ROCK (Part One)

Rock

(a three-part homiletical monologue)

Part One

(word count: 1077)

I don't know what to think. I love him. I don't understand him. Who is he? One minute I swear I know, the next minute I have no idea. Maybe I have a demon in me driving me insane. God help me. I feel as sure and dependable as sand.

I do love him. I know that. I cling to that, cling to my love for him.

I also know that he has changed me forever. He started changing me three years ago, when we first met. I had just docked our boat. Andrew and I had a net full of carp, all shiny, wriggling and flipping. It was a huge catch. Business was good.

Then he came walking along the shore. He was muscular, dark-skinned, with large, rugged hands. His eyes were dark and intense. He came walking up to us. Andrew and I dropped our net. He waved. He called out, “Hey, you guys. Come on. Drop everything. Follow me, and I'll teach you how to do some real fishing. I'll teach you to fish for people.”

We heaved the net back into the sea so all the fish could swim away. Then we dragged the net back into the boat and followed him. We didn't know what we were doing or who this guy was. But he had power, charisma, and we did not want to say no. I remember thinking, “I'll take a couple hours off and follow this guy, see what happens.” Three years later, and the biggest fish I have caught is myself.

We followed him, listened to his teachings as often as we could. We have families and other responsibilities, but we're with him as much as possible.

He's addictive. He does astonishing miracles. He healed my mother-in-law of a fever. He drives out demons. In fact, demons would scream in terror at his presence. I've seen wonder workers and faith healers before. Every town has someone who claims to do miracles, but no one like him. Every day he cures someone of leprosy or causes a blind person to see. Incredible. Imagine spending your whole life unable to see. You're reduced to begging, you never marry. Then a man touches your eyes, and now you can see. Overwhelming.

He is astonishing. One time, we were all out on a boat. he had gone off to pray. A storm kicked up. Demons, probably, were knocking our boat about.You get that on the water sometimes. Wind howled. I've spent my whole life on the sea, but I thought for sure we were going to capsize. Then we saw someone out in the water, walking toward us. It's a ghost! “No,” the man shouted. “It's I AM.” It was him, actually walking on the surface of the waves. He invited me out. I stepped onto the surface, my stomach tense, my heart rapid. Soon I was actually standing on the waves, looking at him. It was unreal. The water felt like wet skin. I kept my eyes on him, kept my eyes on him. But the wind was so loud and the waves were so high, I thought, “I can't do,” and I started to sink. I screamed, “Save me!” and he grabbed me with a strong, tight grip. So strange and powerful.

That's how it's been with him. He has shown incredible power. He has done wonders that only, well, only God could do. He must be the Messiah.

In fact, I even said as much to him. “Who do you say that I am?” he asked, his eyes locked on me, his face dark and a bit sunburned.

I cleared my throat. “You are the Messiah.”

He put his hand on my arm, smiled, and said, “Simon you are Peter, Rock, and on this rock I will build my church.” He calls me Peter, which means rock. I am his rock. I guess. I feel more like sand than rock. Such a title is humbling to the point of heartache, but also exciting.

Right after he said that, he started talking about how he would suffer. “They're going to arrest me, beat me, kill me, and then, three days later, the Son of Man will rise again.”

I glanced at John and James. What crazy talk was this? What is he saying? Being killed, rising again? It was like he had suddenly lost it. I wondered if he somehow had a demon in him, so I tried to drive the demon out. “Get out of him!” I shouted.

But then his eyes narrowed and his mouth became taut. He said, “Get behind me, Satan! You don't know what you're talking about. You are setting your mind, not on divine things, but on human things.”

I felt punched in the stomach. I walked off by myself so that he would not see me weep.

He is a confusing one, this man, or whatever he is. One minute it seems like he will save the world. The next minute he is talking about being murdered. I don't get it. Who is he?

A couple weeks ago, he led James, John and me up a high mountain. While he was up there, he became blazing white. It hurt to look at him. I thought, “What is this? Death? Life? A vision? What?” Then two men started talking with him, and I somehow knew that they were Moses and Elijah, who have been dead for hundreds of years. It was like a dream. I thought I might die any minute. I said, “Uh, this is great. How about we make three dwellings, one for each of you?” What a stupid thing to say. Why would we make dwellings, and what were we going to make them out of?

A fog moved in, and a voice boomed, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him” The voice of God, hard like iron, piercing like a nail. A second later, everything was back to normal. Did I imagine it? “Don't tell anyone about this until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead,” he told us.

