Who Do You Say Jesus Is? Matthew 16: 13-20

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

When Jesus asks a question, that question has a way of getting to the heart of the matter quickly and directly of what it is to be His disciple and who He is as the Son of God.

In Matthew 16, the questions are asked near Caesarea Philippi. This was on the northern border of Israel, geographically about as far from Jerusalem and the Temple as you could get and remain in Israel. Politically, it was far from Jerusalem, too. King Herod the Great’s son, Phillip the Tetrarch, had named the city for himself, adding the ascription of Caesar to his name. It was an odd mixture: a king of the Jews also claiming to be a Roman diety. With few Jews living there, the region became Hellenized very easily. That tells you something about the theology of the land, too, and Ceasarea’s theology was far, far from the sacrifices and prayers of Jerusalem.

So, when Jesus asks the question, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” it is far from an innocuous question. When Jesus asked it in Jerusalem, the Pharisees, scribes and Saducees didn’t know how to answer. Jesus was, among other things, a threat to their position. The people thought He was a bread-king, a socialist, a leader primed for rebellion. The Canaanite woman that we heard of last week, a heathen foreigner, she confessed Jesus as the Son of David – she at least understood the Messianic fulfillment in Christ. Even Peter had his moment, remember, until he lost sight of Jesus, both literally and figuratively, when the waves surrounded his sinking feet. So, when Jesus asks the question about the people in this region far from the Temple, it was a very real question: do these people get it? What are they saying about me?  So, the disciple’s answer becomes even more notable when they say some are considering Him to be John or Jeremiah or a prophet as of old. The people don’t quite get it, that Jesus is Messiah, but at least they are seeing Him as a man of God, powerful in word and deed.

Jesus turns the question from the people “out there” to the disciples. “How about you Twelve? Who do you men say I am?” Peter, acting as spokesperson for the Disciples, answers with a Spirit-given confession of faith: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” This is the confession that Jesus will build His church. (Our Roman Catholic friends misunderstand this, arguing Jesus has been praising Peter, and he is the antecedent of the pronoun “this” noting the play on words - in Greek, Peter is Petros and rock is petras. However, for Jesus to build His church on a sinful man, even one like Peter, it would be antithetical to a church built on Christ and His being the Son of God.)

Now, go back to that first question for a minute: “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” That question is as pertinent today in this community as it was 2000 years ago in Caesarea Philippi. Ask that question, have that question in your mind when you are in Aisle 12 at the Dollar General and you see that mother with two small children arguing over which cereal to buy; who does she say the Son of Man is? When you’re pumping gas in Nursery and the kid on the other side of the pump, with questionable music lyrics blaring out the windows of his car and with a big pentogram tattooed on his arm, who does he say the Son of Man is? What about Margaret, that you play dominoes with, or Manuel who coached your grandson’s baseball team, or your next-door neighbor who you see but don’t talk to, who do they say the Son of Man is? What about your CPA who has a copy of the Book of Mormon on his cradenza, or your mechanic who has a painting of the Virgin Guadalupe in his shop, or the Vietnamese lady who did your mani-pedi with the jade Budda at the counter, or the homeless teenager who is digging through the dumpster at Aldi for a bite of still tolerable food, who do they say the Son of Man is?

What if you asked them? Instead of talking about baseball, or the debate, or the weather, or the price of groceries, or the highway project, what if you dared to ask, “Who do you say the Son of Man is?” What might happen? What happens if you approach people that way – whether out loud with a literal question, or if you just start to see them that way, as people who may or may not know who Jesus is?

I suggest two things might happen: one, you might find out what they say about Jesus. Be prepared to be surprised, both in a good way and a bad way. Your CPA might say, he’s a great liberator of the poor. That kid with the pentogram and blaring heavy metal, he just might say, “Dude…He’s the Savior, and He forgives me even for getting this stupid tattoo.” And dear, sweet Margaret just might say that He means nothing to her because He didn’t answer her prayers the way she wanted. That Vietnamese lady might lean up and whisper, “I’ve heard about this Jesus. He is a fool for dying like that.” And the kid might crawl out of the dumpster with a loaf of moldy bread, tear off the worst part, and say, “He gives me the crumbs I need each day.” There are lots of answers, lots of good answers, and you hope and pray that some of those people might have those answers as well. Some might say Jesus is the Good Shepherd, or even the Lamb of God. Some might say He’s the Alpha and the Omega. Some might even make a personal connection – He is the vine and I am the branch. So, there are lots of good answers. Even Pilate’s answer, The King of the Jews, though sadly not offered in faith, was right.

