Who
do people say the Son of Man is? There are a lot of opinions out there about
who Jesus is. Some say he’s like a 1970s hippy who never judges; some say he’s
a fanatic who always judges. Some say he’s an inspirational teacher like
Ghandi preaching peace; some say he’s the reason why there are religious wars. And that’s all
very odd—because even when Jesus expels demons, even they say that Jesus is the
Son of God. But for men-- strangely, men do not know.
For
me the question itself is odd, because when I look at other major religions and their
founders—whether Buddha, Confucius, or Mohammed—they point away from
themselves. Jesus, on the other hand, points to himself and makes a claim: that
unlike the other teachers, He is God
and the people out there aren’t just his students—they are his children. Thus, when Jesus asks the apostles this question, it is because he is orienting them outward: there are people out there who do not know Him and He wants them back.
But then Jesus makes it personal. He asks the apostles—those
very same ones who are going to go out—He asks them: “what about you? Who do
you say that I am? It’s so easy to be anxious about the world, but what about
you, my apostles? If you don’t know who I am, you who are closest to me, then
how are you going to bring back the other people?” So, Jesus makes the apostles
vulnerable. “Who do you say that I am?”
This is a question about Jesus' identity. But it is also a question that is inviting the apostles to discover the source of their dignity-- and, by doing so, to discover that they have a higher dignity than they ever-before thought. We can put it this way:: if Jesus is the Christ, the King of the Universe and the God of all,
then what does this make Peter and the apostles who have been brought into the
King’s innermost court?
I
think of the Chronicles of Narnia: Peter and Edmund and Susan and Lucy are just
children, but when they meet Aslan—a Jesus-figure portrayed by a lion—they are changed. They are given gifts; they discover their talents; they become battle-tested; and, in time, they are raised to thrones and are crowned kings and queens. They are raised beyond that which they ever thought themselves capable of becoming. And, because
of this, they cannot be like everyone else. Being like everyone else no longer
corresponds with the new definition of their life and of their new dignity.
Thus,
today’s Gospel isn’t firstly a moral exhortation—it is firstly an invitation to
rediscover what defines our identity. Hence Jesus asks us: “Who do you say
that I am? Who or what defines your life? Have you allowed me to raise your
dignity? Do you believe that I am the one who can do that for you?”
In
the moments after you were baptized, the priest anointed you with the oil of
Sacred Chrism—Chrism, which shares the same Greek word as Christ or, in Hebrew,
Messiah, meaning “anointed.” When you were anointed at your baptism, the priest
said the following words: “God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ has freed
you from sin, given you a new birth by water and the Holy Spirit, and welcomed
you into his holy people. He now anoints you with the chrism of salvation." And then he says this next and very important line: "As
Christ was anointed Priest, Prophet, and King, so may you live always as a
member of his body, sharing everlasting life.”
What
does this mean? It means that at your baptism, Jesus gave you a share in the kingly anointing. He elevated our dignity beyond that which the world could give. It means that
we wear a crown and can walk in the dignity that being so crowned provides. Kings so crowned hold up their heads and their actions because their dignity comes from God. Kings so crowned don’t search for other things to define them (even less do they play in
the muck) because kings so crowned have a higher dignity than the world can give-- or take away!
This
weekend, we celebrate Louis IX, King of France and Saint of Holy Mother Church.
Not only was he a king by worldly constitution, he was firstly a king so constituted by
baptism—and he considered the crown he received at baptism to be of more value than the crown received by men. Because
his kingly rule was defined by his Christian dignity and not by the trappings
of the world, St. Louis’ reign was different than other kings. He tried to reign as Christ the King reigned.
So, like
Christ the King, St. Louis was generous to the poor and a suffering servant,
choosing penances over comforts so as to sanctify the souls of his people while
filling their stomachs with his bread. Like Christ the King, St. Louis governed
with justice and mercy, seeking to rule in accordance with the laws of God so
as to uphold the dignity of the human person. And like Christ the King, St.
Louis battled against the powers of darkness and evil: St. Louis would lead Crusades against
barbarians that were creating havoc in the Middle East and threatening to bust
through the gates of Europe. (As an aside, in our day and age with the rise of
ISIS, and seeing how quickly certain worldviews can devolve into barbarianism,
the “embarrassment” of the Crusades suddenly doesn’t seem so embarrassing nor so morally far-fetched anymore. Truly, if Europe and the rest of the world is to be saved from the powers of darkness, another
Crusade is going to have to be waged-- and it is going to have to be fought not simply with metal swords, but with spiritual ones as well).
So, Peter, who do people say that I am?
And will
you lead them, Peter? Will you manifest my kingly power and presence to the
world? Will you not only be generous and merciful, but will you stand up
against evil and bear the sword of the spirit, the shield of faith, the armor
of justice and the breastplate of salvation?
Who
do you say that I am? Am I your king? Am I the God of this city and the Lord of
this nation? Am I the one that defines your life?
I
ask you because your dignity is tied up with mine. Only if I am your king will
you then reign as king—dignified, true, just, generous, unafraid, ... and victorious.
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