What Does "Messiah" Mean? SALT's Commentary for Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Fourteenth Week after Pentecost (Year A): Matthew 16:21-28
Big Picture:
1) We’re about midway between Pentecost and the beginning of Advent, just about halfway in our “Ordinary Time” chronological walk in the Gospel of Matthew.
2) This is Part Two of a two-part sequence, set in motion by Jesus’ question, “Who do they say — and who do you say — that I am?” As we saw last week, Part One was about Peter declaring (and Jesus confirming) that Jesus is the Messiah. This week we tackle what “messiahship” is really all about.
3) The initial exchange in Part One takes place in “the district of Caesarea Philippi” (Matthew 16:13). As the name indicates (Caesar-ea), these were Roman settlements, and they were located near a temple built by Herod the Great, dedicated to Rome and specifically to the Emperor Augustus, the first Emperor of the Roman Empire — and a man who conspicuously added to his title the striking phrase, Divi Filius, “Son of the Divine.”
4) The Buddha is said to have remarked to his disciples that understanding his instruction is a dangerous business. Picking up one of his teachings, he said, is like picking up a poisonous snake in the wild; it’s all too easy to get bitten. Even well-meaning disciples can take hold of his words unwisely, drawing conclusions that aren’t just a few degrees off to the left or to the right, but 180 degrees off the mark, the opposite of what he really has in mind. Imagine an archer aiming an arrow at a bullseye (the right bow, the right arrow, the right target) — but he’s holding the bow exactly backwards, inadvertently aimed at himself. Much of the world’s wisdom is dangerous in just this way, and Jesus’ teachings about the cross are no exception. Like a surgeon’s scalpel, they can be used to heal, or to wound. Here in the middle of Matthew, as we turn toward the cross, we are stepping onto a sacred, treacherous path — and so we’re wise to stay alert to the dangers ahead.
Scripture:
1) Last week, when Peter proclaimed that Jesus is the Messiah, he got it partly right — and mostly wrong. After hearing Jesus say that he must undergo suffering and be killed, Peter presumptuously takes him aside and rebukes him. Peter apparently has a vision of “the Messiah” as a deliverer who would never suffer or be conquered or killed — indeed, on the contrary, Peter likely shares the vision, common in those days, that “the Messiah” will be a military conquerer, and will vanquish the Roman occupiers and restore the Davidic monarchy once and for all.
2) “Messiah” (or “The Anointed”) was an ancient title often given to a monarch, and Jesus is indeed a king — but not in the style of Caesar. On the contrary, Jesus opposes self-centered, grasping forms of power. But his mode of opposition isn’t armed with a sword; he has in mind a deeper physics, a more subversive kind of resistance to the powers that be. After all, the opposite of a grasping, domineering fist isn’t a bigger fist, but rather an open, loving hand. Jesus will lead a revolution — but a revolution of love, service, and justice. On the surface, he will suffer and be rejected. On the surface, he will at last submit to the ultimate imperial instrument of cruelty and intimidation, the Roman cross. On the surface, he will be defeated — but God’s deeper physics will prevail. After three days, he will rise again, and a movement called to love, service, and justice will be born.
3) And so when Peter impulsively takes Jesus aside and rebukes him (Teacher, we’ve seen what you can do — you are here to conquer, not to be dishonored and killed!), Jesus exclaims, “Get behind me, Satan!” It’s a candid admission that Peter’s argument is a powerful temptation, reminiscent of Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness being tested by “the devil” as a kind of sparring partner (Matthew 4:1-11). Here in Caesarea Philippi, the diabolical test sounds like this: If you are the Son of God, if you are the Messiah, take these dazzling powers of yours and raise up an army, legions of angels to deliver the faithful! Invade and destroy the Temple to Augustus — and build an even greater Temple to Jesus of Nazareth! These ideas aren’t just off the mark; they’re 180 degrees off the mark, an outright reversal of what Jesus has in mind. The snake has bitten. Peter speaks boldly of Jesus as “Messiah” — but he’s drastically misunderstood true messiahship.
4) In the background here is Isaiah 53, the ancient, enigmatic vision of the “suffering servant,” a figure who’s rejected and despised by all — but through whom God’s deliverance is nevertheless carried out. When Jesus says that the Child of Humanity “must undergo” suffering and rejection, he draws on this ancient, mysterious tradition. The question of how we should understand this tradition is essentially the question of how we should understand the cross (for SALT’s “Strange New World” podcast episode on that subject, check out “Ten Ways of Looking at the Cross”).
