Divinely Human
March 4, 2012
Scripture: Mark 8: 27- 33
Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?”And they answered him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.”He asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.
Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Sermon: Divinely Human
Rev. Doreen Oughton
Today’s reading is about halfway through Gospel of Mark. In this gospel, the disciples are portrayed as clueless. Earlier in chapter 8 Jesus was very frustrated w/disciples. He has performed miracle after miracle, healing people, feeding thousands, bringing people back from the dead, but it seems they never expect a miracle, they are stumped by obstacles. Jesus seems to wonder what it will take until they finally understand who and what he is.
But now they do. Peter confesses that he is the Messiah, the anointed one of God. I feel for Peter in this interaction, because as soon as he gets it, Jesus wants to change his mind. Peter says Jesus is the Messiah. Peter sees now that there is no end to the miracles of Jesus, that he is a life-giver, a healer, a true savior. But Jesus turns things around again and refers to himself as the Son of Man – the most human human. And talks about all the suffering he will endure – rejection, beatings, execution even. Instead of performing miracles to get around the obstacles, Jesus plans to go right into them. Of course there will be the miracle of the resurrection, but only after the suffering, only after the death, no miracles will be used to avoid the suffering and death.
This makes no sense to Peter at all. It’s even worse than senseless, it’s crazy. It’s humiliating and painful and dangerous to all of them. What is Jesus thinking?! How can this be the way to salvation? How can this be good news, this weakness, this vulnerability? So Peter calls him aside and, Mark tells us, rebukes Jesus. Mark doesn’t go into details about what Peter says, though the gospel of Matthew has Peter saying, “God forbid it, this must never happen to you.” Peter can’t tolerate it. He can’t stand to hear that someone he loves and admires so much, someone he counted on to bring about God’s reign, plans to open himself up to such harm.
Can we relate to that? Aren’t we like Peter in our difficulty with vulnerability and weakness? Wouldn’t we also want someone who blew through obstacles, whether with some super power or super weapon or might or cunning? Couldn’t Jesus even just keep doing what he’s doing – healing and feeding and teaching? Why is Jesus telling people to keep quiet about who he is? If he instead encouraged people to spread the word, perhaps there’d be more protection for him. Poor Peter, poor us, we just don’t get it. We have our minds on human things. We have trouble integrating divine understanding with our human understanding.
Jesus, as fully divine and fully human, points us toward something. I wonder if there is a paradox at play here, that the divine and human aren’t polarities, not in Jesus and not in us, but more like two sides of one coin. Perhaps the more we allow ourselves to be human, which to me is a very vulnerable condition, the more we understand of the divine. The harder we try to be invulnerable, the further we distance ourselves from divine understanding.
I recently watched presentations by a social researcher Brene Brown about our society’s increasing intolerance for vulnerability. We think that we are somehow protected when we are cynical or fatalistic, when we keep our expectations low, when we don’t get excited or passionate about anything. She acknowledges what a difficult experience vulnerability is. It is a major contributor to feelings of shame and anxiety and fear. But she is convinced that vulnerability is also the birthplace of joy and love, the catalyst for a sense of belonging, and creativity. This must be a truth that Jesus knows, a truth that Jesus has come to proclaim. He doesn’t just say it, he knows he has to live it. So while he can perform miracles to heal others, he does not, will not, use them as an armor for himself. While he challenges the religious leaders about their oppression of others, he doesn’t argue a case against their treatment of him. He lets himself care so deeply for others, and fight for them. His disciples wondered why he wouldn’t fight for himself. Did he not care enough about himself, about his own mission, which was cut so short.
I would suggest that his unprotected stance does not mean he didn’t care about himself or his mission. I would argue that it shows how incredibly committed he is to being the Son of Man, the most human human. He will not protect himself against harm because he knows that to do so blocks him off from life. When he protects himself from pain, he blocks joy. When he closes out hope by becoming cynical or fatalistic, he blocks out love, deep, true, life-giving love – that which is truly divine. Jesus, as a human, I suspect experienced some temptation to feel protected in these human ways. So he responds forcefully to Peter, to that temptation, calling himself and calling us to see vulnerability for what it is – holy, sacred, a divine thing. The Divine thing is not just the triumphant resurrection. The joy of triumph could not be there without the experience of the fear, shame, humiliation, guilt, anger, and grief that came before it.
I wonder how we might set our minds to this divine understanding. How can we support each other in tolerating vulnerability? How can we encourage each other to take risks for the sake of faith, for the sake of healing or feeding, for the sake of the good news? I’m not talking about risk for risk’s sake, but risk for God’s glory. I think of my nephew, who, while he was in college, donated part of his lung to his cousin who had cystic fibrosis. Some people said they were shocked his parents didn’t work harder to dissuade him, given the risks to his own health. Certainly they wouldn’t have pushed him if he was reluctant, but I know they were proud when he didn’t hesitate on learning he was a donor match. I think of the children of color in the 1960s who participated in movements for school integration. The police set fire hoses and dogs on them. Some might say their families were negligent or reckless to allow them to be in such harm’s way, but maybe they had their mind on divine things, not human things. Usually the risks we take won’t be so extreme, but would we give someone the last $10 in our wallet for their bus fare, knowing we won’t get paid for a few days? Would we stand up to an injustice at work even if we get reprimanded?
Where and how do we keep ourselves guarded as a church? Are there ways we could be more involved in the community, but might make us feel vulnerable? Are there ways to deal with our budget that might feel scarier but ultimately more joyful and life-enhancing? I don’t have answers, but maybe we can start thinking and talking together about what makes us feel vulnerable. Maybe by walking right towards those obstacles, we become more humanly human, and understand more divinely. May it be so.
