Monday, August 24, 2026

Sermon from St. Peter's Episcopal Church, Albany

 

Matthew 16:13-20

          “Who do you say that I am?” a simple question but also a really complicated question. This chapter, this moment that we read in today’s Gospel, is considered by many Biblical scholars to be the climax of the Gospel story. All of the miracles, the teachings, the sermons, the conversations, everything Jesus has been trying to make them understand … here it comes, a moment of clarity, realization as Peter proclaims “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus says “Blessed are you!” and says he is the rock he will build his church upon. And then after this, everything starts pointing to the cross and what is to happen there.  It’s a big moment, that begins with a big question “who do you say that I am?”

         One of the things I love about being a hospital chaplain is the variety of people I get to spend time with every day. In one day I will spend time in the detox unit with someone confronting their addiction, in the postpartum unit with new parents trying to wrap their minds around the fact that they are parents, with people awaiting surgery, people awaiting their final breath and all from so many backgrounds, beliefs, and even languages. For each one, I come in and I ask them about their spirit, their soul, that part of them that is beyond the reach of the MRI or blood test or heart monitor. And in a way, it feels like I am asking that question “Who do you say that I am?” or who do they say Jesus is. Of course, I do not just work with Christians, I sit with people of all kinds of faiths or lack of faith, so perhaps the question would be more like: who is God to you, what is that mysterious, unknowable but deeply knowable, holy, connected presence that makes us all more than just our flesh and blood?

          And the answers are all over the map. Even for Christians, in the same religion, there are a variety of answers to the question. For some, Jesus is an angry judge, displeased, shaking his head and disapproving of themselves or others. For others Jesus is as present in the room as I am, right there by their side through life, arranging their path, celebrating their joys, holding them through sorrows. For some Jesus makes them way too uncomfortable to talk about. For some Jesus is someone they knew a bit when they were younger and are wanting to know better as they get older. For some Jesus is responsible for all bad things and to be blamed and pushed away, for others Jesus is the only thing that gets them through the bad things and someone they feel overwhelming gratitude toward.

          And then on Sunday mornings, as the wife of a Bishop, I get to visit churches all over the diocese and see all kinds of understandings of Jesus. There are altars holding giant crosses, sometimes crucifixes. There are images displayed of Jesus from ancient times, intricate icons, stone statues, Sunday School depictions with a crayon-colored Jesus happily hugging a smiling sheep, Jesus made of Legos, Jesus in the stations of the cross … so many answers to “who do you say that I am?” 

          When I hear that question sometimes it takes me back to those days, over 20 years ago when I was stressing about going before the Board of Ordained Ministry. I knew I would be grilled by various groups of people for several hours, some looking displeased, some taking notes and all deciding if my answers were good enough. I remember feeling the pressure of figuring out the question. This sense that before I could be ordained, I had to have an answer, I needed to know. I had to get it right, after all I would be responsible for helping others know the answer. Who is Jesus?  I read books and took classes and prayed and had discussions and heard sermons … but the clear answer always seemed slightly out of reach, like too much or too movable for words. Who do you say that I am? What if I don’t know? Is that ok?

          Well, Peter knew. It must have felt so good when he nailed it. And then Jesus says he is the rock he will build his church on. A rock is solid, steady, strong, dependable, unchanging, strong. A good foundation for a church. Peter the solid rock. In both Greek and Aramaic the name for Peter is like the word for rock, so it was kind of like a pun. Like if his name was “Rocky” and Jesus says “Rocky is the rock I will build my church on.” [1]Peter must have been feeling really good, he must have been so sure, so solid, so steady.

          I mean, until like literally three verses later when Jesus calls him Satan and suddenly the “rock” has turned into a “stumbling block.” Or in the next story when Jesus tells all the disciples they have “little faith”. Or when Jesus is dying on the cross and Peter denies even knowing him … three times. The rock doesn’t seem quite so steady when you zoom out a bit.

          But even with all of that, Jesus still sticks with him. He is still his rock. Even with the doubts, the not understanding, the getting it wrong. Maybe, Jesus is more forgiving than a Board of Ordained Ministry. Maybe Jesus knows that it isn’t about saying the right words.

          I like to listen to a podcast called Good Hang with Amy Poehler. It’s a popular podcast typically filled with interviews with celebrities and pop culture jokes, so I was pleasantly surprised when I saw an episode where Anne Lamott was the guest. Anne Lamott is a well-published writer who often writes about her Christian faith. She writes about it in a very real, vulnerable, honest way, sharing her struggles, tragedies and heartbreaks. And the podcast episode didn’t shy away from that. In the brightly colored studio typically full of laughs and silly stories, and in an episode preceded by interviews with comedian Will Ferrell and John Cena, Anne brought her real, vulnerable self and her real vulnerable and unpolished faith.

          In the interview she talks about who Jesus is to her or “who do you say that I am.” I particularly liked this part where she says : “I got sober when I was 32 and I had a 2-year-old. And it was very, very scary. And I wrote about it a lot in Operating Instructions. But, you know, I don't have an interesting or sophisticated theological [understanding] I have the theological understanding like a really bright second grader, you know. And I don't have conversations. I'm not asked to have conversations about the triune nature of the deity, you know. People will say, "I can't feel God anymore. I can't feel God right now." And I'll say, "Oh, good. Why don't you sit down? Let's have a cup of tea. Or do you want to go shopping? You want to go for a walk? Or do you want to lie down on the couch with me?" And so I don't … have interesting intellectual answers about faith. I just can feel it. It's truth in me. I just feel it in my heart. It's like I have a heart cave and in it is my little one, my little Annie that I always was, and my big old Annie and Jesus and Mary.

            I love that image of a heart cave within, and that’s where Jesus dwells. It brings to mind St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle. An indwelling of Christ, a permeation of Christ’s love into our heart. And that’s not always clear or easy to put into words.

          Maybe that’s why Jesus got so excited when Peter confessed who Jesus is, maybe it wasn’t because he knew Peter would always get it right or that he would write the perfect theological treatise or etch it in stone or always be rock solid in his understanding. Maybe it’s because he knew he had made it into his heart. Peter had faith, the kind of faith that goes deep- all the way to the heart cave. The kind of faith that just knows Jesus is there even when nothing makes sense, even when words fail, even when life is overwhelming, even when no one else around you seems to get it. It’s in there, a part of you … part of the fabric of your being. 

          I see a lot of people in the hospital and some confidently say they have faith in God, but many get uncomfortable around the topic and just say “I’m not religious” but then I hear them tell their story. And throughout the story I hear these moments in life when they prayed, times when their heart welled up with gratitude and they thanked God, lonely times when they somehow felt less alone or a pervasive hope that wouldn’t let go. Maybe they don’t have the words for what that is, maybe it’s too deep for words, too hard to pin down or too intimate to explain, but I hear it, I hear the faith that nurtures their soul.

          And that’s what brings us together Sunday after Sunday, even when we can’t put it into words, even when it doesn’t quite make sense to us, but we want to nurture that connection, we want to keep the light on in that interior cave where Jesus dwells. And maybe that’s our confession, our answer to “who do you say that I am?” a life lived with faith.



[1][1] Harrington, Daniel. Sacra Pagina: Matthew.