Aug 30 | “Our hero,” (Sermon, August 23rd 2017)

Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that the Son of Man is?’ ¹⁴And they said, ‘Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.’ ¹⁵He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ ¹⁶Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.’ ¹⁷And Jesus answered him, ‘Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. ¹⁸And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. ¹⁹I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.’ ²⁰Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

Matthew 16:13-20

 

Everyone has heroes. Everyone has someone they look up to, someone they want to emulate, someone they never get tired talking about.

One of the heroes of my own generation is writer and director Joss Whedon. I was never a huge fan, but I hang out with a lot of geeks, and many of them were avowed Whedonites. It started with Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and continued with other shows like Angel, Firefly, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, and Dollhouse – thoughtful, hilarious, and fun shows that often had wide appeal reaching across demographics.

Common to many of them were sharp, well-rounded female characters who busted bad guys but also had rich emotional lives. Buffy Summers, in particular, has been the subject of much pop culture philosophy, sociology, even theology. Whedon was also quick to stand up for women as a Hollywood idol, and was a self-proclaimed feminist. For years, he could do no wrong.

Until last week, when a scathing indictment from his ex-wife blew up on social media. In this open letter, she told his fans that the self-proclaimed feminist was actually an emotionally abusive serial adulterer.

A lot of people I knew were shocked and devastated. Online I saw them telling each other over and over, “Never trust your heroes.”

That’s only one story. I’m sure all of you have your own hero who disappointed you.

There is nearly always a certain point where someone who is widely admired crosses a line, steps into the light, and is revealed as just another human being. Drug abuse. Sex scandals. Embezzlement and fraud. An unfortunate recording. Some respond well and some respond like a total dumpster fire. It usually doesn’t matter. Their image is forever tainted no matter how slick their PR game is.

Even the ones who never get to that point, who live out their lives without any scandal or controversy, are often subject to wild rumours.

Mr. Rogers of Mr. Rogers’ Neighbourhood is a great example. People today still trade the old chestnut that he was a sniper or a Navy Seal with many confirmed kills. Some people even claim that he wore his long-sleeved cardigans to conceal military tattoos – learning that make me laugh out loud, too. Both stories are completely untrue, by the way. There is no record of him serving in the military, and no observable career gaps where he could have done so. Those cardigans? All hand-knitted by his mother. His educational background was in music composition, he was an ordained Presbyterian minister who spent his life connecting with children all over the world, and by all accounts was one of the kindest, humblest, and gentlest people on the planet.

We are so cynical, aren’t we?

And yet sometimes, a real hero breaks through, and shines all the brighter.

Their lives are often quieter than Fred Rogers’. Those of us who search for them may discover that we have better luck finding them among our own families and friends. It is far easier for heroes to stay heroes when we know them personally. It’s easier to see them as human beings, and makes it more difficult to be disappointed when we inevitably discover that they are not demigods.

Knowing them makes us better. Walking beside them, listening to their words, makes us wiser. And growing with them, becoming with them, makes us stronger.

I think this is what happened to Simon Peter, when he looked at Jesus.

“Who do you say that I am?”

I want to paint a picture for you in this passage. During my trip to the Holy Land, we spent some time in the region of Caesarea Philippi. It is a beautiful, quiet place, with soft fields and friendly woods. We paused by the Jordan, and many of us gathered water there to take home. We sat in the sun and our guide, the dean of the college, asked us Jesus’ evocative question:

“Who do you say that I am?”

Surrounding this idyllic scene in the mountains and on the roadsides were the scars of the land. Bright yellow signs sternly warned us not to stray from the path because of landmines. We were not far from the Syrian border, and extremist groups, including Hezbollah, had been active in the region for decades.

This question, “Who do you say that I am?” is not a neutral question. Take note of the names the disciples share with Jesus. John the Baptizer, recently executed by Herod. Elijah, who spent his life battling Ahab and Jezebel. Jeremiah, thrown into a well when he didn’t tell the ruling class what they wanted to hear about the coming exile.

Real heroes are more than just good people who do good works. We always have to remind ourselves that Jesus was executed, and it wasn’t for teaching us things we all learned to do in kindergarten. He didn’t tell people to give the poor cookies on the street, or volunteer at the food bank. Those are things that any good citizen can and should do.

No, Jesus was teaching people to give up everything, to invite the poor into their homes, to be willing to lay down their lives for what’s right. Jesus taught people to make a mockery of their station, their dividing lines, their walls. This was frightening not only to the Roman state, but to the privileged among the oppressed people from which he came, people who were not only in love with their station but who knew full well that if they strayed too far they could get their people in big trouble, rich and poor.

It was never a simple message, never a message of one man standing up against a bunch of monsters.

It was a mouse standing up to a pride of lions, and trying to get the other mice to come onboard.

It must have seemed like lunacy to the Pharisees and the religious officials. I actually have a lot of sympathy for them. They knew full well what the Romans were capable of. The Emperor had orchestrated mass murder multiple times to get upstart Israel to behave. Their temple had been desecrated and their people slaughtered.

And here comes some hayseed from Galilee calling up an army of ne’er-do-wells and disrupting the status quo.

Because that’s what heroes do.

And they knew that Jesus had a point.

They didn’t just kill him because they didn’t like him. They killed him because they knew his message would resonate with people.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Impetuous Peter finally realizes the truth. He makes his confession. “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

“You are the hero we have been promised.”

I always imagine Jesus smiling here. “You see me. You know me. You say I am the hero you’ve been promised? Well, you’re going to be the hero I will promise, to the Church.”

And then everything goes sideways.

Because after that amazing pronouncement, it’s “Sssshhh!”

How are they supposed to do that? Why are they supposed to do that?

Scholars are still arguing about why the Messianic Secret is a thing.

For our purposes today, let’s hearken back to what we were talking about earlier. Let’s consider that Jesus wanted them to know that he would only change their hearts as long as they still saw him as their friend, as a human being who made mistakes, as a teacher to whom they could look up, but who also surely laughed, cried, ate, and drank with them.

“Who do you say that I am?”

The Messiah, yes. But also, a friend. One who knows our hearts, who knows our pain, who knows our breath and our bodies.

One to whom we turn, one for whom we yearn, one whom we receive bodily in bread and wine – not because he is magic, but because we once knew him as a man, a man who overturned the old order of death and destruction and sin and walls.

One who is made manifest once again in the Church, his bride – all of us, together.

“Who do you say that I am?”

Messiah. Friend. Bridegroom. Living bread and living water.

Our hero, who will never betray us, who will never fall short, who will always be with us, who is coming to us now, here, in this bread and wine.