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Matthew 16: 13–20
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May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be
acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer.
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Every once in a while, as we read through this Gospel of Matthew, we
catch a glimpse of how little the people of his own day knew about
Jesus. You and I, of course, understand he was Israel’s
long–awaited Messiah, the very Son of God. We pick up on
the family resemblance in every loving thing he does, every wise
word he says. And we know this because we’ve heard
tales of his holy life from our earliest days. So, we always
tend to see him with a halo over his head. And we are amazed when
people close to him – people as close as his own family members,
his own disciples – don’t yet grasp who he really is.
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But Jesus understood that this sense of his life as a holy figure, the
only begotten Son of God, was something people around him could hardly
imagine. And as he turned his face toward Jerusalem and all that
awaited him there, he realized he would have to help them understand
more, especially his own disciples. So – good teacher
that he was – he began by trying to find out just how much
people didn’t yet understand. And on the way to
Caesarea Philippi, he asks his disciples, “Who do people think
that I am? What’s the word on the street? What
are they saying about me?”
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Some people, the disciples say, outraged by Jesus’ unusual
teachings and inclusive ministry, are sure he must have gotten his
power from the Devil. Others, seeing him within the tradition of
Israel’s prophets, say he’s a lot like Elijah or
Jeremiah. And still others, following King Herod’s lead,
say, “He must be John the Baptist, raised up from the dead.”
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And you would think that this wide range of answers would tell Jesus
everything he needed to know about the word on the street. But,
not satisfied with these answers, he asks one final – more
personal — question. “What about you?” he
asks his disciples. “Who do you say that I am?”
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How do you answer a question like that? How do you say, in
just a few words, everything Jesus means to you? How do you
express what your relationship with him means to you? You
and I, with the benefit of a couple of ancient creeds, some familiar
liturgies and thousands of years of theology, might be able to stammer
out a few phrases. But the disciples were silent – until
Peter suddenly blurted out, “You are the Messiah, the Son of
the Living God.”
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Instantly, Jesus’ face is wreathed in smiles. “Blessed
are you, Simon son of Jonah,” he exclaims. “Only one
person in the whole cosmos could have revealed that answer to
you – and that’s my Father in heaven. Now I know
you’ve been praying! Now I know you’ve been
listening! And because you have, I tell you this: You,
Peter, will be the rock on which I build my Church.”
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Now, you and I know that Peter’s name – Petros in
Greek — means “rock”. And we know that Jesus
gave him that name. But what kind of solid foundation can Peter
provide – for anything? Peter is impulsive, running
his mouth before his mind is engaged. Peter is arrogant, thinking
he can walk on water, just like Jesus. And eventually, in the hour
of Jesus’ greatest need, Peter will deny he even knows
him. How can Jesus depend on Peter for anything?
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And yet, we know that holy God has used frail human beings all the way
through his long history with us. Even though Adam and Eve failed
him in the Garden of Eden . . . Noah
proved unreliable within hours of the ark coming to rest on top of
Mount Ararat . . . Abraham slipped up
any number of times . . . Jacob never
quit being wily and conniving. Even so, the Lord God continues
to use fallible human beings as his agents on this earth. How
can he even think of depending on us?
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The answer, I think, is illustrated by a story from the 1930’s
about the famous Polish pianist, Paderewski. A mother wanted to
encourage the progress of her young son at the piano, so she bought
two tickets to a Paderewski performance. When the night arrived,
she found their seats near the front of the concert hall, and they eyed
the large Steinway parked by itself on the stage. Soon the mother
found a friend to talk with and she didn’t notice the boy slip
away. When 8 o’=’clock arrived, the house lights dimmed,
the spotlights came on, the Steinway was bathed in
light . . . and only then did this
mother notice that her son was seated at the piano bench, where he
began innocently to plunk the keys in a rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle,
Little Star. The audience roared, the mother gasped – but
before she could retrieve her son, Paderewski himself appeared and
moved quickly toward the keyboard.
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“No, don’t quit, keep on playing,” he whispered to
the boy. And reaching past him with his left hand the Master
began improvising a bass part. Then, with his right hand, he
reached around on the other side of the boy to add a running
obbligato. The crowd was spellbound, and the piece concluded
in thunderous applause as the boy announced, “I didn’t know
I could do that.” ¹
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That’s incarnation. We are only human. We don’t
feel worthy or able – but by some miracle of grace it is human
beings that God uses. God whispers in our ear, “Don”t
quit. Keep on playing.” And as we continue, we are
lovingly enfolded, graciously inspired until – from our
efforts — something wonderful can emerge. ²
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And that’s what happened to Peter. Sure, he was a fragile,
fallible human being. But because his faith in the essential
love and holiness of Jesus Christ never
wavered . . . God was able to work
through him until he became the Church’s star preacher and
preeminent evangelist.
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And that’s how God wants to work through you and through me.
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To God be the glory.
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Amen.
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¹ The Rev. Dr. Norman Pott “The Abiding Question”
Sermon delivered on Day One on August 25, 1996.
² Ibid.
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