Mark 8 | Who Do You Say that I Am? 2000

*Preached at Grace North Church March 26th, 2000*

In Anthony de Mello's delightful book AWAKENINGS, he gives us a series of short encounters with a fictional spiritual master, who simply goes by the name "The Master." In one of the short chapters, an atheist approaches the master and says, "Tell me, is there really a God?"

The master replies "If you want me to be perfectly honest with you, I will not answer."

Later, his disciples demanded to know why the Master had not answered the question.

"Because his question is unanswerable," said the Master.

"So you are an atheist?" His disciples asked, shocked.

"Certainly not. The atheist makes the mistake of denying that of which nothing can be said."

After pausing to let that sink in, he added, "and the theist makes the mistake of affirming it."

We all make the same mistake, those of us who call ourselves "believers." It is very important to us to be able to articulate our experience of God. And I think it is a good thing to do so. When I go to spiritual direction, much of what I am relating to my spiritual director is my own feeble attempts to put into words my experiences of living with God, and in God, day by day, and week by week. It helps me understand what is going on inside me to talk to someone else about it. It helps make sense of the oftentimes confusing kaleidoscope of experiences that make up my life. It is sometimes difficult to discern exactly where God is, what God is doing, or where it is I am headed in my spiritual life.

It's good to talk about these things. But it is also a good thing to know when to stop talking about God. Now you might think this is a trifle ironic, since as a priest it is my job to talk about God. Well, touché. You allow me my paradoxes, and I'll allow you yours. Still, there is a wisdom, I believe, in knowing when to talk and when to shut up, especially when talking about God.

There is, of course, a theological term for each of these. The way of talking about God is called kataphatic theology, and the way of shutting up is called apophatic theology. Kataphatic theology affirms what God is: God is love, God is light, God is a parent, and so on. By contrast, apophatic theology affirms what God isn't. God is not a toaster oven, God is not malaria, God is not my Aunt Mable, thank God, and so on. Kataphatic theology has long been the way of the doctors of the church. In the creeds we nail down exactly what God is; in the catechism we do so ad nauseum. But apophatic theology is the way of the mystics, for whom silence, and emptiness are much more accurate descriptors.

In today's reading, the author of the Gospel of Mark takes the kataphatic approach. Jesus asks his disciples, "Who do people think I am?" The disciples say, "Well, some people think you are John the Baptist. Some people say you are Elijah, or another one of the prophets." Then Jesus says, "Okay, well, that's what other people are saying. Who do YOU say that I am?" Peter gets to go home with a gold star on his forehead, because he has the right answer. He says "You are the Messiah." Then Jesus warns them not to tell anybody.

Peter says, "You are the Messiah," and this is the obviously the conclusion that the author of the Gospel of Mark wants us to come to as well. He tells us what Jesus IS: Jesus is the Messiah, whatever THAT means. Since that is the subject of another sermon, I will leave it there. Like all kataphatic theology, however, there is something disturbing about Peter's answer. It seems glib, simplistic. If Jesus is the Messiah, then all the other things that Jesus may also be gets collapsed into this narrow mold. Peter's answer is dogmatic, catechetical: "Other people are saying these things, but WE know the truth," is what this gospel writer is saying. I don't know about you, but I've got red flags going up all over inside my head when I read this.

Fortunately, there is another version of this story in the recently discovered Gospel of Thomas which emphasizes the apophatic approach. Now most scholars believe that the majority of the text of the Thomas gospel actually predates the canonical gospels and is in many cases a more reliable text, so it is worth our consideration. In Thomas' version of this story, Jesus tells the disciples "Compare me to something and tell me what I am like."

Peter says, "You are like a just messenger." Matthew says, "You are like a wise philosopher." But Thomas thinks a moment, and finally says, "Teacher, my mouth is utterly unable to say what you are like."

Now unlike Mark's version, there is something in Thomas that catches at my imagination. While Mark's Peter has the right answer, but isn't allowed to tell anyone about it, Thomas' disciple is utterly incapable of saying.

