“Who Do You Say I Am?”

August 24, 2008, Year A

Exodus 1:8-2:10; Psalm 124; Romans 12:1-8; Matthew 16:13-20

At various points in our lives we need to “step up to the plate.” As scary as some of these times have been, they usually have been moments that have initiated some transitions in our lives and offered us the opportunity to drawn upon the memories of our early years.

The lessons for today lead us to renewed discoveries: the importance of stepping up to the plate; the persistence of God in furthering God’s intentions and mission; and the incredible opportunity that even you and I might have to touch, carry, and share that which is very sacred.

In ancient Egypt, the Hebrew population was flourishing even as they were struggling under oppression. The Pharaoh wanted their numbers to decrease, so he tried to kill off young Hebrew males by drowning them in the Nile River. Moses was set in a basket by his mother and cared for by his older sister, Miriam. Eventually he was discovered by the daughter of the Pharaoh, and, well, we know the rest of the story.

Out of the most unlikely beginnings, a small vessel of God’s love was saved to do God’s bidding. The women of the story – the mother and sister of Moses, the daughter of Pharaoh, and the midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, who earlier refused to participate in Pharaoh’s terrible scheme – all become for us beacons. They are carriers of the sacred; people who stepped up to the plate to make possible a sacred story that was to define Old Testament history and lay the foundations of our Hebrew scriptures. It was part of a larger pivotal event in the life of the Hebrew people and in our religious heritage.

In Matthew, we hear Jesus ask the question: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”

Answers come readily. “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.” It is easy to say what we have heard others say.

But another question appears: “But who do you say that I am?” The disciples are asked to step up to the plate. And so are you and I.

In Romans, we encounter familiar words: all of us have been given differing gifts by God that are to be used for the welfare of the entire community. No one can claim that his or her gifts are more important. All are important for wholeness and holiness.

So what do we do with these stories? In what ways do they affect us? Are they only part of our historical tradition or are they alive in some new way in our hearing? Which ones stand out to us? Which ones especially challenge us? Do we see ourselves as ones who stand for those who have no voice, or are we drawn to step forward to proclaim new life and possibilities? Is ours the quiet loving care of a sibling or a parent?  Or the incredible angst of a parent or care-giver who wants desperately to hold on to their child and yet knowing that they must let that child go? Do we believe that we have gifts? And are those gifts available for others? Do we as a church community help one another discover our giftedness and welcome them when discovered? When asked the question asked of the disciples – “Who do you say that I am?” – How do you answer?

Today’s lessons begin with a horrific history, the slaying of young children, and a sacred, nurturing history of the caring for a little baby; and today’s lessons end by asking each of us to answer important questions and to take responsibility.  There is no greater work than the care of young children. We know that by the age of six, children have formed many aspects of their personalities and have a history of either being loved or not being loved, experiencing security or insecurity, feeling treasured as sacred vessels or feeling abused as ones of little worth. And they will deal with all of these feelings for the rest of their lives.

In our community here in Jasper amidst the beauty of these mountains, lakes and streams there are children who are being or have been abused.  Women and men who know the sting of mental and physical abuse; there are elders who know loneliness or are uncared for by family members. Our work in the midst of the abuse and neglect of the people today is to be a community who cares, nourishes, and protects them. There is no greater work. We start out with our own families and as community who gathers here each Sunday our future is determined in part by how we welcome and treasure all peoples in our midst. We must make a distinction between being church and an audience sitting by watching what is happening around them. An audience is a group of unrelated people drawn together by a short-lived attraction. A church is a group of believers drawn together by a Savior. / An audience is a crowd. A church is a family. An audience is a gathering. A church is a community. Church buildings are built not to attract an audience but to be a church.

Today’s lessons end by asking each of us to step up to the plate of taking responsibility for living out the answer to the question: “But who do you say that I am?”

This is not easy to answer, for behind our responses we have our own histories, our own working through all of those messages from our own childhood, our own disappointments and failures, our own physical and emotional pains, our own experiences of loneliness or feeling of little worth. We come to this place from the contexts of our living.  Within our context, our shelters, we are buffeted by many things and our shelters sometimes become a haven where we can hide out. Life is full in all of its complexities, and we bring all those complexities here at this moment in this place.

We are also a people who gather together. And in our gatherings we have a sense of who is around us, and in this reality we have a choice: do we circle the wagons or do we create circles of trust? Our work as a church community, without being intrusive in others’ lives, can be a place where we can start again and feel that here is a community that values me as a treasured earthen vessel of worth and significance. This can make all the difference in people’s lives. It can be a place where we can be loved in healthy, life-giving ways, and where we are fed not only by bread and juice but also by a people, who, sharing our human journeys and our human condition, are willing to not just to talk the talk but walk the walk with us in our journeys in daily living.

We are a people that can engage in this most special walk, we present ourselves, at God’s invitation, before the holy table to receive what the world might see as a small gift – a morsel of bread and a drop of juice – but which we know is the gift of life. It, too, is a reminder that doing something that may seem small and insignificant can make all the difference. Who would have known putting that baby in a basket and setting him upon the water under the watchful eye of his sister would change the course of history? It is from the table – holy table, tables of conversation, tables where other meals are shared, tables/platforms where other interactions take place– that we know our journeys are most certainly connected to others’ journeys.

We are, also, a people called from the table to return to the complexities of life, to the world outside of these sacred walls. This is where most of our life is lived in all of its fullness, struggle, sorrow, and celebration.

So what are we to do or say when we hear the words “But who do you say that I am?”

In the midst of our fears and hesitation, it is the stepping out in faith and being alive and present to ourselves and to others, the world around us, and to God’s reconciling love breaking into the world in often small, seemingly insignificant ways that is the source of our future hope and promise. So with courage and hopefulness, with our pain and struggles, with our joys and celebrations, we dare come again to this holy ground and to a special presence with each other in prayer.

Like the basket in which Moses was laid kept him safe this place, this sacred space is a safe haven for all, where everyone is welcome, where vulnerability is met with love, where hopelessness is met with hope, where change in self and those around us happens because God beckons each of us to wrestle with our faith, to face ourselves and seek forgiveness, would you have entered through those doors if you had known that as a result of coming here you and the world around you will never be quite the same again? Be on the alert, for God’s spirit is dwelling in our midst!