|
Twenty First Sunday in
Ordinary Time ~ August 124 2008 ~ CYCLE A
Growing into the Words The Texts:
Matthew 16:13-20
"Who
do people say that I am," Jesus asked his disciples. The answers
were easy to give, since repeating the confessions of others is
simply a matter of pushing "play" on the recorder. A parrot can do
that. But then Jesus ratcheted up the challenge and asked them the
crucial question of faith, "But who do you say that I am?"
Was
there awkward silence, as the disciples looked down at their shoes,
or looked around at each other to see who would risk speaking up
first? Jesus was flushing them out of their safety, like a bird dog
stirring a covey of quail to flight. And what an important question
it was! It was a pop test that the disciples were not expecting, and
one they surely did not want to fail.
"You are the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of the
Living God," blurted Simon Peter. Perhaps his hand was waving in the
air like a first-grader trying to please the teacher, straining to
give the right answer before anyone else in the class. Or maybe
Peter almost whispered his answer, unsure and tentative. We do not
know. But we do know that Jesus blessed Peter for his answer,
assuring him that there was more truth than he could yet know, and
more wisdom than he could have drummed up out of his own head. But
then Jesus surprised the disciples with the strange command to keep
this answer, this powerful truth of Jesus’ identity, a secret. If
Peter got it right, why couldn't they begin telling everyone,
shouting it from the mountaintops? You would have expected Jesus to
elevate Peter to the head of the class, and then form a strategy for
the disciples to begin spreading their confession. But instead Jesus
finished the class session with the enigmatic and strict command,
"Tell no one that I am the Christ." Why?
One reason for the prohibition of spreading the
announcement that Jesus was the Christ, or Messiah, was because the
populace held a misguided understanding of what those words meant.
The tuning was wrong for a
public announcement that Jesus was the Christ. The popular
understanding of those words would have inspired nationalistic hopes
that Jesus had come to free Israel from Roman occupation, to usher
in a new day of Israeli independence, a return to the "good old
days" of King David and King Solomon. Jesus knew there was much more
work to be done, and teaching to give, and a cross upon which to
die, before the world could begin to adjust their expectation and
definition of what kind of Messiah he came to be.
In just the previous few
days Jesus had fed the multitude, and healed many sick people, and
the resulting popularity swelled to unmanageable size and
expectation quickly. That was the reason Jesus had led his disciples
to this quiet and private retreat in the first place, to escape the
crowds, and allow the temporary and misguided euphoria to die down.
If Jesus had really come to inspire and gather an army against Rome,
he would have done just the opposite. He had the crowd just where a
politician or general would want them, frothing to charge any foe,
with momentum and soaring numbers in the popular opinion polls. And
he deliberately let it all slip away, for Jesus did not come to free
Israel alone, but all nations. And he did not come to establish a
kingdom on earth, but an eternal kingdom that would begin by turning
earthly powers and ideas upside down, inviting God's Kingdom to
"come on earth, as it is in heaven."
But again, that time was not yet. The world was not
ready to hear the redefinition of what the title, Christ, meant.
But the other reason Jesus told the disciples to
keep silent was that they were not yet ready to bear the burden, or
face the consequences, of their confession. They needed more time to
grow in their understanding, to mature into their confession, before
attempting to share it with others.
Isn't this the way it is with all of us
too? How many times do we say the right words, offer the right
counsel, make the right vows, but have very little idea what those
words will mean for us? How many fresh recruits for the National
Guard fully understand the sacrifice that might be required of them
as they pledge their loyalty and obedience? Were there some who
simply thought this would be only a weekend per month of training?
Some extra cash to pay bills, or a way for Uncle Sam to provide for
some college education? Did they imagine an eighteen month tour of
dangerous duty in Iraq? And how many brides and grooms who pledge to
love each other "in sickness and health, poverty and wealth, until
death do us part" have any idea what that vow will mean? Do they
really understand what it is like to love a spouse through a long
and debilitating illness, or through a financial collapse, or simply
through the years as time and gravity carves wrinkles and frailty in
their youthful bodies? How can they understand all that their words
will mean on the day of their wedding? At the moment they recite
those words many couples are just trying not to fault.
It is the same way with the words of faith. When we
first learn the great creeds of the Church, to pray the words of the
rosary, or to sing the great hymns of the saints, we have little
understanding of the depth and mystery of those words. And that is
fine. We put these great words on, like a child dressing up in
parent's clothing, in the hope that one day we will grow into them
ourselves. And God smiles approvingly, knowing that if we pay
attention to life, we will grow into our words of confession and
faith. It may be suffering that carves patience into our
understanding, or our failures along the way that carves
humility—the point is, we grow into our words gradually across the
span of our lives. Just as those who have faced starvation
understand how good it is to have food in a different way than the
well-filled. Even so, perhaps only the guilty can know how amazing
it is to be forgiven. And only those who have wrestled with God, and
with the great questions of life and faith, can know the depth of
mystery and confidence that comes from a tested faith. As the
patriarch Jacob would attest after his bout in the wrestling ring
with God, the blessing of what you learn from those times is worth
the limp.
So Saint Peter got the
question right, but he needed time to grow into it before he was
ready to share it with others. He did not yet understand, or
approve, of a Messiah that suffers, and who calls his followers to
bear a cross too. He did not yet understand that even death does not
get the last word, or the last laugh, over those who give up their
lives in service to Christ. He did not yet understand how fickle was
his own faith, and how easily he could deny knowing the Lord when
pressed by a curious little girl around a charcoal fire. He did not
know yet—but he would soon. And then, on the far side of his
failure, on the far side of Calvary, after the resurrection of
Jesus, Peter would be ready, having grown into his confession. And
so can we.
|