That answer, good or bad, right or wrong, impacts you. That answer touches you. That question and its answer has a way of getting right to the heart of the matter because the answer literally has life-or-death repercussions.

The second thing that might happen is that you are prepared when they ask you in return, “And you – who do you say the Son of Man is?” Now, to be fair, Jesus is asking the Disciples, not just Peter – it’s the plural you, “y’all;” Peter just speaks for the men. But, that “y’all” in and of itself gives you the clue of how you might answer it, personally. You have the confession of the Church that stretches back to that moment at Caesarea Philippi. You don’t have to be creative. You don’t have to come up with some unique and profound truth on your own, something that would make a seminary professor applaud in awe and wonder. No – you confess that which has been revealed to you by the Father, through the Holy Spirit who has been at work in you in water and word, creating, sustaining, and growing the faith that says, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Use the language of the Christian church – I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son our Lord, who was conceived of the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary…” Or, perhaps you want to narrow it down a bit with a confession that is unique to Lutherans, from the Small Catechism, “I believe in Jesus Christ, true God, begotten of the Father from eternity, also true Man, born of the Virgin Mary, is my Lord, who has redeemed me a lost and condemned creature…” Or, maybe you simply want to say, “Jesus died for me so I can go to heaven.” There are lots of good answers, remember, answers which flow from the Father through the Spirit in the Word which is given to us. You might say He’s the Good Shepherd and I am His lamb; you might say He’s the Redeemer; you might reach into your car, turn down you own music, and simply say, “Dude, Jesus is my Savior, and he forgives me, too.”

When you think this way, with these two questions, as you are out and about in the community, in your place of business, where you rest and relax, where you shop – whether it’s at the grocery store, the mechanic’s shop, the salon, the mall, the movie theater, the stop light, the doctor’s office, and, perhaps, even in your own home, you see the world in a different light. And, it impacts what you say and do in those places so that Christ may be seen and heard in and through you.

In the name of Jesus.
Amen.  

A Place at the Table for Dogs - Matthew 15: 21-28

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jesus answered, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from the master’s table.”

That exchange both fills us with curiosity and with wonder – curiosity at what Jesus means when He infers the Canaanite woman isn’t worthy of what is given to Israel; wonder at the faith of the woman in the face of such seeming denial by the Lord.

Last Sunday, I gave you the image of Jesus reaching down into the water to rescue Peter who was drowning. That hand, reacting and responding to a mustard’s seed worth of faith that cried out “Lord, have mercy!”, responded immediately and directly, rescuing Peter both in time and later, at the cross, into eternity.  It began with the question, “If it’s you, Lord, command me to come out to you on the water.” When the faith collapsed under the weight of the wind-tossed water, when the braggadocio faded, when life stood against certain death into the abyss, Peter cried out to the only one who could save: Jesus. Lord, have mercy. And, with Peter safe in the boat along with the other disciples, Jesus addressed him as “Little-Faith.” “Little-Faith, why did you doubt?” After all, Peter was a disciple. He had seen the Lord’s power as God-in-flesh. He had heard Jesus’ teaching. Did he understand everything? No – of course not. You’ll hear more about that next week. But Peter knew Jesus was the Son of God. Yet, at that moment, Peter was Little-Faith. But, faith, little as it may be, faith that rests in Jesus is still great faith because it rests in Jesus.

This week, we have another narrative about faith – this one, on the opposite end of the spectrum.  But we do need to be a little careful when we talk about faith. Faith is not to be the object of itself. We are not to have faith in having faith, or to have faith in how strong our faith is. That’s dangerous because faith, used this way, is subjective. It ebbs and flows, sometimes burning white-hot, sometimes a cool ember; sometimes as mighty as a mountain, sometimes struggling to match a mustard-seed. Standing in the boat, seeing His Lord walking on he wind-tossed water, Peter’s faith was big and bold. Standing on the water, seeing the wind-stacked waves coming toward him, Peter’s faith collapsed in on itself. Faith that trusts itself is not much faith at all. And, if we realize our faith is shrinking and sinking, if that’s where our faith was placed – in the subjective strength of our faith – then it becomes a hopeless situation very, very quickly. How can I trust my faith if my faith is disappearing?

