Pentecost 12 A: Not By Flesh and Blood
Dear Partner in Preaching,
How do we keep faith in the time of COVID? And struggle for racial equity? And weather economic crisis? And stay hopeful (or even just sane) amid such a toxic political culture? (And all this during an election year!)
Just now it feels like so much threatens to tear us apart. As those in positions of leadership sometime feel the pressures of the day more keenly, I know you wrestle with these questions – and bear the mental strain of trying to answer them – regularly.
These questions have pushed me to read this passage a little differently this year. The larger story and scene that takes place at Caesarea Philippi spans two weeks of lectionary readings, and whether it’s because I’m impatient or because I can get kind of obsessive about narrative integrity (both are probably true), I tend to read this week’s passage in light of the week to come. That is, yes, let’s celebrate Peter’s insight, but also recognize how limited it is, limited by his misunderstanding of true – that is, God’s – strength and power. Peter, like pretty much most of us and the world generally, defines power in terms of strength and might and the ability to exert our will over others. When Peter says “messiah,” he’s thinking of a warrior king, like, and perhaps even greater, than King David. Hence the need to at least anticipate the second half of the story and how Jesus’ cross turns the world’s (and our!) conceptions of power on their head and demonstrates the true power of sacrificial love.
All fair. But not this year. (Although, truth be told, I couldn’t resist devoting at least a paragraph to this. J) This year, I want instead to bask, at least for a moment, in Peter’s insight. I want to acknowledge the truth of Peter’s epiphany and celebrate his confession. I want, at least for a single Sunday sermon, to recognize his accomplishment.
Except… except it’s not his accomplishment. Not really. “Heaven and earth have not revealed this to you,” Jesus says, but rather “by my Father in heaven.” Revelation, it turns out, comes from God. And only from God. Always.
And here’s the thing: the same is true of faith.
All of which offers a different slant on our questions above. It’s not that they aren’t real or genuine or appropriate questions. They absolutely are. It’s that we don’t have to take final responsibility for answering them, or at least not for procuring the faith, hope, and courage that we may feel are in short supply. Because the faith we seek, the confidence we long for, the courage we hope to find and to share – these are gifts from God. And… God loves to bestow such gifts.
Which means that after acknowledging the challenges and weariness and stress that our folks are feeling…, after lamenting how long it has been since we’ve gathered together in person…, and after wondering how we will get through all this and keep faith – all, again, genuine and appropriate feelings worthy of articulation – after all this, then remind your folks that God, creator of the heavens and the earth, the One who brings death from life and creates from nothing… this God is still at work. God is still at work sustaining us in faith, creating in us hope, stirring us to acts of courageous generosity.
“Heaven and earth have not revealed this to you,” Jesus says to us as well as Peter, but rather “by my Father in heaven.”
God is still at work. More than that, God shows up in a variety of ways to create faith, hope, and love during challenging, even – and maybe especially – unprecedented times. In the notes and phone calls that have taken the place of hospital visits. In the communal kindness and responsibility to wear masks in public. In the manifold donation drives and so many of us are holding. In the imperfect, often fledgling, but vital work for greater racial equity and justice in which we are engaged. In the willingness to forego those things, like in-person worship, that typically sustain us out a sense of love for our neighbor. Even via recorded, live-streamed, or zoom worship services and sermons.
God is at work. Name the hardships of the day, Dear Partner, but then remind your folks that God is with us, sustaining us in faith, equipping us to meet the needs of our neighbor, renewing us in hope and courage, and preparing to work through us for the sake of the world God loves so much. God is still at work. And, please keep in mind, that includes in and through you for the sake of your people this Sunday and always. Please know, Dear Partner, of my prayers of gratitude for your faithfulness and my prayers as well for your continued health and hope.
Yours in Christ,
David
Post image: Pietro Perugino‘s Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter, c. 1482.
David, I think your focus on the revealing of this confession being the work of God, a line only found in Matthew, is so helpful to a church struggling to find its life and witness in a world that’s been turned upside down. It’s not what we do, but what God does.
In a recent article reflecting on Karl Barth, William Willimon paraphrases a question of Barth’s back early in the 20th century, “What’s a gracious God up to in this unique time and how can we hitch on to what God is doing?”