Son of Man? Raised from the dead? The dead. God, help me. I do not understand. Is this man, the greatest being I have ever known, the Messiah, maybe even God himself – is this wonderful being whom I love more than anyone really, is he really going to die? Where are we headed?

Away, Satan!

Sermon on Mark 8:31-38

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, March 8, 2009,

2^nd Sunday in Lent, Year B,

(word count: 899)

WAIT, Part Two: Away, Satan!

We humans work hard at avoiding suffering, reducing suffering. If we have a headache or back pain, then we often take medicine, lie down, do something to reduce the pain. We strive to get relief, and that makes sense. Of course we want freedom from suffering.

However, a crucial component of being a Christian is suffering. For us Christians, the baptized, suffering is inevitable. In our gospel, Mark 8:31-38, Jesus teaches us that if we want to be his followers then we need to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him.

Take up the cross. Meditate on that wisdom. Taking up the cross, in Jesus' day, meant being crucified, and crucifixion was ruthless and sadistic. So when Jesus says, “If you want to follow me, you need to take up your cross,” his first hearers would have pictured all that torture and humiliation ending in death. The point is that following Jesus, taking up your cross, will hurt, will demand suffering. In effect, Jesus is saying, “If you want to be my follower, you must be ready to suffer.”

What does it mean to suffer as a follower of Christ? Many of us get confused about taking up the cross, about suffering for Christ. When considering suffering, it is crucial to understand that there are at least two types of suffering. There is pointless suffering, and there is Christian suffering. Pointless suffering is suffering that happens to us but that does no good. Christian suffering is suffering that we take on for Christ.

It is crucial for us Christians to understand the difference. For example, if a so-called loved one is beating you, that is horrible suffering, but it is not Christian suffering. It is not Christian suffering, because it does not serve Christ. That person will not get better through your allowing the person to beat you. Rihanna is wrong to go back to Chris Brown. If someone claiming to love you is abusing you, get out of the relationship. You wouldn't put up with a stranger abusing you; do not put up with a so-called loved one abusing you. You wouldn't let a so-called loved one abuse a child. Do not let someone abuse you. Some suffering is just evil, does not serve Christ. Get away.

By contrast, Christian suffering serves Christ. Christ is love. Christian suffering serves that love.

We can see both types of suffering in the life of Harriet Tubman, who died on March 10. Harriet Tubman was an African American born into slavery in the 1800s. As a child, she endured the first kind of suffering, the pointless suffering. Her masters whipped and beat her. When she was a teenager, her master accidentally hit her in the head with a weight he had thrown at another slave. As a result, she had seizures for the rest of her life. Her suffering was savage, shocking. It was pointless suffering.

Eventually, Harriet Tubman managed to escape to the free states. Then she sneaked back south repeatedly to liberate dozens more slaves. Harriet was deeply religious, so you can bet that she saw her dangerous work as part of being a Christian. The abuse she endured as a child was pointless suffering, but her efforts to liberate other slaves was Christian suffering. Harriet Tubman took up the cross.

How about you? How do you take up the cross as part of following Christ? How do I? How do we at St. James engage in Christian suffering? What sacrifices do we make? Do we sometimes take the easy way out as Christians? Give, but not too much, so that we are not uncomfortable? Make little sacrifices, but nothing too hard? How can we push ourselves a little harder as Christians for the sake of Christ and the good news? What changes can we make?

Last week, we began a four-part sermon series based on the word WAIT. Last Sunday, we had a W-word, wilderness. Today, we need an A-word, to go with the second letter in the word WAIT. Actually, we have an A-phrase. The phrase is, “Away, Satan!” Away, Satan.

Part of taking up the cross, part of suffering for Christ, is pushing Satan away. Do not let him block your path. When Satan tries to talk you into being stingy or complacent, you snap back, “Away, Satan!” Satan says, “Give up on God. Stop waiting for him to help you. God's not going to help you,” and you reply, “Away, you snake!” Satan coils around you and says, “Don't take up the cross. Don't embrace suffering for Christ. Take the easy way out. Take it easy. You deserve the easy way.” You break loose. “Away, Satan!” Follow Christ. Take up the cross.

Taking up the cross can be excruciating, but it's for Christ, the one who has bought us freedom, not with silver or gold, but with his precious blood, as the Book of Concord says. Christ took up the suffering, took up the cross, so we shall live forever. Christ has liberated us from slavery to sin. Christ has carried us through the Underground Railroad and into the Promised Land, all by way of his suffering. Christ has emancipated us. Christ took up the cross to save us. Now we take up the cross to thank him. Carrying the cross, we announce, “Away, Satan!”