But faith that rests in Christ, faith that trusts solely in the faithfulness of Christ as God’s Son, the Redeemer of the World, the perfect atonement that pays for the sins of the world, who died and rose and ascended and reigns, this faith – even if it is small, childlike, and seemingly insignificant – this faith is great and it is powerful because of where the faith rests.

But what happens when it seems that the very object of faith is not listening, not caring, not acting like the One Whom we know, love and trust? Consider this verbal transaction of the Canaanite woman with Jesus. Her prayer is nearly a parallel to Peter’s prayer, except this woman prays for her daughter, not herself. Yet the cry, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon,” is met without action or words on His part. The disciples try to shoo her away, and it seems Jesus is even agreeing. It’s as if He says to them, “She’s is right, you know; I am the Son of David sent only to Israel.” She rushed around to kneel before Him, again pleading for His help, only to be dismissed with the explanation that it isn’t right to expect dogs to get the food given to children.

If last week’s image was Jesus reaching into the water to rescue a drowning disciple, this week’s image is Jesus with His hands held out saying, “No. Stop. Wait.” Perhaps, pushing the image just a big, perhaps His hand was held out the way I scold Reese when she is pestering me: Stop, dog, this isn’t for you. What does faith do when the object of faith seems to be behaving in such an unfaithful way, that is to say, being unfaithful to who He is?

Without prescribing what we expect Him to do, without describing how worthy we are, faith simply clings to what we know to be true about Jesus. He is Lord. He is the Son of David. And, when it comes to praying for daily bread, even the scraps, even the crumbs that fall from His table of grace are all-sufficient. Faith says, “I don’t need to sit at the table; I’ll take the scraps,” because even the scraps will be enough.

I like the way the poet, Jan Richardson [1], helps us understand how faith doggedly clings to the promises of God, even when it seems the hands of the Lord are held out against us.

Stubborn Blessing

Don’t tell me no.
I have seen you
feed the thousands,
seen miracles spill
from your hands
like water, like wine,
seen you with circles
and circles of crowds
pressed around you
and not one soul
turned away.

Don’t start with me.

I am saying
you can close the door
but I will keep knocking.
You can go silent
but I will keep shouting.
You can tighten the circle
but I will trace a bigger one
around you,
around the life of my child
who will tell you
no one surpasses a mother
for stubbornness.

I am saying
I know what you
can do with crumbs
and I am claiming mine,
every morsel and scrap
you have up your sleeve.
Unclench your hand,
your heart.
Let the scraps fall
like manna,
like mercy
for the life
of my child,
the life of
the world.

Don’t you tell me no.

If you read through the Gospels, there doesn’t seem to be many things that amaze Jesus. I admit, Matthew doesn’t say here that Jesus was amazed at her dogged faith, but He does comment that her faith is great. Interestingly, there are only two people whom Jesus commends for great faith in Matthew’s Gospel – this Canaanite woman and a Roman centurion whose son was paralyzed and, when Jesus offered to go to his house, the Centurion simply said, “Say the word and he will be healed.” Jesus rescues not only the House of Israel, but even the dogs who gather nearby are welcomed at His table. For Jesus, ethnicity does not define, exclude, or include. It is faithfulness to Him. If last week, Peter was the anti-hero as “Little-Faith,” this Canaanite woman would be easy to name “Great-Faith.” Matthew records it this way: “Then Jesus answered her, ‘O Woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.’ And her daughter was healed instantly.”

Don’t misread this: yes, the woman wants her daughter to be healed, but more than that, she simply wants to sit at the base of the table and receive whatever little bits of grace the Lord has to offer her. Her faith was great. It was not great because the woman thought she could wear Jesus down by nagging Him enough, or if she used the right words, or if she could just pull hard enough at His heart strings. Her faith rested in who she knew who Jesus is – even when it seemed His hands were held out against her. She knew Him to be both Lord and Son of David. He was Israel’s Messiah who comes with such abundance that there were leftovers for someone like her, a woman from Canaan. And, out of His great generosity, His mercy overflows outward from Israel to her, a Canaanite woman who knew she deserved nothing except by God’s grace which made her welcome at the table of Jesus.

