I just started a term serving Louisville Seminary as a trustee. So others could get to know me they asked me to answer a few questions. “What are your interests and hobbies? Is there something unique about you that you’d like us to know?” On this particular form for the seminary, there was a text box, limited to 150 characters, so really, how much of myself could I share?
I tried anyway. They know I’m the pastor of this church, so I skipped that information. Elsewhere they asked about my family, so they at least got names and ages of them. So, with the little space I had, I hit the highlights. I like to run and exercise. I read fiction. I like to sing and play piano and listen to music. I am watching Parks and Rec in its entirety for a third time because great comedy makes my soul come alive.
If I were to put the question to you, what would you say about me? Who do you say that I am? You’d probably get a lot of things right about me, especially as it comes to being your pastor, but you’d also quickly realize that there are layers upon layers to me that you don’t know.
You wouldn’t know that my left pinky finger is permanently bent thanks to an accident at summer camp during a game. The volunteer nurse (who used to be an army nurse) took a quick look at it and said I should just tape it up and ice it. In other words, suck it up. You’ll be fine. Three weeks later I finally saw a doctor who assessed the permanent damage.
You wouldn’t know that I watch TV predominantly out of my left eye. That’s a weird one, right? I found that out about myself around a decade ago.
You wouldn’t know that my first dog was an Italian Greyhound named Bambi.
You wouldn’t know that I didn’t realize that I was asking Jess out on our first date when I called her about going to the Grand Rapids Symphony, and here we are still going strong a quarter century later.
You know me, but you don’t know the whole me. (And, for what it’s worth, I know you, but I will never know the whole you.)
Who do you say that I am?
That is the question Jesus asks his disciples, and, let’s be honest, they have plenty to go on. As we’ve read the first half of Mark’s gospel over the past week, here’s some of what we know about Jesus:
John baptized Jesus and the voice of God spoke over him.
Jesus is a healer of so many, regardless of their background — a man possessed by demons, a twelve-year-old girl whose illness briefly took her life, a woman who suffered for twelve years with painful hemorrhages, a man who could not walk lowered through a roof by his hopeful friends.
Jesus can speak and storms are stilled.
Jesus can perform the miraculous, feeding huge crowds with very little food and even walking across the water to his fearful disciples.
While we may not understand this portrayal of Jesus in all its fullness, it’s not hard to read these stories of Jesus and at the very least think that he’s a great guy and someone we would be excited to meet.
As you’ve read Mark this past week, you might have noticed that Jesus is constantly telling people to keep quiet about what he’s done. In chapter 1, Jesus heals a leper and tells him, “See that you say nothing to anyone” (1:44). In chapter 3, Jesus casts out unclean spirits and tells them not to reveal who he is (3:12). In chapter 5, after he raises the twelve-year-old girl, it says, “[Jesus] strictly ordered them that no one should know this” (5:43). You get the picture.
Why is Jesus so focused on keeping his amazing work quiet? This phenomenon in Mark is something that scholars call the “Messianic secret.” It comes to a head right in the middle of the gospel. Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” They throw out a couple of answers, but then Peter asserts, “You are the Messiah,” which is followed by a final admonition to keep this quiet. But from that moment on Jesus starts teaching in a new way; he teaches about what he will be facing soon. How he will undergo great suffering and rejection. How he will be killed, and after three days rise again.
In 8:32 we read, “He said all this quite openly.” The Messianic secret is now out there, but it’s out there in its fullness. Not just the miracles and teachings. Not just the joyful companionship. Also the suffering. Also the rejection. Also the dying and rising.
Peter, the one who got it right, pulls Jesus aside and rebukes him. “No, Jesus. You’re wrong. The Messiah is the one who wins. Enough with this suffering stuff.” But Jesus has a hard word back to Peter. “Get behind me, Satan,” Jesus says. “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
You see, Peter has given in to the temptation to shape Jesus into something he is not. He wants the healings and the victories, not the loss and trouble. He wants his own personal Jesus, someone who can be tamed to do what he expects. Someone who hears his prayers. Someone who cares.
Being involved with Jesus is risky business because Jesus is always more than we make him out to be. Not only that, but we are constantly in danger of shaping Jesus into our own image. We like Jesus the way we want him, not necessarily the wild, on-the-loose Jesus of the gospels.
Scott Black Johnson is the pastor of Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City. I’ve been reading his book Elusive Grace recently, and he really drove this point home to me, so I wanted to share it with you.
Johnson writes, “Any real encounter with Jesus is risky. The disciples knew this. Walk down the road with Jesus and parts of yourself, pieces of your soul, perspectives that you cherish are at risk of being carved away. This has been my experience. As I have journeyed on, I have come to see Jesus not as a subject to be mastered or an object to be pinned down, but as an active force in the world. Jesus is a beast, prowling the wilds (“good,” says C. S. Lewis, but not “safe”), devoted to freeing us from our self-absorbed, frightened, miserable selves, compelling us to run out of our self-imposed deserts toward places where we can do some good, but not necessarily safe, things.
“What things? Well,” says the theologian Karl Barth, “if you want to know what the lion of God wants of us — if you want to know what the lion of God loves — just watch him. Watch him heal festering wounds. Watch him embrace community over cynicism and neighbor over self. Watch him value humility above arrogance and kindness over cruelty. Watch him encourage people, people who have nothing in common—nothing but the space they share on this planet—to see each other, care about each other, love each other.”
Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” It’s a question that each and every one of us needs to answer, but it’s also one that we need to answer every day. Why? Because life keeps throwing new things at us, and without Jesus anchoring our souls, we begin to twist and mold Jesus into what makes our lives make sense. We try to tame the roaring Lion of Judah — the one who is good but not safe.
I want to close on a word of grace, though. Peter is the first to recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Peter is also the first to turn around and try to tame Jesus by saying, “You’re not supposed be like that, Jesus!” Yet, Jesus corrects Peter and keeps him around. Peter will fail Jesus so many times.
But Jesus builds the church on Peter, the Rock. Through the years the church has survived its own failures because God forgives, restores, and heals even our worst, driving us toward the kingdom. It’s risky business, but it’s God’s business.
Who do you say Jesus is? It’s a question you’ll spend your lifetime answering. Don’t be surprised if he defies your expectations. Regularly.
