Today we
find ourselves in the city of Caesarea
Philippi.
Just
a short aside about Caesarea Philippi because it is a fascinating place—it is
north of the Sea of Galilee, near what is now
the border between Israel
and Lebanon.
Prior to being named “Caesarea Philippi” by the Tetrarch of Galilee, Herod
Philip (to honor Caesar Augustus and…oh, himself…) the city was known as Banias
in Hebrew and “Paneas” in Greek. It was the site of a shrine to Pan, the god of
mirth and drink and debauchery (God bless
him!). But it didn’t stop there: there were shrines to Persian gods and
Roman gods and to Caesar, who was worshipped as a god, and even shrines to the
Pre-Greek gods of that region. Caesarea Philippi was a veritable panoply of
worship and sacrifice. And besides all that, the water that flows through
Banius from Mount Hermon is the headwaters of
the River Jordan. So it was a terribly holy place for Jews as well.
So,
in this remarkably holy, sacred place, Jesus asked his disciples: “Who do you
say that I am?”
I
want to go on record as saying that is one of the most audacious, outrageous,
daring and vulnerable questions anyone can ask. Who in their right mind would
ask it? What rational person would want to know the answer when it came?
Think
about it for a moment—WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?
Is
that something you really, truly, honestly want to know? From an acquaintance?
From a close friend? Even from someone who loves you? Do you really, truly,
honestly want to know “who they say you are?”
Let
me talk about me for a moment….I’m not sure I want to risk the pain and
disappointment and confusion that hearing “who someone else says I am” would
cause me.
Two
examples, if I might.
First
of all, I’ve had any number of people who have come to know me and love me tell
me that when they first met me they thought I was “arrogant”. That’s the word
they’ve all used—arrogant.
WHO
DO YOU SAY THAT I AM? I could have asked them when they didn’t know me well.
YOU
ARE VERY ARROGANT, they would have answered.
Of
all the things I think about myself—about WHO I AM—about the last thing would
be “arrogant”. I’m always using so much energy trying to please people and make
them like me and show them how honorable I am, that I would never imagine
they’d think I was arrogant. I’ve spent hours and hours trying to understand
why people would think that’s “who I am….”
And
I would have been bereft, deeply pained, stung to the core.
It
is a very risky question to ask: WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?
Who
would want to know? Who would be confident enough to hear the response?
Secondly,
I know myself better than anyone knows me. I know all my dark and secret
places, all my aching places, all my shame and fear and brokenness. Why would I
ask someone WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM? For fear of hearing the “truth” about
what I know about me…..
My
greatest fear is that someone will “figure me out” and know what a phony, what
a fake, what a hypocrite, what a sham I am.
So
why would I ever ask someone: WHO DO YOU SAY THAT I AM?
Dietrich
Bonhoeffer was a Christian murdered by the Nazi’s at the end of WW II. One of
his books was Letters and Papers from Prison and contained this poem.
Listen. Listen carefully….
WHO AM I?
Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
Calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
Like a Squire from his
country home.
Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my wardens
Freely and friendly and
clearly,
As though they were mine to
command.
Who am I? they also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
Equally, smilingly, proudly,
Like one accustomed to win.
Am I really all that which
other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself
know of myself?
Restless and longing and
sick, like a bird in a cage,
Struggling for breath, as
though hands were
Compressing my throat,
Yearning for colors, for
flowers, for the voices of birds,
Thirsting for words of
kindness, for neighborliness,
Tossing in expectation of
great events,
Powerlessly trembling for
friends at an infinite distance,
Weary and empty at praying,
at thinking, at making,
Faint, and ready to say
farewell to it all?
Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and
tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A
hypocrite before others
And before myself a
contemptable, woebegone weaking?
Or is something within me
still like a beaten army,
Fleeing in distain from
victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these
lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O
God, I am Thine.
I had a friend who was a priest in
West Virginia with me for five years. He was a great guy, very funny. But he
always ran himself down—about his problems and short-comings. We went our
different ways—I went to CT and he went west. Then, a dozen or so years later,
he was elected Bishop. I went to his consecration. Hearing what people said
about him in the reception, when I talked with him I said, “don’t ever run
yourself down again—I heard what those people said about Who You Are.
So, maybe who people say we are can challenge
us to live into their words.
There were many opinions about ‘who
Jesus was’, but Peter nailed it--“you are the Messiah!” Jesus told him, “You
are the Rock (petros in Greek) on which I’ll build my church”. Then he told
them to tell no one who he was.
There are many voices, both inside
our heads and from those around us that have an opinion about who you and I
are.
But Bonhoeffer nailed it—whoever we
are, we belong to God.
We are God’s beloved children. And
what we need to do with that is to live in the world as the hands and hearts
and voices and actions of Jesus. We are to be Christ’s Body to this darkling
world.
We have to. We just have to.
We must…. We must….We must.
