Each subsumes his will to the greater cause and trusts an unseen and transcendent good for an outcome that will bless all of Middle Earth, even if the trek itself causes the demise of any or all of the compatriots.
So it is in Jesus’ small glimpse of the mission of God, echoed in each of these passages. In a world turned cold to its Creator, in an age riddled by Delphic oracles and temple prostitutes and emperors claiming divinity, in a little corner of geography where messianic hopes ran high, God called together a strange team to make its mark by playing a different game. These folks are part of a great divine mission of transformation. Still, many are losing nerve, getting weak-kneed, and slipping back from the light of grace into the shadows of fear and alienation. They need a great pep talk from the coach, and it resonates through the voice of the author of creation itself. “Come on, people! You started brilliantly! But you have lost heart, and you’re losing the game! Remember who you are! Remember whose you are! Get back in, and let’s see this thing through! You are winners, but you have to play the game!”
Walter Wangerin, Jr., in his great allegory, The Book of the Dun Cow (along with its wonderful sequel, The Book of Sorrows) captures both the scope of the divine mission as well as the under-rated character of the team. If the focus remains on the team, apart from the mission, the point is lost. God is reclaiming God’s creation but does so through human agency. The game is fierce, and the playing field is rough. Only those who can tear up their personal score sheets in order get into God’s game will make the team. Only they are truly called. Only they are equipped to serve and follow and play on the greatest winning team of all time.
Jesus took the road to the cross, and now he calls others to join him in that same pilgrimage. The Cost of Discipleship, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted,is self-denial. The words of the writer of Hebrews are a strong call to that vocation, not as an end in itself or as a means to a self-help goal (like dieting), but rather as a counter-cultural missional testimony. Those who travel this road do not get to Easter without first enduring Good Friday; they do not presume a glorious outcome that gathers the media like paparazzi vultures, but sense that the journey of service brings light in darkness, hope in despair, healing for pain, and faith where power corrupts and destroys.
Have you entered the cause?
Alternative Application (Matthew 16:13-20)
Jesus is our familiar stranger. He is the man who lives down the hall yet remains an enigma. The disciples know they don’t really know him, yet they are willing to live with the tension as long as nobody has to name it. We are not that different from them.
One of the college courses I often teach is called “Which Jesus?” In it, I take my students through Jaroslav Pelikan’s book Jesus through the Centuries (Yale, 1999) and the writings of the New Testament, and reflect on the variety of ways in which people think about Jesus. Each time I teach this course, I ask my students to write a paper which requires that they talk with their parents about how Mom and Dad view Jesus. Invariably I get some papers still wet with tears from students who never before knew the Jesus of their parents’ religious devotions. Too long they had passed by one another snickering at the religious folly of others while never having to face the question of Jesus’ identity themselves.
Somehow Peter had learned enough during his time as a student in Jesus’ rabbinical school to get the answer right on the oral exam. Somehow, he managed to sift through the files of mistaken identities and come up with the declaration that Jesus is more than a prophet, more than a religious curiosity, more than a spiritual guru superstar. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus brought heaven to earth and earth to heaven. Jesus is the link between imminent and transcendent, and all of us need to know that if we are to get firm footing on the rock that really matters.
With the wall of religious trends there at Caesarea Philippi framed in the background, Jesus affirmed Peter’s testimony. None of these other superstitions, commonly known as the “Gates of Hades,” spanned the gap between heaven and earth. They never do. We reach and hope and hedge our bets and pray. But unless we know the identity of Jesus, our religious actions are like bad gas burping from the caves of an old volcano.
So the question Jesus asked back then is always relevant. “Who do you say I am?” Do you know?
