Mark 8:31-38

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. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. 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.”

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.

Two weeks ago we explored the story of Jesus transfigured on the mountain. If you recall, that message centered on the idea of cruciform discipleship. Today’s gospel story is the scene that unfolds immediately prior to the ascent up the mountain, making today’s message something of a prequel.

The scene begins following Jesus’ question to the disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” To which Peter replied, “You are the Messiah.”

Today’s gospel scene makes a pretty bold and startling claim about what being the Messiah actually means. Namely, it involves great suffering, rejection, and death. Resurrection, yes; but by the time that bit of good news gets to Peter’s ears, he has already stopped listening. And chances are, we have stopped listening also.

Peter rebukes Jesus for talking about suffering, rejection, and death; just as he will do again a few verses later on the mountain in the presence of the transfigured Christ. Peter suggests Jesus has it all wrong because that’s not how the story is supposed to go. Suffering? Rejection? Death? No, no, and no. Their ancestors already been there and done that for far too long.

The Messiah was to usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for God’s chosen people; an age of peace and prosperity that would come about once they have had the chance to engage in all the nasty, violent, angry, evil stuff against their enemies. The people who had endured generations of great suffering, rejection, and death were ready to dish it out in kind, teaching their enemies a lesson. Peace would follow, but only after more violence. It would only be fair and just.

It was an approach to peace-making modeled efficiently by millennia of occupiers; most recently, Rome. Caesar was Lord. Caesar promised and brought the good news of peace to the nations; albeit, a peace produced by the blade of a sword. All who threatened the peace were killed. This system had worked incredibly well for the Romans as their boundaries spread into multiple continents. The Hebrew people were simply awaiting their turn, when their Lord would come, lead them into battle, and vanquish all their enemies so they could finally enjoy the blood-stained peace for which they had fought.

There’s something tempting about the notion of repaying violence with violence. Something exciting, invigorating, alluring, and even instinctive. It’s a very human thing. Repaying an insult with an insult. Passing and cutting off a driver who cut you off. Wishing some degree of bad fortune on “those people.” Killing people who kill people. Repaying violence with violence…the examples are everywhere.

Last week I went to the theater to watch a movie and most of the movie previews preceding the show were about a man who had something awful happen to him so he sets off to kill everyone who could have had a hand in it. There are so many movies that tell this same story because it is a fool-proof formula for profit. People are willing to pay to watch someone use violence to rectify the world and rid it of the violent people. It speaks to a very human part of our nature. And it is tempting to see this as an appropriate way to engage with the world.

If there had been theaters instead of gladiator games for entertainment in these times, Peter would have wanted a Bruce Willis-type Messiah. After all Die Hard is a much better title for a movie about a Savior than Suffer, Be Rejected, and Die.

The desire to use violence to rid the world of violence is a human thing. Which is why Jesus rebukes Peter’s rebuke with the statement, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Revenge is a human thing; not a divine thing. The myth of redemptive violence (the idea that violence is an appropriate response to violence) is a human thing; not a divine thing.

Notice, that Jesus refers to Peter as “Satan.” The first reference to Satan in Mark’s gospel was when Jesus went into the wilderness following his baptism, where he was tempted by Satan for 40 days and 40 nights. Satan is temptation personified. And the only things that tempt us are the things we crave but know that we should avoid.

We confess Jesus was fully divine and fully human. In this exchange with Peter, Jesus’ full human-ness is on display. Peter tells him he should walk down the path of victory through violence. Jesus is tempted; otherwise he would have not have called Peter the name of temptation personified. For an instant he peers into that probable future of might, conquest, and revenge. But then he turns his back on the tempter. Jesus looks at his disciples and fully commits himself to the path that will lead to victory through suffering, rejection, and death. Not only does he commit to follow this path, but he instructs any who would follow him to pick up their cross and walk the same path.

There is much that needs to be said about the myth of redemptive violence – the idea that violence can be used as an instrument of good. I cannot adequately unpack this profound idea in a few minutes here, but I would like to point to the words of theologian Walter Wink, who writes,

"The myth of redemptive violence is the simplest, laziest, most exciting, uncomplicated, irrational, and primitive depiction of evil the world has ever known…. By making violence pleasurable, fascinating and entertaining, the Powers are able to delude people into compliance with a system that is cheating them of their very lives."*

Violence begets violence; and violent actions are just as deadly for the perpetuator as the victim.

Jesus’ instruction to pick up crosses and follow him are not just prohibitions against violence. It is more an invitation to live a full life that exudes the divine force of peace throughout the world.

Consider Jesus’ call as an invitation for you to notice when the tempting tunes of violence and revenge sing their siren songs. Notice when the voice in your head turns violent, insisting that either you yourself or those people over there deserve to be punished. Boldly proclaim the same mantra Jesus used when he was tempted, “Get behind me, Satan.”

