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 New Covenant—15 Sept 24 (was 16 Sept 18)

Mark 8

27 Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” 28 And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” 29 He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.”[h] 30 And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

31 Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. 32 He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 33 But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

There is nothing quite like a good disguise.

And nowhere is this more obvious than in films.  Think Tootsie (1982) where Dustin Hoffman plays a notoriously difficult actor who must dress as a woman in order to find work.  Or Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), where Robin Williams plays a divorced father who dresses up as a nanny to spend time with his children.  Or Some Like it Hot (1959), where Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon dress as women to escape the mob, or to lounge around with Marilyn Monroe.  Or both, really.

And disguises, of course, are not limited to famous actors putting on dresses.  In The Parent Trap (1961), twins Susan and Sharon (both played by Hayley Mills) meet at Miss Inch’s Summer Camp for Girls and discover that they are literally “twins separated at birth.”  Adopting the same hairstyle and mannerisms they switch places, a simple but effective disguise. 

And there is the disguise we also call “slumming.”  A famous example is Sir Kenneth Branagh’s adaptation of Henry V (yes, I know it was a play before it was a film) where King Henry puts on the cloak of someone of lower rank and moves among his troops to learn how they feel about their king and the looming battle.  He uses the not-very-convincing name Henry Leroy (literally French for Henry the king) and tells people he’s Welsh (well, he was once the Prince of Wales).  I love the film, but recognize that it’s really just Sir Kenneth’s excuse to make the famous speech:

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

That’s the closest I’ll ever get to the stage.  I share all this because the reading I shared is all about disguises.  Listen again:

On the way [Jesus] asked them, “Who do people say I am?” 

They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.”

“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” Peter answered, “You are the Messiah.” Jesus warned them not to tell anyone about him.

It’s an odd little exchange, really.  It appears almost word-for-word in Matthew, Mark and Luke, with the only real difference being a sort of conclusion added in Matthew whereby Jesus rewards Peter with the “keys to the kingdom.”  Otherwise, they maintain the dialogue we heard this morning.  There is no parallel in John—where there seldom is—with John’s Jesus being more vocal about who he is through a series of “I am” statements familiar to us.

But in our passage, Jesus wants to know what people are saying about him.  In some ways, the disciples become a sort of focus group, sharing the most common responses they have heard.  The first most common response is also the most obvious: “Some say John the Baptist.” 

Obvious, because Jesus and John the Baptist are together at the beginning of the gospels, John the Baptist baptizes Jesus, and John the Baptism even seems to help Jesus craft his early message (“I did not come to bring peace, but a sword”).  Even Herod (who is responsible for the Baptist’s death) decided that Jesus is John the Baptist come back to life—which may say more about his remorse than any theological insight.

Others, the disciples then suggest, say Elijah.  This suggestion is both logical and plausible: Elijah multiplied bread and oil for the widow of Zarephath, he raised her dead son to life, he confronted Baal in the same way Jesus confronted the Adversary.  Elijah is even predicted to come at the last, “during the great and terrible day of the Lord.”  The parallels are irresistible, and by the time Jesus is transfigured, Elijah will appear (with Moses) before Jesus in glory.

But he’s not John the Baptist and he’s not Elijah.  We know this because the focus group continues, as Jesus—unsatisfied with the answers so far—says “yes, but who do you say that I am?”  Peter speaks first and for the rest and says “You are the Christ.” Mark remembers it as “the Christ, son of the living God” and Luke simply “the Christ of God.”  With this, Jesus says “tell no one.”

I can tell you that a lot of sermon ink has been spilled on this statement “tell no one.”  Most often it’s the contrast to John, the Jesus who introduces himself as “the light of the world” or the “Good Shepherd” or “the way, the truth and the life.”  It’s hard to overstate the contrast, but it’s also hard to discount John’s recollection, since so many of these “I am” statements have brought so many to faith in Jesus.  So we live with the tension.

I can also tell you that “tell no one” is a vain hope.  If the somewhat thick-headed disciples can figure it out, then so can everyone in the next row of followers, and those who experience some miracle or healing.  The disguise becomes increasingly thin until it’s no longer a disguise at all.  Near the end of Mark, as the trial begins, the High Priest examines Jesus and says “tell me, are you the Christ, the Son of the Blessed One?”  Jesus has finally embraced the spirit of John’s Gospel and says simply “I am.” 

But the disguises will continue.  Mary mistakes Jesus for the gardener asking “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me, and I will get him.”  Two disciples have an extended conversation with Jesus on the road to Emmaus, only recognizing him when he breaks the bread before the meal.  And again, after his death, the disciples are fishing and he appears on the beach, saying “Friends, haven’t you any fish?” “No,” they say, and he encourages them to try fishing from the other side.  Only in the context of the miraculous catch that follows, do they see it is Jesus, who then grills some fish and shares some bread and instructs them one last time.

