Who Do You Say That I Am? | Mark 8:27-38

*Preached at Grace North Church March 3, 2001.*

In the version of our gospel reading that survives in the apocryphal Gospel of Thomas, Jesus asks his disciples to compare him to something and tell him what he is like.

Simon Peter answers him, "You are like a just messenger."

Matthew says to him, "You are like a wise philosopher."

The Gospel of Mark offers more possibilities: "Some say you are John the Baptist, others Elijah, and still others, one of the prophets."

But in his gospel Thomas goes home with the gold star on his forehead when he answers, "Rabbi, my mouth is utterly unable to say what you are like."

It is very curious that we have built an entire religion around a person whom even those who knew and followed him did not understand. How are we supposed to answer this question for ourselves when even the biblical authors cannot agree?

When we read the Gospel of Mark, we meet a man, not a god. Mark gives us Jesus, the rebel. This version of Jesus challenges the authority of the religious leaders, confronts demonic powers, and even takes on Rome itself. And like James Dean and so many other young rebels, his cavalier actions lead him to an untimely end. Mark's Jesus wants us to be rebels, too. "All who want to follow after me must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me," he says. Mark's gospel was written for persecuted Christians, and tries to inspire them with the dark tale of a failed revolutionary whose mission mysteriously succeeds.

But we meet a very different Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew. In this very Jewish book, Jesus is the wise Rabbi. He is forever in and out of synagogues and in and out of trouble. The synagogues are divided about Jesus, though. Is he a prophet or a fraud? Matthew's Jesus is an experienced teacher, steeped in the Law and the traditions of Judaism. In this gospel, Jesus is the long-awaited fulfillment of Jewish hope, he is Emmanuel, revealing to us God's presence in our midst.

The Jewishness of Mark and Matthew get a spin in the Gospel of Luke, however. Luke is not Jewish and is not writing to Jews, but to Pauline communities of converted gentiles. For Luke, the endpoint of history, the climax of culture is not Rome, but a peasant Jew: Jesus of Nazareth, savior of the whole world--whodathunkit? For Luke, Jesus is a heroic figure similar to Hercules or many other pagan heroes. His means are revolutionary, but the way he carries himself is very familiar indeed. Luke's Jesus has his eye not on Israel, but on the whole human race.

The Gospel of John, though, is another thing altogether. John's Jesus has a bigger ego than Bill Gates, and would be completely unrecognizable as the same person in the first three evangelists' versions. John's Jesus is the Gnostic aeon come down from heaven to save those possessing the sparks of divinity from this dark and doomed world. John's Jesus is ghostly, egotistical, and hopelessly verbose. Only John's Jesus requires you to take notes, and the lectures are numerous.

Paul, in his epistles, doesn't really have the time of day for Jesus, the carpenter from Nazareth. Paul is infatuated with the Cosmic Christ, his own peculiar version of Jesus, a Jesus who is ubiquitous, a demiurge who was the one who REALLY created the world, a prince who intermediates between the fallen creation and the remote Father God. Paul's Jesus used his body as a springboard into pantheism. Paul is not even very concerned with the teachings of Jesus the man; he is in love with Christ, the idea.

The Book of Revelation presents yet another radically different view. Its version is kind of "Jesus on acid." In this book Jesus doesn't walk around in a toga spouting proverbs; the Book of Revelation depicts Jesus as a slain lamb miraculously still lumbering about with seven horns and seven eyes, ten crowns, with swords coming out of his mouth, arcane names tattooed on his thigh, and a spitting problem. This book revives the Jewish hope for a warrior messiah, promising them that, yes, the first time the Messiah came he was like a lamb, but the next time, watch out! That lamb has teeth, and is going to tear you a new abyss.

Non-biblical accounts offer even more diverse versions. In the Gospel of Thomas, Jesus isn't even the Messiah. Thomas cares nothing for the virgin birth, the crucifixion, or the resurrection. Thomas' Jesus is nothing but a Zen master, wandering the countryside, grooving on the Tao, spouting koans designed to shock his listeners into a state of unitive consciousness. And as it is, as most scholars agree, the earliest and most reliable gospel, this picture of Jesus bears important consideration as well, even if it isn't in the Bible.

