I’m not sure how many of us are on board with what Jesus just said here, unsure how many understand him or like what he said. I don’t really know where I stand either; I think I understand what he’s saying, it’s just I don’t think I’ve fully accepted it. Really, once you strip away all our sentimentality, all those nice, basically meaningless, things we say about Jesus, there are few who accept what he just said, few who follow.
I’m not talking, of course, about Peter’s profession of faith—“You are the Christ”—that, at least, is easy to say and somewhat easy to believe.[1] For me, I came to believe it because I found Jesus beautiful; I find the story of scripture, and the person of Christ who steps out of that story, living and beautiful. My faith, I believe, has come to me because I simply took the time to look at the beauty of Jesus; it’s why I think so much atheism today isn’t really atheism, more just distraction, people renouncing a faith they don’t even know because they’ve never even looked, because they’ve never turned the television off.
“You are the Christ.” That’s easy to say. Yet it’s what comes after these words, this miracle of faith, which is so difficult. It’s not incidental (Mark knew what he was doing) that immediately after this revelation of Christ, it says, “And he began to teach them that the Son of man must suffer many things.”[2] Almost in the same breath, wrapped up in the same miracle of faith: the mystery of suffering, the mystery of weakness, the mystery of the passion of God.
You see, the reason this is difficult is because suffering and dying isn’t what they thought the Christ would do. For them, the messiah wasn’t supposed to be weak and “suffer many things.” Instead, he was supposed to be king the way we think kings ought to be, show the Romans a thing or two. It’s why Peter tried to “rebuke” Jesus; because he didn’t like the message.[3]
Why on earth would the Christ, God’s anointed and Lord of all, suffer and die? Why would he embrace it? And on top of that, why on earth would Jesus tell his disciples they needed to embrace suffering and death too? What do we need the cross for? This is where, to be honest, most of us get off the bus, where our Christianity becomes sentimental and unreal. Because we want everything Christianity has to offer, just not that. We want Christ, but not his cross. We don’t like to be inconvenienced, do we? How about a religion of suffering, how does that suit you? There are reasons people don’t believe anymore, in this convenient world of ours, and not all of them have to do with the credibility of the Church or of scripture. It’s because we’re like Peter; we don’t see why Christ should suffer; we rebuke Jesus at the mere suggestion; we don’t see the point.
So, what is the point? Why on earth did Jesus make suffering and death part of the game? Why did he embrace it for himself, and why did he insist we embrace it too? This is the mysterious question, the question I very well may not be able to answer for you. Of course, it’s about love and about what love does and what people do when they love—strange things, stupid things sometimes and counter-intuitive—like embracing suffering when you didn’t have to, because you love the person you suffer for. But I don’t know if that’ll be enough of an answer for you.
Jesus refused violence. The Almighty renounced power. He could’ve saved himself, but he chose not to; instead like a lamb he was led to the slaughter, opening not his mouth.[4] He refused it, because he put his trust in his Father and not in himself. By refusing violence, even to the point of suffering violence himself, he was showing faith in something bigger than the violence consuming him; a kingdom, he called it, a peace which would come later, after resurrection, which only the Father could give.
Which is the faith demanded of us, to refuse violence; even to embrace suffering if we must, rather than practice it; to suffer on our own crosses as we wait for God, rather than practice our own violence for our own good. To love and suffer even when it makes more sense to hate and take things into our own hands. To die before resurrection, and to know what that really means: this is Christianity. And as I said, many of us don’t buy it. Many of us practice a different faith, something that looks like Christianity, but which isn’t what Jesus said.
I’ve always had difficulty thinking about what this means; as I said, I don’t really know where I stand either. I mean, what does this suggest to the victims of abuse? What does this mean to innocent people who suffer at the hands of wicked people or corrupt institutions? Twenty years after 9/11, what does this mean? I remember dust covering everything, the cars and buildings and rubble of Ground Zero. I remember a story of the words of Scripture someone wrote on one of the dust-covered windows: “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do,” it read. But someone else (later I assume) had crossed them through; with his fingers, deep in the dust, he just wrote, “KILL THEM!” I’ve never forgot that; I understand the question, the tension, the conflict. What does Jesus mean? Take up your cross and whoever loses his life for my sake will save it; what does he mean? Surely, Jesus doesn’t mean such people should welcome the violence of their abusers, that we should acquiesce to injustice. But where’s the line? What’s the difference? How can we be faithful?
Again, I may not be able to answer that for you. I believe Jesus, but I’m bothered here. I don’t think I can give you a nice neat answer to the problem, not a genuine answer at least. Really, all I can do is point to people in whom I think I’ve seen such faith and suffering: the martyrs, for instance, and a few other beautiful souls I’ve seen weather the storms of life. Really, I can’t explain it; it’s just I look at people like that—people who knew how to have faith and suffer—and I see in them something beautiful, something true, like what I see when I see Jesus, the Christ of God. Which may be the point, that God wants that sort of beauty in the world. It’s just whether or not we’re willing to be beautiful enough, like the crucified, like the risen. Amen.
[1] Mark 8:27
[2] Mark 8:31
[3] Mark 8:32
[4] Isaiah 53:7
© 2021 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield
