Sermon for the Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, August 27, 2023

Isaiah 51:1-6+Psalm 138+Romans 12:1-8+Matthew 16:13-20

Several years ago, Tim and I went on a trip to Israel-Palestine organized by Yale Divinity School and led by the then-dean of the school, a renowned biblical scholar. Like many travelers to this ancient land, we gained a new perspective on the places, the geography, of the towns and cities we had read about for so long in the bible and in our biblical studies. As with traveling to anyplace that you have read about but never seen, it was an eye-opening experience. As we sailed in a boat on the Sea of Galilee, we could imagine how fast a terrible storm might blow across the water as it did when Jesus calms the waters. We experienced walking through the streets of Old Jerusalem, following the way of the cross as Jesus was led to Calvary. Everywhere we turned gave us a new perspective on these oh-so-familiar stories.

Caesarea Philippi is in the north of Israel near the Syrian border at the foot of Mount Hermon. It was built by Philip, son of Herod the Great, and named both for himself and in honor of the emperor Augustus. As you approached this ancient city which was also a center of worship for the Greek god, Pan, you would see rising ahead of you towering stone cliffs, much like driving along the Henry Hudson Parkway on the east side of the Hudson River and looking across at the Palisades. For centuries, monuments and statues to pagan gods had lined the heights of the cliffs at Caesarea Philippi, and a stream of water flowed from a cave near the top, long believed to be a gate to the underworld where these pagan gods came and went according to the seasons.

Now imagine that you are Jesus and the disciples looking up at these cliffs where the monuments were. And Jesus looks up and then looks at the disciples and asks the question, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" (Matthew 16:13). I'm not one of those gods, so who do you think I am? After mumbling their way through names of some of the prophets, Peter finally pipes up and declares, "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (16:16). Jesus commends Peter, "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it" (16:18).

Now, I know that Christian tradition, especially Roman Catholic tradition, has Peter as the first leader in the church, that rock. I can't help wondering if Jesus wasn't just using the surroundings to make a point. Those rocks, those gates to the underworld, are not the foundation of the church. That rock would not be made of stone but of human flesh.

And then Jesus says to him, "I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven" (16:19). After the resurrection, Jesus also says to the disciples gathered in the Upper Room, "If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained" (John 20:23). Forgiveness of sins, being unbound from our transgressions, is a central, if often overlooked, aspect of the Christian life. We acknowledge it every time we say the Creed; we make our common confession every time we gather. And yet talking about sin and our need to be forgiven seems to be the last thing we want to do. We would rather talk about love and kindness and good deeds and social justice.

Frederick Buechner used to describe the power of sin as centrifugal. It pushes everything out to the edges. It separates us from God and from each other. If we cannot recognize sin in ourselves and ask to be forgiven for that sin, we erect a barrier, so that any good deeds or loving-kindness or justice work we do is done at arms' length. It is about us doing something to or for someone else rather than actually loving our neighbor as ourselves.

To present our bodies as a living sacrifice, in Paul's words to the Romans, is to surrender our whole selves to God in service to one another. It isn't a personal, me-only endeavor. "For as in one body we have many members," Paul writes, "and not all the members have the same function, so we, who are many, are one body in Christ, and individually we are members one of another" (Romans 12:4-5). My well-being and flourishing are only conceivable in relation to the well-being and flourishing of my neighbor. To be part of the body of Christ is to be incapable of pushing others away.

So, confession and forgiveness are not just some thing we do here each week: they are central to our identity as Christians.

We can see a glimpse of this as it unfolds between Jesus and Peter. Today, he's the star pupil. Next week, Jesus is calling him Satan. At the arrest of Jesus, Peter denies him. After the resurrection, Jesus gives him three chances to confess his love (John 21:15-19).

We, like Peter, are continually works in progress. And sometimes we're the star student and sometimes we're the devil, and Jesus never gives up on us.

And maybe that's why we call it Good News.