Sermon preached by the Reverend Louise Kalemkerian

St. Paul’s on the Green, Norwalk, Connecticut

4^th Sunday after Pentecost - June 24, 2007

In the name of our life-giving, healing, affirming God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

An atheist was spending a quiet day fishing when suddenly his boat was attacked by the Loch Ness monster. In one easy flip, the beast tossed him and his boat high into the air. Then it opened its mouth to swallow both. As the man sailed head over heels, he cried out, “Oh, my God! Help me!”

At once, the ferocious attack scene froze in place, and as the atheist hung in mid-air, a booming voice came down from the clouds, “I thought you didn’t believe in Me!” “Come on God, give me a break!!” the man pleaded. “Two minutes ago I didn’t believe in the Loch Ness monster either!”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is asking us what we believe about him. This question makes me uncomfortable; I would rather he ask other questions. If he asked me whether I could recite the Ten Commandments, or had memorized the Nicene Creed, or if I knew the Lord’s Prayer in both the traditional and contemporary versions, or whether I go to church on Sundays, I could respond with a resounding “yes” to his queries. But those aren’t his concerns this morning.

Instead he is asking all the disciples, those that accompanied him throughout his ministry and the rest of us down to the 21^st century, who am I for you? Do I make any difference in your life? Lest, like Peter, we think there’s an easy answer to the question, Jesus gives us a job description: discipleship means self-denial, serving others in his name, even a willingness to lay down our lives for him. See why I’d rather answer the other questions?

What we get from Jesus today is a reminder that all of the wonderful, live-giving, affirming, amazing things he did and continues to do came with a price: his death on the Cross, and that was extraordinarily expensive.

So how do we answer his question? There’s a big part of me that wants to cut and run, to pretend I’ve never heard the question, don’t know what he’s talking about, and just wants to be left alone. But the bottom line is that I have to face the question, figure out a response, and then speak it.

I believe the answer lies in our relationships with one another, in the way we reach out to Jesus’ brothers and sisters, particularly those who are living on the edges. I believe that the answer lies in how we respond to marginalized, the down and out, those on the fringes of society, the least of Jesus’ brothers and sisters. So easy and yet so hard. I believe that the answer lies in our willingness to extend ourselves for others, to be vulnerable to others, to go the extra mile for others, even those for whom we have little patience and who clearly don’t deserve another chance.

I believe the answer lies in our ability to cut another some slack, particularly the person who has been such a pain and distraction to us, who has pushed us to our limits and caused us heartache and pain and distress. I believe the answer lies in our ability to see the face of Jesus in every person we meet. I believe the answer lies in extending radical welcome to all. And then I believe we’ll be able to answer Jesus’ question.

Because Jesus is trying to get his disciples, all of us, to see that he is creating a revolution. But the revolution he is creating is different from all others; God will reclaim the world not through violence, but through suffering, death, through the scandal of crucifixion. The warriors in this battle will not be identified by victory, but by active discipleship, embracing the cross. The weapons will not be armor and sword, but self-denial and suffering. The cross will mark success. Peter speaks for most of us when he doesn’t get it.

It’s hard to blame Peter. After all, he’s sticking up for us, for you and for me. Peter’s got a pretty good life. Things are going his way. Sure, the fishing industry wasn’t great, pushing out into the sea day after day, his stomach and wallet empty. Jesus bid “follow,” and Peter did. He likes the attention, the crowds and miracles, the power and adventure. Peter’s life is going to be the right direction; he’s going to ride Jesus to the top. And so when Jesus points Peter down a different way, with talk of self-denial, suffering, and forbid it, Lord, a cross well, Peter is not interested. After all, as Jesus goes, so goes Peter, and Peter plans on going well. It might be said that Peter, even here in chapter 9, is afraid of the suffering cross.

In the movie Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Yoda, the wise sage of pop culture, says the following about fear and suffering: “Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”

In our culture that skirts pain at all costs, Yoda might be right. Fear may well lead to suffering and thus is to be avoided. But Jesus no more listens to pop psychology than any of us, when we offer the same meager excuses for an unchanged life. Fear or no fear, Jesus is going another way. It is the only way that matters, the only way that leads to life. Peter is welcome to follow if he wants. But he’ll have to change. If he wants new life, true life, he’ll have to suffer a bit and, like a snake shedding its skin, cast off his old self and take up the cross.

Luke’s Jesus, however, is talking about a different kind of discipleship and a different kind of suffering. He is not speaking to us of bearing our cross. This is not a suffering we deal with when the storms of life come our way, which we react to because we have no choice, when a cross is laid upon us allowing no option but to carry on. Jesus’ language is active, direct, forceful: Deny yourself! Take up your cross! Follow me! It’s one thing to receive pain as it comes, it is quite another to seek it out.

William Willimon, noted preacher, Methodist bishop and formerly dean of the chapel at Duke University, tells the story of a conversation he had with a Duke student, about an upcoming mission trip. “You’re a great leader, you speak Spanish, and you care about the poor. You really ought to come with us to Honduras,” he said to her. She thought for a moment, “I don’t think so,” she responded. “Oh come on, it’ll be an adventure and we’ll have a great time,” he implored. “I’m a bit surprised to hear you say working with the poor is your idea of a good time,” she replied. “To me, it’s too hard and painful. I’m going to follow through with my plans to go to the Bahamas with friends.” “At first I was disappointed in the student, thinking that she was being a bit selfish,” he says, “but later I thought, ‘What a wonderful, truthful response.’” She was being honest. She wouldn’t be caught as a pretender like so many who talk the Jesus talk, but forge ahead on their own walk. The way of Jesus is suffering; embracing the cross causes pain.

Jesus puts it out there to all of us. At the same time he promises to support us in the walk, support us in our effort to follow him, even if like Peter and the other disciples, we get it wrong most of the time. He cares deeply how we live our lives and how we respond to one another in love.

And he invites us to share with him in this journey, this blessing that is discipleship. Each of us, every one of us, is an important part in mediating God’s grace and love to one another, to every person we meet. The good news is that we don’t do it alone, but rather with the love and support of this community, to which we return again and again for sustenance and encouragement.

And we’re called to do it every day of our lives, usually in quiet and unassuming ways. Or in the anonymous words I read years ago, which spell out an ideal for discipleship,

Why were the saints, saints? Because they were cheerful when it was difficult to be cheerful, patient when it was difficult to be patient; and because they pushed on when they wanted to stand still, and kept silent when they wanted to talk, and were agreeable when they wanted to be disagreeable. That was all. It was quite simple and always will be.