It is no wonder that this apophatic approach has long been the favorite of mystics. There is great truth in it. It is impossible to tell exactly who Jesus is. People have been trying for 2000 years now, and most people disagree with each other. And it doesn't stop with Jesus of course. No matter what religion you are, or what you call God, it seems everybody has a different opinion.

And perhaps that is as it should be. After all, everybody has their own experience of God. Everybody's experience of God is different, because we are all different. We have grown up with different parents, have been molded by diverse influences, have read different books and seen different movies. We may have grown up in different countries, and been taught different things about who God is and what God is like.

But TALKING about God can be dangerous. Depending on who you are, when you live, and what you are saying about God, such ruminations can have you burned at the stake, hosting the PTL club, locked up in a looney bin, or enthroned as pope. Horrible, unenviable fates, every one of them. Kataphatic theology must be wielded with the same caution one would have for a sharp blade. One must be careful of what one says about God, for the sake of one's own well-being. But one must also be careful what one says about God for the sake of other people, as well.

One person's experience of God may be life to him, but poison to another. For instance, a person who has an addictive personality, who has a hard time setting boundaries in his life may need a God with a personality like a drill sergeant, always looking over his shoulder and demanding perfection. Such a god keeps this guy on his toes, keeps him away from the sauce, and drives him to be a good man. But for the sensitive artist-type of person, such a god would seem a cruel and demonic tyrant, bent on crushing the life out of her soul.

It is one thing to say that each of them has a right to his or her own experience of God, but it is often quite different in practice. You see, when human beings have awe-inspiring, transcendent experiences of God, they naturally want to pass it along to others. They want to nail down exactly what happened to them, what their experience of God was, just exactly what God is like, and of course, they pass these on to the next generation. Behold, the birth of the kataphats! Every Sunday morning we repeat the Apostle's Creed, which is precisely this sort of codification. The early church wanted to nail down exactly who and what God is, and so they wrote creeds.

But kataphatic theology has its limits. Creeds are written by a small group of people in a particular place and time. They cannot hope to express the breadth and depth of the human experience of God. Creeds are written words. They cannot hope to express the ineffable mystery that is God. "This is who God is" the creeds say, "and if this is not your experience of God, then you don't know God."

As Jesus says in the infamous lost Gospel of Rufus, "Poppycock." The Tao Te Ching, which is the native scripture of China, opens with the amazing words, "The God which can be described in words is not the real God." Like Thomas, the author of the Tao Te Ching is apophatic, and is "utterly unable to say" what God is like.

When we look at the ministry of Jesus, regardless of which gospel we look at, we find a poetic approach which steers a creative course between the kataphats and the apophats. In Jesus' time, the primary form of piety was Pharisaism. Jesus was himself a Pharisee, since all rabbis were from the Pharisaical school. But unlike many other Rabbis, Jesus did not concentrate on the Law, or the various minutia God demanded to remain within it. Jesus utterly refused to say precisely what God demanded or even who God was. He did not draw up lists of laws, or create creeds of proper belief. Instead, he chose the way of the poet. He did not say WHAT the kingdom of God was, but instead used metaphor and simile, and provided a cornucopia of images of what the kingdom of God must be like. The kingdom is like a man who had a field, the kingdom is like bridesmaids waiting for the groom; the kingdom is like a mustard seed; the kingdom is like a man sowing grain; the kingdom is like a woman who had two coins; the kingdom is like a jar with a hole in the bottom, leaking corn; the kingdom is like a vineyard, and on and on. Many of these similes are contradictory, none of them are to be taken literally. They are all true. They are all false. They are all poetry. And they will all mean something different to each and every one of us.

Just like God.

Now, I'm not saying, "Don't say the creeds." I'm just saying, don't take them too seriously. I'm not saying, "Don't talk about God." I'm just saying, don't believe your own words. Your spiritual health, and the spiritual well-being of the people around you may depend on it.

There is an old Zen saying that goes: "words are like the finger pointing at the moon. Look at the moon, not at the finger." Just so, we should remember that words are slippery, imprecise tools that can get us into trouble. When we try to describe things for which there are no words, it may in fact be best to use none.

Let us pray.

(silence) Amen.