And the disguises will continue. One of the most pervasive heresies in the early church was docetism, the belief that Jesus wasn’t really human at all, that it was merely ‘God-in-a-Jesus-costume’ that came to earth and walked among us.  It seems a convincing way to explain all the miracles and all the wisdom, and it also became a simple way to explain the bodily resurrection: Jesus was never really here, just God visiting in the form of a man.

The problem with this idea was immediately obvious. It reduced the Christ-event to theatre, and it eliminated the vital link we have to God through the humanity of Jesus.  It makes Good Friday, Easter and all the resurrection appearances false, along with the very identity of the Lord and Saviour that continues to walk with us down to today.

Most importantly, the heresy denied Jesus his humanness, the very means by which he experienced the pain of human living and the suffering we experience in the face of death.  The deep well of pain that God holds is only present to us if Jesus knew pain, if he felt betrayal, if he drew a last breath, and returned to God with the totality of human suffering.  He can only save us because he knows that from which we need to be saved.  He can only forgive us if he experienced our failure first hand.

And the disguises never end. The famous passage in Hebrews says “Don’t forget to entertain strangers—for in doing so, some have entertained angels unawares.”  In Matthew 25, we are reminded that what we do for the least and last we also do for Jesus, perhaps the verse that most animates those who serve and seek to see Christ in others. 

Let’s do a for-instance, but first, I need to share a primary rule for preaching.  In preaching, the preacher should never be the hero of the story.  Anytime the preacher appears in the sermon it should be limited to ‘the valuable lesson I learned’ or that time I looked like a complete idiot.  Examples abound.  Some crafty ministers try to get around the rule by bragging about their congregations, so “hey look at me” becomes “hey look at us.”  So I’m going to talk about my last congregation, but I’m going to talk about the time before I arrived—staying squarely within the rule.

Central United in Weston is located in the largest town that was overtaken by Toronto’s suburban sprawl.  So by the 1950s the town was no longer a town, but a neighbourhood—albeit a unique one.  It has an old “downtown” with rooming houses and payday lenders, ageing highrises, a fine collection of Victorian homes—surrounded by lots of sprawl.  By the 90s a recession and the loss of some key employers in the area meant the homeless population was on the rise.  By homeless, I mean the people who live some of the year in the ravine across the street; to the “couch surfers;” to those who are frequently evicted (for any number of reasons).  

So that’s Weston—what about the church?  Picture an old brick church, formerly Methodist, with an even older cemetery surrounding the church.  In the 1920s, they decided they wanted tennis courts instead, so the cemetery had to go.  By the 1950s they had enough of tennis, and decided to erect a gymnasium for the swelling crowd of young people.  By the late 80s the young people were fewer in number, so they tore down the gym and built housing for low-income seniors.  So, not afraid of change.  And just when they were feeling really good about their apartment building, and a very tangible response to poverty, they took a harder look at the streets around the church.  People were hungry.

Now, Weston already had a food bank, so they decided to serve a weekly meal instead.  It felt like a small thing in the face of so much need, but something had to be done.  Then they agreed to abide by one simple rule: that church volunteers would eat with the people they served.  And this proved to be the decision that changed everything.

Members of the church learned firsthand that the unhoused and underhoused need expert help dealing with landlords and slumlords.  A small grant was secured, and the first drop-in staff person was hired.  This led to additional programming, and more grants, including hiring a harm reduction worker.  Today, the centre is open six days a week, serving a warm meal each day, and offering support, informal counselling, and basic needs relating to harm reduction—clean needles, crack kits, and condoms—to name a few.  The idea is that while you are in the grips of addiction you need protection from related harms—HIV, hepatitis, and the rest.  

In other words, the congregation saw the needy—the hungry, the homeless, the addicted—but ended up in conversation with people in need.  They heard stories that reminded them of their own lives—people living lives until some twist of fate led them to their current situation.  Rather than simply helpers, they became students.  And the people they helped were teachers in disguise.  “Truly, I tell you,” Jesus said, “as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you also did it to me.” 

Imagining everyone in need as perhaps Jesus in disguise is a revolution in thinking—it creates a realm of concern and empathy and it destroys the very human impulse to serve only kin and clan or those who can provide some sort of reward.  It promotes our common humanity in a world that is sorely lacking in a sense of common humanity.  

Seeing through the disguise becomes a way to meet Jesus—it becomes a spiritual encounter—and an act of faith that returns him to our midst once more.

May we find Jesus in everyone we meet.  And may God bless every act of kindness, Amen.

posted by michael jacob kooiman @ 5:26 AM