Mark 8:31--9:1 · Jesus Predicts His Death
Jesus Gets a Business Card
Mark 8:31-38
Sermon
by Mary Austin
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There’s a lot of talk these days in the non-profit and business world these days about “elevator speeches.” If we run into someone in an elevator, and they ask about our cause, our start-up business, or our church, we should be able to give a quick summary, short enough to fit the elevator ride. When people ask about my church, I say something like: “Gaithersburg is a multi-cultural church with members from over thirty countries, so living together is fun and full of things to learn.” If we’re going to the twentieth floor, I can say a little more!

Jesus, always the master communicator, is giving the disciples his version of an elevator speech here. This is the core of what he’s trying to teach them.

We can feel the focus of the gospel shift now.

The first eight chapters of Mark make the case for who Jesus is.  He shows us and tells us by his healings, his meals, his teaching, in everything he says and does. Now,  the story shifts, and Jesus begins  to make his way toward Jerusalem. As he goes, he asks his friends “what are people saying about me?” (Mark 8:29) They offer up various answers, no doubt leaving out the negative ones. And then he asks who they think he is. You can imagine the looks that passed between them — the nod of a head, the quirk of an eyebrow as if to say: you tell him; no, you tell him. How many nights around the campfire, we wonder, did they talk about this? How many meals when they sat in the background and watched, how many healings when they saw the change with their own eyes, made them wonder, and talk about this when Jesus wasn’t around.

Now Peter steps up with the answer he must have been wondering and weighing and thinking about: the Messiah.

And he’s got it half right.

We get it half right, too. A lot of the popular religion we find in the media and in Christian bookstores means well. The TV preachers talk about a life of deeper faith, but it looks a lot like the American success story. Shiny, well-fed people with seemingly perfect lives try to convince us that if we’re true Christians, we’ll never struggle again. Money will pile up so fast we don’t know what to do, struggles with alcohol or drugs will be gone with no effort… calories won’t exist… our aches and pains will vanish… and bad bosses will turn into pussycats. Certainly, we’ll never swear at other drivers in traffic or lose our tempers at home.

It all sounds so good that we want to believe it, and yet part of us knows it’s too good to be true.

Once while I was in seminary, a well-known preacher came to address the students during the morning chapel time. We gathered, expectantly, on those wooden pews that had seen a lot of preachers come and go. As we listened, he talked for a long time about his perfect marriage of 35 years, and his five children, four of whom were leading perfect lives. He went on so long that a friend of mine leaned over and said, “Aren’t you just praying the fifth kid is a Hare Krishna somewhere?”

As author Brennan Manning says, “Most of the descriptions of the victorious life do not match the reality of my own. [Things you read and hear] create the impression that once Jesus is acknowledged as Lord, the Christian life becomes a picnic on a green lawn — marriage blossoms into connubial bliss, physical health flourishes, acne disappears, and sinking careers suddenly soar. The victorious life is proclaimed to mean that everyone is a winner. An attractive twenty-year-old accepts Jesus and becomes Miss America, a floundering lawyer conquers alcoholism and whips F. Lee Bailey in court, a tenth round draft choice for the Green Bay Packers goes to the Pro Bowl. Miracles occur, conversions abound, church attendance skyrockets, ruptured relationships get healed, shy people become gregarious and the [insert your team here] win the World Series.” (The Ragamuffin Gospel, by Brennan Manning)

If we don’t get this kind of perfection, we feel like we missed out on the life of faith.

But Jesus is saying, no, you have it all wrong. It’s the struggles, the taking up your burdens and the burdens of the world, that give life to faith.

Peter has this happy vision of faith, too — and he can’t imagine a messiah who will suffer and die. For him, that’s a failure. Peter tries to rebuke Jesus — the same word the gospel uses for casting out demons. And Jesus comes right back at him. He has to understand this to get it. Jesus rebukes Peter — again, the same word for casting out a demon.

If we want to follow — and Jesus is clear that we have a choice — this is the path.

So, if it’s not perfect day after perfect day, what does it mean to follow Jesus in our world? That’s the mystery our faith leads us to explore, day after day, year after year. That’s the question we ask Jesus, as we live our everyday faith.

Jesus is telling us here who he is — and who we should be, too. He’s talking about the core of his work — and the core of our life as disciples. We live our faith in the answer to his questions.

Who do you say that I am, Jesus asks? Can you follow me? Can you take up your cross: face the burdens of your life, and carry the cares of the world? He has these questions for us.

We have questions, too.

Faith demands that we ask ourselves these things.

Does my work use the talents God gave me? By work, I mean however we spend our days: raising kids, paid work, volunteer work.

Do my relationships show the love and grace of God? In the way I talk to my friends, my neighbors, my partner, my kids, am I talking to the face of God in them?

Does my life show evidence of God?

Am I growing in some way, or have I gotten stuck? What do I regret?

If I had three months to live, what would I want to fit into my life?

These questions, and others like them, pointing us to what really matters, and to where God would have us go. They are signposts, showing us where we’re unhappy… missing something… going too fast…. They lead us into the mystery of how we follow God in the places we are, with the gifts we have.

And at the center of it all, there are questions that give meaning to all the others. Who do you say that I am? Can you pick up your cross and follow me? Can you face your burdens, and care for the needs of others? As one writer says, “As life picks up speed and I clock more days and weeks and years, I accumulate more suffering. The human tendency seems to be to fight the difficult parts of life, as if by resisting them I can skip to the good stuff or set a few extra goals to overcome the suffering…. But there’s no entry into Christ’s presence without the cross. No one has to go looking for one, the cross finds you.” (David Goetz, Death by Suburb)

The cross finds us. The cross is different for each of us — a cross that fits our strength to carry it, and the service that we can give. A cross that uses our struggles and heartache to connect us to the hurt of the world. A cross that uses our sorrow, as much as our strength.

We can lament that we don’t have the picture-perfect life, or we can turn and pick up the crosses in our lives. Pick up the cross of recovery… of the ill family member… of inclusion… of chemotherapy… of getting home in time for family time… of anger management… of trust. Pick up the cross of helping someone with no discernible benefit… of serving somewhere new… of talking to someone you don’t agree with, and have nothing in common with, and move more deeply into faith.

That’s the core of our faith. Taking up the cross, following the Jesus who loves and serves. That’s our elevator speech. That’s the essence of our faith.

That’s what is on Jesus’ business card and should be on ours, too. The answer to the mystery of faith, and the entrance into it. Amen.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Ashes at the coffee shop, resurrection at the bus stop: sermons for Lent and Easter based on the gospel text, by Mary Austin