Which life do you want?

Sermon on Mark 8:31-38 | The Second Sunday in Lent, 28/02/2021 | by Paul Bieber |

³¹ Jesus began to teach his disciples that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. ³² And he said this plainly. And Peter took him, and began to rebuke him. ³³ But turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter, and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not on the side of God, but of men.”

         ³⁴ And he called to him the multitude with his disciples, and said to them, “If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. ³⁵ For whoever would save his life will lose it; and whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it. ³⁶ For what does it profit a man, to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? ³⁷ For what can a man give in return for his life? ³⁸ For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of man also be ashamed, when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” (Mark 8:31-38 Revised Standard Version)

also

Genesis 17.1-7

Psalm 22:22-30

Romans 4:13-25 

Which life do you want?

Grace, peace, and much joy to you, people of God.

Here at the turning point of Mark’s Gospel, just after Peter’s confession that Jesus is the Christ, the promised Messiah, Jesus begins to teach what the nature of his messiahship is. And he goes on to teach about the nature of our discipleship. Mark’s story turns here from the mostly successful Galilean ministry of teaching with authority, healing, recalling a dead girl to life, and casting out (and silencing) demons— although opposition to Jesus has been steadily building—to the journey to Jerusalem, the passion, and the cross.

Is it any wonder that Peter pulls Jesus aside to rebuke him? Remember—after that first incredible day of the Galilean ministry, in Capernaum, when Peter tracked down the teacher with authority who had cast out the unclean spirit in the synagogue, healed Peter’s mother-in-law, and then, at evening, so many sick and possessed sufferers. Jesus had gone away before sunrise to pray, but Peter found him and told him that everyone was looking for him. What a great teacher, healer, and exorcist! Who wouldn’t want to follow?

But now Jesus speaks of suffering and rejection and death. That’s not the way of a conquering Christ, a successful Messiah. But Peter’s sensible rebuke of this negative talk is met with a rebuke in turn. The one who, as we heard in last Sunday’s Gospel, was tempted by Satan in the wilderness, now applies that name to Peter, the spokesman of his disciples. To try to persuade Jesus to turn from the path he has begun to teach is to tempt him to disobey the will of God. To want a mostly successful ministry that culminates in victory is to be not on the side of God, but rather to be human, all too human.

And it gets worse. Those Jesus has called to follow—and any who would come after him—must consider the image of a criminal convicted by the Romans of a capital crime, carrying the heavy crossbar of his own cross to the place of execution. This, Jesus says, is the image of the one who faithfully follows him. If I would follow Jesus, I must deny myself, he says. Then he goes on to speak of saving by losing—our translation says “life.”

Mark’s Greek word is psychē, but he doesn’t mean specifically mental functions, as in “psychology.” Nor, though, does he mean simply the physical life of a person, for then what Jesus is saying would be nonsense. What Jesus is teaching is a paradox, but it is not nonsense. The key is that psychē can mean “life,” but it can also mean “soul,” in the sense of the inner core of person, that which constitutes the real “me.” And so it is possible for me to deny my “self,” the “self-centered” me, and even to lose my physical life, yet save my soul, my real life that I live by faith in God’s promises. That life, that real life, Jesus says is more valuable than the whole world.

But which life do you want? Come on, really: Is gaining health, wealth, and power really something we should deny ourselves? We spend every waking moment—and some of our sleeping moments, in dreams—trying to secure our lives; yes, our physical lives in this world. During the year-long pandemic, people have shown that they will go to any length to be “safe,” not to expose themselves to any possibility of getting sick or, God forbid, dying. The cult of physical fitness and keeping this life going, maybe forever, has not been slowed. And economic well-being is at the top of our charts, too, even if we justify it as altruistically providing for our loved ones. We want to be secure, safe, and comfortable. All of us do. And we like power. We think power over others is great, whether by political clout, economic resources, or sheer manipulation. And we want power over ourselves. We want to bend our lives to our own will.

And so what happened when Jesus was first recognized as the Christ, and when he began to teach what this messiahship meant, and the trajectory of discipleship for any who would follow him, is not really so surprising. Peter’s recoiling at the cost of discipleship is echoed after each of Jesus’ two subsequent predictions of his passion, and, indeed, whenever in our lives this recognition takes place. What is surprising is that anyone would embrace this paradoxical life of saving life by losing it. And that is why embracing this life, this trajectory, this destiny, depends on faith.

Hoping against hope, Paul says, Abraham believed God’s promise, although “old,” “barren,” and “as good as dead” are Paul’s descriptors of his life. And, we should add, patient. Thirteen years after the birth of Ishmael, when Abram was ninety-nine years old, the Lord appeared to him again and renewed the promise, changing his name from Abram, exalted father, to Abraham, father of many nations, for he is the father of us all in faith. God changes Sarai’s name to Sarah. An old, much-traveled couple, hanging on to a promise, hoping against hope.

That means hoping when it looks like there is no basis for hope. That is what it is to stop thinking that security, safety, comfort, and “my will be done” are the ultimate goods of life. There’s the paradox again: They may well be the ultimate goods of this life, but which life do you want? The only way to attain real life, the life of the kingdom, of the new world to come, is through trust in God and obedience to his will.

But that doesn’t mean we have to make faith into a work, making Lent a call to more effort in “denying our selves,” overcoming our passions and desires by the force of our will. No, to see Jesus for who he really is, and to know how to respond in faith, is always a gift of God. Hanging onto God’s promise, we find ourselves strengthened to take up our cross and follow, to look with acceptance upon the demands, inestimable value, and rewards of following Jesus.

Yes, rewards. Because the greatest misunderstanding of Jesus’ passion predictions and his call to deny ourselves, take up the cross, and follow, is the final destiny at the end of the trajectory of his messiahship and our discipleship: After three days he will rise again. After every Good Friday there is an Easter. Out of our losing, God saves. Out of our losing our self-centered power and safety-hungry selves, we save our soul, the real life that we live, hanging on to God’s promise, all the way through Lent, even through Good Friday, to Easter’s fulfillment of the promise. Indeed, until the consummation of that fulfillment when he comes with the holy angels in the glory of his Father, the one who raised our Lord Jesus from the dead—to give us the life we really want.

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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The Rev. Dr. Paul Bieber

San Diego, California, USA

E-Mail: paul.bieber@sbcglobal.net