5) And then finally, as if propelled by his dispute with Peter, Jesus calls together the disciples. This is something he wants them all to hear (including us!), as if to say, Listen, all of you! Anyone who thinks of this journey as a violent campaign, a movement of domination and triumph — might as well turn back right now. That’s not what I’m about; that’s not what true deliverance is about; and so that’s not what following me is about. We’re not going to conquer the temple at Caesarea Philippi — we’re headed to Jerusalem, to Golgotha, to the cross. In effect, to follow me is to take up a cross of your own, to let go of all self-centered grasping, all will to power and domination, and to suffer for the sake of Gospel. Let me tell you a great mystery: deep down in creation, there is a physics more profound than the superficial one. On the surface, everything seems to be driven by might and violence and grasping — but underneath all of that is a deeper physics, according to which what’s truly important is actually driven by love and humility and generosity. To live according to this deeper physics means you will suffer — and it also means you will rise! The logic of self-centered grasping, of trying to save your own life, in the end only results in losing it. And the logic of neighborly generosity, of “losing” your life for the sake of Love and Justice, in the end results in saving it!
6) Perhaps the most accessible and familiar expression of this "deep physics" is the end of the famous prayer attributed to St. Francis (he didn’t write it, but much of it is in keeping with his spirit): “let me not seek so much / to be consoled as to console, / to be understood as to understand, / to be loved as to love, / for it is in giving that we receive, / it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, / and it is in dying that we are raised to eternal life.”
7) It’s worth noting that Jesus does not say, “Seek out a cross and then follow me,” but rather “take up your cross and follow me.” This is no invitation to pursue, intensify, or prolong suffering (after all, to do so would violate what Jesus goes on to call the two “greatest commandments,” to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself — which obviously involves loving and respecting yourself!). Rather, the assumptions here are (a) that you already have suffering in your life, and (b) that following Jesus will entail some suffering. The invitation is not to seek out but rather to “take up” that suffering; to seize the role of active protagonist in the drama, not the role of a defeated victim; and then to follow Jesus along the way that leads to health, liberation, and new life.
8) Jesus has no illusions, and he wants us to see clearly, too. Following him means suffering, not because suffering is a good in itself to be sought or prolonged, but rather because confronting the powers that be — not with a sword, but with love — includes difficulty and loss, what Jesus poetically refers to as “carrying a cross.” Following Jesus on the road he is actually walking means following him into the shadows, out toward the margins, and down into places some call “unworthy” or “unclean.” That road will include suffering, if only because the way to the empty tomb goes through the citadels of worldly power: Jerusalem, to be sure, but also Caesarea Philippi, where the mighty Augustus stands alone, towering in his temple.
Takeaways:
1) This is a perfect week to reflect on what we mean when we call Jesus “the Messiah,” and most of all, what it means to follow him. As we saw last week, Jesus is a king who subverts conventional kingship; a deliverer who means to save us from our self-centered obsession with our own deliverance; and a teacher who introduces us to the “deeper physics” of love and generosity that really make the world go ’round. Want to save your life? Lose it! That is, turn away from focusing on “saving your life” and turn toward your neighbors in love and generosity, knowing both that some suffering will come along the way (take courage!) and that resurrection and renewal will, too (hallelujah!).
2) Jesus puts forward this difficult teaching in direct counterpoint to the conventional view of the Messiah as a military conqueror. In effect, “take up your cross” is meant as a vivid contrast to “vanquish your enemies,” whether those enemies are military, personal, or otherwise; “deny yourself” is meant as a vivid contrast to “seize power for yourself — reclaim the throne!” The heart of the conventional view of messiahship, Jesus contends, is a self-centered, Caesar-like attempt to hoard advantages over others — and he will have none of it. In Matthew, Jesus’ path is a way of humility, healing, and liberation, not grasping, dominance, and destruction.
3) St. Augustine (and many theologians after him) often spoke of sin as a form of being curvatus in se, “curved inward on oneself” — the implication being that God’s redemption helps us unfurl and open up. It’s a helpful image for conceiving what Jesus is getting at when he speaks of “losing” and “saving” our lives. What’s the “for-the-sake-of-which” that animates our days? Are we living for ourselves, trying to save ourselves? Then we’re curved inward, like an empty fist. Are we living for each other, for the neighborhood, for the good news of God’s love and mercy? Then we’re curved outward, like an open, loving hand.
But please note: the idea here is not to erase ourselves, demean ourselves, damage ourselves, or masochistically seek suffering for its own sake. Those are parodies of Jesus’ teaching, 180 degrees off the mark. Truly living for the sake of the Gospel means recognizing God’s love for each one of us, including ourselves. And think of how much stronger, how much more flexible, capable, and beautiful is an open hand, rather than a closed fist, tightly grasping at nothing!
4) The good news is that God promises to deliver us in just this holistic, humane, beautiful way. Who is Jesus? The one who leads us into neighborhood and servanthood, and so into life. By all appearances, the journey will not be a triumphant march, and it will undoubtedly include suffering, as all movements of love, kindness, and justice do. It will include its share of crosses — and more than its share of resurrection. And in the end, little by little, it will uncurl our fingers; it will open our hands; it will soften our hearts; it will make us the children of God we were created to be. It won’t be easy. True love never is. But Jesus is with us, whispering, “Come, follow me…”