Now, since even the Biblical authors cannot agree on who Jesus is, why should we? Indeed, there is no reason why we should. But this does not change the importance of Jesus' question, "Who do you say that I am?" Instead, it just makes the question all the more compelling, since the answer to that question is going to change from account to account, from culture to culture, from age to age, and even from person to person.

Even who Jesus is for you will change with time. As a child, Jesus was my playmate who loves all the little children of the world, whom I made room for in my single bed, and who delighted in doing miracles like a vaudeville magician. Later, as a teenager, Jesus became the judge of the world, constantly dividing the sheep from the goats and scaring and giving me panic attacks trying to figure out which camp I was in.

As a young adult, Jesus was the social revolutionary, who challenged the status quo, spouting hippier-than-thou nuggets of wisdom, and a member of an exclusive club that included Ghandi, Malcolm X, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Then, in my thirties, Jesus suddenly became a human being, and an unintentional founder of a faith that bears no resemblance whatsoever to his own personal mission. For me at this time in my life, Jesus is the misunderstood mystic, who recognized his unity with the divine, with the universe, and with all peoples, and calls us to recognize it, too.

But all of this is simply antecendent information. The most important question is not who Matthew or Luke or Fr. John thinks Jesus is, but who do YOU say Jesus is? There are no wrong answers to this question. And your answers are going to grow and change as you grow and change, and this is as it should be. For Jesus is not just a figure in history, he is the central character in a myth, and myth can never stop growing, never stop changing, never stop evolving new meanings. In order for a myth to survive, it must be reborn afresh in the imaginations of each successive generation.

Church history is replete with competing visions as the needs of the people changed. Jesus is the suffering servant, no, Jesus is the emperor of the universe, no, Jesus is the figurehead of a constitutional monarchy. Excuse me, I think I'm getting a little carried away. Anyway, who Jesus is must always change, precisely because who we NEED him to be is always changing.

In our country we have a very strange approach to religion. It doesn't seem strange to us, but to the rest of the world it is very odd indeed. Perhaps it is a result of our "rugged individualism," but American religion is very concerned with one's PERSONAL relationship with divinity. In other parts of the world, it is one's relationship to the community, to the tribe, the nation, the church, that matters. But in America, dang it, it's just "me and Jesus." We sing, "I come to the garden alone" and talk of Jesus as "our buddy." This has both good and bad aspects to it. On the plus side, we have great ownership of our spiritual lives, and take responsibility for them. On the minus side, we get songs like "Drop Kick Me Jesus through the Goal Posts of Life," and televangelists and such. We can also become myopic and catch ourselves saying things like, "I wish that homeless person would stop pestering me while I'm trying to pray." It's okay, you know, you can tell him to go away; Jesus will always come back later.

This approach does help us, though, in defining our relationship to Jesus for ourselves. What is your relationship to him like? "Compare him to something and tell me what he is like," to paraphrase Thomas. Is he God? A friend? A lover? An historical curiosity? If you have not engaged that question recently, I ask you to do it today. You answer may have changed since the last time you thought about it.

It is a very important exercise to do, because if you consider yourself a Christian, then how you understand Jesus will dramatically affect how you live out your spirituality. And perhaps, just as important is the question of how do you WANT to understand Jesus. Do you want to understand him in the way the church defines him, without any emotional attachment to such a figure? Or do you want to remain agnostic on the question, so that you can entertain many views at once? Or do you desire an intimate experience with him that will transcend logical categorization? Perhaps the most instructive of all would be to simply rest in Jesus' presence, and to say with Thomas, "Teacher, my mouth is utterly unable to say what you are." Perhaps then, we would be ready to be taught. Let us pray

Jesus, you are so many things to so many people. Forgive our efforts to put you into a box of our own construction, to deny others their visions of you.
For you are larger than our personal ideas, deeper than our own desires, embracing of poles we quail to touch. Dance, morph, evolve in our spiritual inner worlds as we grow and change. Hold us tightly, even as you yourself slide slippery from our grasp. Help us to hold you lightly, so that you may shift when we need shifting. Become for us bread, wine, friend, lover, community, judge, teacher, trickster, all the roles that you play so well. Love us into a universe where we embrace the evolution of all beings, including ourselves; including you. Amen.