Two Little Questions

This sermon was given at our Sunday morning service on 29th June - St Peter & St Paul's Day. The Gospel was Matthew 16:13-19. I hope you enjoy reading it.

 

In our gospel today, Jesus asks his disciples a question. Well, he asks them two questions actually, but I’ll stick to the first one for now. Jesus takes his disciples out of of their Jewish homeland, and into Caesarea Philippi – a place named after the Roman governor of the area, where the Greek god Pan was worshipped prominently, and there was a temple dedicated to Caesar himself, and Jesus asks his disciples what people are saying about him.

“Who do they say I am?”, he asks, surrounded by all the trappings of empire, and pagan gods.

Who does the world, scrabbling to hold onto the power it has, fighting political and religious wars, say Jesus is?

 

 

Today, the Church celebrates the feast of Saints Peter and Paul. We call today Petertide. 

Two little dickie birds, sitting on a wall...

 

As this is the feast of not just Peter, but Paul as well, I wonder what Paul might think of his name being left out of this season. Given what we know of him, potentially, he’d end up writing a very long letter about it, that would end up concluding that, in the end, he doesn’t really mind, and that Peter can keep the title of this feast as just his, because God should be getting all the glory anyway. From what I know of Peter, he’d probably have responded by saying “Great, thanks! Petertide is much easier to say than PeterandPaultide anyway!”

 

These two were – after all – two very different characters. Peter, impulsive and brash, a working-class fisherman; often the first to offer an answer or solution to a question or a problem, veering between getting things catastrophically wrong, and stupendously right. Paul, on the other hand, was a man who was more measured. A well-educated intellectual, who almost certainly rubbed people up the wrong way. A man of letters – very long letters – who knew exactly how others should behave and act, and made sure they knew it too!

The pair – reading between the lines of the Bible – were likely rivals too. Friendly rivals most of the time, I hope, but there certainly was conflict between them. I’m sure – looking down now – they’d see between them the humour in forever being tied together in their saints’ day, even if it is named after only one of them!

 

This difference between them, though, is almost definitely what helped strengthen the early church. Each of their individual strengths provided a counter to the other’s weaknesses and provided the ability for the Church to grow and thrive.

I think this is one of the reasons that this weekend is one of the main weekends of the year when new priests are licensed. Peter and Paul show us that there is not a one-size-fits-all model for – not just leadership, but for Christianity in general. We need the thinkers, and we need the doers. We need those who write and guide, and we need those who talk and lead the way. We need those who take risks and we need those who urge caution.

This diversity brings strength to the Church. St Paul himself came up with the image of the Church being a human body, and the skills that each of us bring being akin to the specialisms our body parts – eyes, hands, ears, and so on – bring to our ability to function in health and wholeness.

 

But despite all their differences, there is one thing that united Peter and Paul. That unites all those being licensed to lead the Anglican church this weekend. That unites all of us who claim the faith of Christ.

That’s the answer to Jesus’ second question from our Gospel.

“Who do you say that I am?”, Jesus asks.

 

And Peter answers him; blurts out potentially the only truth that really matters. Surrounded there by empire and power and the false promises of false gods, Peter speaks for us all: “You are the Messiah, the son of the living God.” The promised one. The saviour of God’s people.

“Bingo!”, says Jesus (well, sort of). And that truth, he says, is going to be the foundation of his Church, his people. This is the truth that is our cornerstone.

But then Jesus says something odd.

Our Gospel stops there this morning. But in the very next line after our Gospel stops, Jesus keeps talking. He tells them not to tell anyone.

 

 

“Yes!”, says Jesus. “I am the Messiah. This is how I build my people.

Don’t tell the people, though.”

 

What?

 

How was Peter supposed to help build God’s church if he couldn’t tell anyone Jesus was the son of God?

 

There’s a quote I love that is often attributed to Francis of Assisi, though there is no evidence he actually said it. It’s this; maybe you’ve heard it?: “Preach the gospel at all times. If necessary, use words.” It brings us back to one of the key themes that keeps emerging from our sermons here at St Michael’s over the last number of weeks; the need for faith and works. We preach the gospel through our actions, through our love, through our daily lives and the choices we make.

Jesus asks us his second question: without using your words, who do you say I am?

No-one will believe a word I preach if my life does not reflect my words. Nor should they.

 

The world has had enough of hypocrites preaching about the Prince of Peace, but advocating for war and genocide. It has had enough of hypocrites preaching of a Kingdom, not of this world where treasure should be stored in Heaven, whilst amassing fortunes and land. It has had enough of hypocrites preaching of a God of love, who loves each and every one of us unconditionally, whilst judging and excluding and supporting systems that divide.

Who does the world say I am, asks Christ? How does it know?

 

On this Petertide, we can come together as the Church and show the world who Christ is. Our strength in our differences, and our unity in our own answer to Christ’s second question.

“Who do you say I am?” How do you show – and not just tell – your answer?

 

Amen.