By grace, through faith in Christ, Jesus’ hand that seemed to be held up saying, “No, I don’t think so,” becomes a hand that is held up in blessing. The hidden mercy of Christ is revealed. Baptized into Christ, we are welcomed to the table, no longer dogs worthy of just the scraps but of the finest of bread and wine, the rich fulness of Christ’s body and blood. Here, the Son of David welcomes you, Sons and Daughters of the King: come and eat. The table is prepared.

---

[1] Stubborn Blessing « The Painted Prayerbook

Grace For Our "If's" -- Matthew 14: 22-33

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

If you’re like me, your mind takes snapshots, pictures, of the stories we read in the Bible. So, for example, in this morning’s Gospel reading of Jesus and Peter, my snapshot has Peter frozen, about half-in, half-out of the water, and Jesus grabbing his arm (which also makes me wonder, was Peter on the way down or on the way up and out of the water). Maybe your picture has Peter and Jesus standing side-by-side before Peter sees the wind, or it’s after Jesus gets into the boat with the disciples in reverence, even as water drips off Peter’s clothes and hair.

Whatever your picture, the Holy Spirit is wanting us to build on what we heard last week with the feeding of the 5000. Jesus isn’t merely a great teacher; He’s not only able to multiply bread and fish; He is God in flesh, the Lord of creation, demonstrating again that “even the wind and the waves obey Him,” (Matthew 8:27).

Now, I want to give you another perspective into the text this morning and what it says about God’s great love for us in Christ, and what it says for us as children of God who come to Him in prayer.

I began by asking what your mental snapshot is of this Gospel reading. Let’s change that image for a second. Imagine you’re in a swimming pool with clean, clear water, and you’ve under water with your eyes open. Now, look up at the people standing outside the pool, up on solid ground. You can see them, but not clearly because the water is literally bending the light, refracting it so the image of the person is there, but it isn’t clear. (If you’ve never been in a swimming pool, you know a similar image looking out a rain-drenched window.) That image of looking through water is the image that artist Yongsung Kim paints in his picture, “His Mighty Hand.” It’s painting the scene from Peter’s perspective, sinking fast, head under water. Above the water stands Jesus, but partially obscured because of the water. You can only vaguely make out Jesus’ face, but what you clearly see are the bottom of His feet on the water, and His hand reaching down into the water, reaching for Peter. (You can Google the artist and painting to see this yourself. It is quite remarkable.)

In his painting, Kim changes our perspective, placing us with Peter, drowning and yet graciously being saved. Matthew does something similar. If you listen to the dialog between Jesus and Peter, you can hear what it is like to be drowning in your prayers, and yet graciously being saved.

As Jesus approaches the boat in the storm, He announces who He is. “It is I.” This self-identification is surrounded with assurance. “Take heart,” He says. And then, “Do not be afraid.” Three powerful declarations from Jesus. They ground us in who Jesus is and in His powerful presence. Not only does He walk on water, revealing His power over the storm, He is re-setting creation from its chaos. Not only is he re-setting creation, He surrounds the disciples with His assurance. He has not come to torment or to test. He has come to rescue, to encourage, and to defend His disciples in the midst of a storm.

In the presence of such a powerful self-revelation, however, Peter falls into prayerful confusion. Peter responds to the words of Jesus by saying, “If it is You, Lord, command me to come to You on the water.”

“If it is You...” Consider those words for a minute. It set two things up in opposition: if this, then that. If dinner is done, then we can eat. If you eat dinner, then you can have ice cream. If you’re done, then do your homework. It can mean different things – it can be simple linear, cause/effect; it can express curiosity; it can even be full-on doubt. The key rests in the “if” and how it is being used. In this case, it means this: Peter says, “If it is You, Lord (and for the sake of argument, let’s assume that it is You) then...” This is not a confident confession in Jesus, like: “Since it is You Lord, command me to come to You on the water.” But, at the same time, it is also not a complete dismissal of Jesus: “Yeah. Right. You’re “Jesus.” If it’s You (and I don’t really think it is) then command me to come to You on the water.” This is somewhere in between. “If it is You, and for the sake of argument, let’s say that it is, then...” Peter is wavering here, like water. He wants it to be Jesus, but he is not completely sure.

How many times have we spoken to Jesus like that? How often have we wavered in the water? Have you ever prayed an “If You are...” prayer?

If You really are out there, Jesus, then help me.

If You really love me, Jesus, then fix my marriage.

If You really listen to prayers, Jesus, then help me find a new job.

If You really care, Jesus, then heal my dad’s dementia.