Amen.

* Walter Wink. The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium

Mark 1:9-15

In those days Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Now the Spirit immediately drove Jesus out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee proclaiming the good news of God, and saying,“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

I heard one of the fathers who lost a daughter in the school shooting on Wednesday, cry his heart out on national television Friday morning. His name is Frank Guttenberg, and he was a broken man, beside himself with grief and anger and shock and regret. Grief, of course, because his little girl, Jaime, was gone, taken from him, 14 years-old, and murdered so savagely. Angry, of course, because it was all so senseless. Shocked, of course, because – no matter how prolific and popular these massacres have become in our country – we never, ever, ever think this will happen in our town, in our school, to our children. So… grief and anger and shock … of course.

But it was this father’s regret that broke him wide open and choked him up in a way that I can’t shake. His regret was that he couldn’t remember how or if he told his daughter he loved her before she left for school that morning. He acknowledged what so many of us know – that things are crazy so much of the time, that we get busy and distracted and behind schedule – and that that’s how Wednesday morning must have been for his family. So when Fred Guttenberg learned that Jaime had been shot and killed at school, it tortured him to not know for certain if he had told her what was true and more important than anything else he could have said that day – that he loved his little girl.

In this morning’s Gospel, Jesus shows up to be baptized by John, in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heaven’s torn apart, and the Spirit of God descending on him. And the voice of God – the Father – announced, not just for Jesus to hear, but for anyone listening, that Jesus was loved. “You are my son, the beloved, with you I am well pleased.” “You belong to me, you are mine and I love you.”

And then, just like every one of those parents in Parkland, Florida, on Wednesday, and like so many of us do and have done – God, by way of the Holy Spirit, sent the Son … God’s own child … out into the wilderness where he was beset by temptations, by the devil, by wild beasts, and by angels, too. And I imagine Jesus’ ears must have been ringing with those words all along the way: “You are my son, the beloved; with you I am well pleased.” “You belong to me, you are mine, and I love you.”

And those words make all the difference, if we let them – they must have for Jesus, and I hope they do for each of us. “You are my child. You belong to me. You are mine, and I love you.”

Those words – those promises – don’t keep us out of the wilderness, or even safe in the wilderness enough of the time. They didn’t for Jesus and they don’t for us, always, either. But I believe those words – the promise of God’s everlasting love for us – are God’s gift precisely because of the wilderness God knows we live in so much of the time. And I believe the promise of God’s abiding love and eternal life are meant to give us comfort and courage; wisdom and understanding; counsel and might; grace and mercy and peace, in the midst of and in opposition to the wilderness as we go. They did for Jesus and I hope they will for us, just the same.

None of us is Jesus, of course. But each of us is a child of God. To me, that means we can’t do it as well or as faithfully as Jesus, the perfecter of our faith, would do. But as brothers and sisters in Christ, we are called and challenged – driven into the wilderness of it all – to try, nonetheless. So as we continue to debate what we would, could or should do in response to the violent, deadly wilderness in which we find ourselves in this country, I think we’re called to enter that debate and to make those decisions with the promises of God’s love for us, ringing in our ears, like they must have done for Jesus.

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus the power to choose forgiveness and to practice mercy. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus faith in the face of his fears. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism gave Jesus courage to speak truth to power. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism, gave Jesus courage to lay down his life, even, for the sake of the world. Can they do the same for us?

The promises of his baptism allowed Jesus to choose peace over power; humility over pride; love over hate; sacrifice over self-preservation. Can those promises do the same for you and me?

I’m so sad for the 17 lives lost in Florida on Wednesday. I’m sad for the young man who did the killing – that he wasn’t told or shown or convinced of God’s love for him, too. I’m sad for all of our kids who think about going to school differently than I ever would have imagined. I’m sad that weapons – for the sake of protection – have become so important to so many of us.

And I’m sad for Fred Guttenberg and for all the parents who wonder when or how or if they told their children they loved them before they died.

But I’m hopeful they’ll realize – and rest assured sooner, rather than later – that their children know now, not just of their earthly parents’ love for them, but that they know, too, of God’s loving, gracious claim on their life, in this world and for the next.

And I hope we’ll remember those promises every day that we live, too, until they move us to do what Jesus says to do in this morning’s Gospel: to repent… which is to turn… which is to change in some way, each and every one of us… and to believe in the Good News of God’s love for ourselves, for our enemies, and for the sake of the world, until it makes a difference.

I hope we will repent… that we will turn… that each and every one of us, informed and inspired by our faith in the ways of Jesus, will change something in some way;

…that the promises of our baptism will speak through us more loudly and clearly than the politics that surround us;

…that we will believe in the Good News of God’s love, until the wilderness of this world gives way to God’s kingdom of peace and blessing and love at every turn.

Amen

The Temptation of Redemptive Violence

Parkland and the Promises of Baptism