Mark 8:27-30 · Peters’ Confession of Christ
The Power of Weakness
Mark 8:27-38 · Psalm 19
Sermon
by Thomas C. Willadsen
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Our lessons this morning feels like an archery target. The psalm starts with the long view, the perspective of the psalmist marveling at the beauty of creation.

“The heavens are telling the glory of God,” it begins, but that translation doesn’t quite capture the essence of what is to be expressed Psalm 19:1 (NRSV). It more closely means, “The heavens are continually telling the glory of God.” It’s always happening, without ceasing. All we have to do is look up, notice the beauty of the stars, feel the warmth of the sun, marvel at the shape of the clouds, and we are reminded of God’s glory.

Next, the psalm does something surprising — after the majestic language about God as the Creator of the universe, the sustainer of heaven, the psalm devotes the next verses to praising God for the gift of the law — the gift of instruction Psalm 19:2 (NRSV). This kind of language in Psalms always sounds odd to me, as an American I treasure my freedom and independence, the idea that anyone would be grateful, or be moved to praise God for law seems strange to us. We all know laws restrict freedom. There was a bar down the street from my house in Wisconsin — there’s a bar down every street — the bar I have in mind had a sign that says, “Rules just slow you down.” That’s how most of us look at laws, so the Hebrew appreciation, even love of law takes us by surprise.

And yet, there are moments when I am grateful, very grateful for clear, concise instructions. An unbreakable deadline, for example, is as much a gift as a burden. For example, Thursday is sermon writing day for me, and I know when Thursday starts exactly how much time I have to devote to composing my sermon for Sunday. I’ve learned to do the best I can within those constraints. There is no possible way I could get an extension. Oh, I suppose I could ask the office staff to call all the members and friends of the church and say, “We’re sorry, Tom won’t have his sermon ready until Tuesday; we hope you can join us for worship at 9:30 am that day.” The unbreakable deadline is a gift that sets me free. I’m free to have family time and sabbath time on Friday and Saturday because of the unbreakable deadline I set for myself on Thursday — and the even more rigid deadline that is Sunday morning. The psalmist wrote of the teachings of the Lord found in scripture that they are sweeter than the drippings of the honeycomb and more desired than gold. Think about that! God’s laws are something we can taste and something we can long for with our hearts, they are very personal and close to home.

The psalm goes from the beauty of the stars in the heavens, the majesty of creation, to the gift of God’s law which we learn and internalize and concludes with a prayer that his words and thoughts will be acceptable to God (Psalm 19:3-4 NRSV).

The gospel lesson gets even closer to the bull’s eye. Jesus drew his disciples into a conversation about his identity and their relationship to him. Again, he started with a wide circle, “Who do people say that I am?” and the answers the disciples give him are that he is thought of as a forerunner of the Messiah. But Peter said, “You are the Messiah.” Mark 8:27-29 (NRSV). There’s a huge difference between the one who has come before — the one who announces the coming of the Christ — and the Christ himself. And in just about every way, the Christ who is about to come, but is not yet here, is a lot easier to deal with! All we can do while we await Christ is to be ready. I saw a bumper sticker once that said, “Jesus is coming; look busy.” And that’s where the disciples were and where the rest of the people who thought of Jesus as a forerunner were.

But Peter identified that Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah — the one they had been waiting for, had arrived. And it’s not what you’d expect, Jesus didn’t say, “yes” or “no” to Peter. It said, “He sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.” Mark 8:30 (NRSV). He went on then to explain that he would suffer terribly, be rejected by the religious authorities and killed, but rise again after three days. He was totally, transparently honest about this. In Mark’s gospel there is no Messiah, no Christ, until after the crucifixion. Peter spoke for many of us, perhaps most of us, who want a relationship with Christ without the suffering, the agony, the betrayal, and the abandonment of the cross. Peter rebuked Jesus, resisting the ghastly reality that Jesus foretold. It’s as though Peter said, “It can’t be that way, Jesus. We won’t let it be that way!” Remember later in the story it is Peter, who said he’d always be faithful, yet denied Jesus three times.