If you really understand, Jesus, then make my stomach stop hurting before school.

Peter is wavering here, like water. He wants it to be Jesus, but he is not completely sure.

In so many situations in life, we can find ourselves praying like Peter, “If You are the Son of God, then...” And, when we do this, we are confused in our prayers, wavering like the waves of the water, and soon to be drowning like Peter. As James writes, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind” (1:5-6). Peter’s prayer is being driven and tossed by the wind that Peter sees, causing him to sink away from the very one to whom He is praying.

But that is what is so amazing about this account. When Jesus hears these words from Peter, what does He do? He invites Peter to come to Him. And when Peter fails, He does not let Peter drown. He reaches out and rescues him. No, “If-then” conditions --- if you had faith, then you wouldn’t be sinking; if you loved me, you wouldn’t be in trouble; if you trusted me, you would still be strolling on the waves. Jesus has come to be the Savior of people who cry out to Him, even in prayerful confusion.

Earlier in Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus was tempted by Satan in the wilderness, He heard the same kind of language. Satan tempted Jesus with his, “If You are...,” demands. “If You are the Son of God, then command these stones to become bread” (Matthew 4:3). “If You are the Son of God, then throw Yourself down” (Matthew 4:6). “All this will be yours if you bow down and worship me” (Matthew 4:9). Those “if-thens” weren’t offered in weakness; those were offered in arrogance, tempting Jesus to prove Who He is: “I don’t really believe this is true, Jesus, so gimme a little proof.”  When Satan spoke like that to Jesus, Jesus resisted. He repelled him.

Yet again, that is what is so amazing about this narrative. When Jesus hears these words on the mouth of Peter, He does not repel him. He answers him. He invites him. Why? Because Jesus came to defeat Satan, but He did not come to defeat His people. He came to save them. Even when we cry out in wavering prayers, Jesus reaches out to save us with His unwavering grace.

Our translation says that Jesus calls Peter, “O you of little faith.” In the Greek New Testament, its as if Jesus simply calls Peter, “Little-faith,” like it was his name. Don’t see Peter as a model, here; a man of great faith who should be emulated. Rather, his smallness of faith shows Jesus’ identiy, power and grace all the more fully and richly. Peter may have had little faith, but it was faith in Jesus. Remember Isaiah’s words: A bruised reed, He will not break. A smoldering wick, He will not snuff out. The size of faith is inconsequential as long as it rests in the faithfulness of Jesus as the Son of God. At the heart of it all lies a simple cry, “Lord, save me,” and a simple response, Jesus, reaching out to rescue His people from dying.

God has immersed you in the waters of baptism. There, He has joined you to the death of His Son. No matter how far down you fall into the wavering waters of “If you are...” prayers, Jesus is there. Yet, our Old Adams and our Old Eves, at times, cry out with less than confidence, praying, “If you are…” We look through that Baptismal water, both trusting and wondering at the same time. We see Him, yet we do not yet see Him as clearly as we desire. He is there, yet we desire the assurance that He does, indeed, have us.

And that begs the question, doesn’t it, as we look through those Baptismal waters towards Jesus, and it leaves us with one, final if-then to wrestle with: If Jesus is the powerful Lord over the sea, then will He save us when we call upon Him? What if we fail to trust Him? What of those times when we feel more as Peter of Little Faith rather than Peter the Rock?  Will He save me, or will He – in all of His divine power over creation, in all of His frightening majesty – will He let me sink and give me what I deserve?

Remember – you are looking through Baptismal water. Jesus can save, He does save, He will save, even you, Little-Faith, in those times and moments of doubt. The promises He made, sealed in His blood at the cross, he will keep, now – in the present time – even as this age fights against the new age of salvation. He, who calmed the seas, is the Lord of creation and He entered into it to redeem it, also, and set all things right. His power over creation was cloaked in weakness. He took upon Himself humanity’s sin and the curse of death and everything else in between that seeks to destroy us. This is Jesus – there is no other. He promises to bless the poor in spirit, and He promises to redeem on the last day. (Gibbs, MATTHEW, vol 2, p764)

Today, He has come to say, “I am here. Therefore, take heart and do not be afraid. I have borne the punishment for sin. I have defeated death itself. I have risen from the grave and rule over all creation. Nothing can separate you from My protection and nothing can separate you from My love.” Though we may waver in prayerful confusion, Jesus is risen and ruling in His unwavering love.