And Jesus’ response was stunning: “Get behind me Satan!” Mark 8:33 (NRSV). This is the one disciple who ten seconds before had correctly identified him as the Messiah! Now this one, passionate disciple is called God’s adversary — that’s what “Satan” means. All because he can’t or won’t imagine that his friend would be tortured and killed. Jesus used the same language with Peter that he used in driving demons out of people. It’s as though Peter’s wrong notion of Jesus’ identity is as crippling as demonic possession.

What does it say about Jesus’ coming reign that someone so close to him could be so wrong about the path that lay ahead, the path that Jesus was called to walk? That the one who identified him as the long- promised Messiah would want to cling to him and not let him fulfill — actually try to keep him from fulfilling — God’s plan through him?

Jesus told Peter and all those gathered around that there was no way into God’s kingdom that bypassed the cross. That’s not a happy message, it’s not the basis for the feel good movie of the summer. But it’s how God is alive and how God is at work redeeming each of us, all of us, and all of creation.

One prominent preacher said, “You cannot succeed preaching the cross. People do not want to hear it; they already have enough problems.”[1] And at one level I think he’s correct. What do we mean when we say, “We all have our crosses to bear?” You’ve said that; I’ve said it. We mean everyone’s got problems. “You want to complain, go ahead, but you’re not alone. In fact, if it’s a contest, my problems are probably worse than yours!”

So, what was Jesus thinking trying to get people to follow him, denying themselves to follow him to the cross of suffering? Losing one’s life to save it? Even rejoicing when we suffer for righteousness? Is anyone going to sign up for that?

It’s easy to believe in God when we’re alone, looking at the beauty of the sky as the psalmist described. It’s even easy to be grateful to God for the gift of the instruction we find in the Bible. If we’re studying alone and can smugly say to ourselves, “Think how wonderful the world would be if everyone obeyed God’s word.”

But faith in Christ calls us out of solitary pursuits. Faith in Christ calls us to proclaim Christ where the hurt is the worst, where despair is the deepest, where hope has never been born. We can’t sit under our telescope or at our desk and respond fully to Christ. We have to feel the brokenness around us. We have to be touched, even wounded by it.

I had a classmate in seminary who was in the midst of despair and found himself sitting in a church, sure that no one understood what he was going through. He struggled with painful moments of doubt and uncertainty. It was his dark night of the soul. The certain knowledge that he was failing, not just his classes, but also failing to live up to the expectations of his loved ones. As a man, as a student, as a future preacher of the Christian gospel, my friend was broken. He looked up and saw a crucifix — not a cross — a crucifix. A cross with Jesus’ body hanging on it.

Presbyterians do not have crucifixes. We have crosses, empty crosses, because we emphasize the resurrection, not the torture of the crucifixion. We live on this side of the blood, nails, thorns, mocking, spitting, and abandonment.

No, my classmate was not in a Presbyterian church, nor was he Presbyterian. He looked up and saw a crucifix and said, “You do understand, God!” My classmate suddenly and in a life-changing way understood that God’s love did not just include failures, but God’s love embraces us, seeks us out, and regards us not as failures but as beloved children.

In 1989, 96 fans were crushed in a soccer stadium in Sheffield, England; another 200 were injured. At one of the hospitals to which victims were taken, an attending surgeon spoke to the parents who had come to find out the fate of their children. The surgeon read the names of those killed, expressed his sympathy to the parents, and then said that as a Christian he believed God understood the parents’ grief and was with them in their time of need. One father bitterly responded: “What does God know about losing a son?”[2] 

This is what we need to remember: that the God of the earth and stars loves us, passionately, personally, deeply — and that love changes us, makes us into creatures who are strong and brave enough to care for others, strong and brave enough to trust in a power and strength beyond ourselves. It gives us power and strength displayed in the vulnerability of Christ on the cross. It gives power and strength that allows us to put down our petty worries and pick up the cross of Christ. It is this power and strength that sets us free from ourselves and binds us to the perfect freedom of service to Christ.

Amen.



1. Fred B. Craddock, John Hayes & Carl Holladay, Preaching Through the Christian Year: Year B (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1993), 147.

2. Grant Keizer, “Grief and Grievance: The Tyranny of the Dead” in *Christian Century* vol. 120, no. 10 (May 2003), 7.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Gratitude on the prairie: cycle B sermons for Proper 18-Thanksgiving based on the gospel texts, by Thomas C. Willadsen