9.16.12--Sermon on Mark 8:27-30

A few days ago, as I was driving home, I witnessed a wonderful occurrence. As the sun was going down and evening approached, an older gentleman was lowering an American flag from the flagpole in his front yard. I stopped at the stop sign a little longer that I needed to, because I was enthralled by the care and respect he was showing this flag. He did not simply unhook a piece of cloth and walk back inside with it balled up in his hand; no, he carefully undid the clasp, folded this small standard in his hands, and reverently laid it over his forearm, gently holding it in place as he unhurriedly made his way back inside.

His eyes never left that flag. It was as if the most important thing he would do all day was bearing this banner safely inside.

Now, I drive by this house almost every day, and I’ve seen this flag quite often as it perched atop its pole and allowed the wind to whip it back and forth. I gotta tell you, this was not the nicest or biggest or boldest-colored flag that I’ve ever seen. It was a small nylon sheet, the reds and blues faded almost into pastels of their once dominant primary colors and the whites in need of brightening. It was probably something that you could find on sale for less than $10 at Walmart if you went the week leading up to the 4^th of July.

But to watch this man interact with it, you would have thought that this was the same star-spangled banner that so long ago did wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

It was inspiring to watch. It was beautiful.

Now, I do not know this man’s story, and I do not know why the American flag means so much to him personally. Maybe, like my dad, he is one among the brave men and women who fought for our country to protect our rights and our freedoms. Maybe the flag means so much to him because the flag reminds him of the cost of our freedom and our ways of life. Maybe honoring the flag every evening as he lowers it from its pole is a way to remember and honor the dead, those who served alongside him and did not make it home.

I don’t know. All I know is that I will never forget watching him and thinking to myself, “I wish that we as the church had that kind of loyalty and devotion to our God.”

But we’ll come back to that. For now, let’s turn to our text. Our Scripture lesson today allows us a glimpse into a highly personal moment between Jesus and his disciples. It opens with them on the road—much like I was when I saw the man with his flag—on the road, moving toward Caesarea Philippi. Now, if you were to look at a map of all of the places that Jesus goes throughout his ministry as it is described in the Gospels, you might be surprised to find out that he—with two large exceptions—stays in one main area before heading down to Jerusalem. The main area is the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus basically goes from one town, across the sea to another, and then back again to the other side. He visits a fairly large amount of places, given that he and his disciples are either traveling by boat or by foot the entire time.

But then there are the exceptions: the first is a port city called Tyre, located Northwest of the Sea of Galilee. The second is Caesarea Philippi.

This river city is located due North of Galilee. It is right off of the Jordan River, which feeds into the Sea of Galilee, and, honestly, it’s one of the last places that you would expect to find a group of good Jewish men who are trying to live holy lives.

You see, Caesarea Philippi was a center of pagan worship. It was known for cults whose practices would be illegal in the United States today, and it was said that the demons themselves ruled the hearts of its men and women. One cave in particular, just outside of the city, was said to be the location of so many dark and evil arts that is was popularly known as “The Gates of Hell.”

Maybe Jesus was thinking about this place. Maybe he was thinking of the hundreds and thousands of lost souls in this city who were searching for something greater than themselves and looking for it in all of the wrong places. Maybe he was thinking about the many gods who were worshipped there, and what it meant to give your life so fully to such an ideal. Whatever our Savior was thinking, it is while on the way to Caesarea Philippi that Jesus chooses to pose some questions to his disciples.

“Who do people say that I am?”

Now, Jesus has some very faithful and very loyal disciples with him, and they answer him honestly. “John the Baptist! Others say Elijah. Still others say one of the other prophets.”

To be a prophet reborn would truly be an honor, for the prophets served as the very voice of God. It was said that before the coming of the Anointed One, Elijah would be reincarnated to proclaim his coming. And this is who they report that the crowds say he is.

But as much as Jesus might have been curious about what others have said, he was much more interested and invested about what his disciples thought. These men and women who had followed him throughout his ministry, who had witnessed and even participated in miraculous acts; what did they think? So he asks his second question.

“Who do you say that I am?”

You, the ones who have given up their careers, have left family and friends, have ventured farther out into the world and into this adventure than anyone else, who do you say that I am?

Now, our Scripture does not say how quickly Peter answered Jesus, but I like to think that a pregnant silence hung over the group. Who is this person they have been following? Is he another rabbi? Is he John the Baptist? Elijah?

Or is he something more? Is he the one we have been waiting for? Could he be?

And finally, Peter reverently looks at this man to whom he has devoted his life and he barely whispers these words of hope: “You are the Messiah.”

In that moment, in that brief moment, Peter glimpsed Jesus for who he truly is: The Christ, the Savior, the Anointed One sent by God to redeem God’s people.

You see, Peter is a lot like that man I saw the other day lowering his flag. Peter looked at the man before him and saw something so much more than just flesh and bones. He saw so much more than a road weary face, dust covered feet, and travel-stained clothes.

It’s kind of funny. We tend to picture Jesus like we see him this portrait behind me: clean, polished, usually Anglo-Saxon, and with a full mouth of pearly white teeth. We rarely remember that he spent most of his time on the road, bathed rarely, and probably did not smell like a rose. His hair was most likely dark brown and curly, his beard uncut, as was the style. And he never would have been to the dentist.

It’s much different than what we tend to expect.

But Peter looks at this dirty man whom we might avoid in a crowd and he sees in him everything that he truly is, everything that he represents, and everything for which Peter himself has hoped and prayed.

You are the Messiah.

I wonder what it would look like if we were to answer Christ this way. I don’t mean with our words. That’s easy. I mean with our lives. What would it look like if we engaged our worship of Christ the same way that this gentleman engaged his duty to his flag?

Do we daily show Christ such devotion?

Do we treat each moment of prayer as if it were a moment spent in conversation with the most important person in the world? Do we revel at the opportunity to come together in worship because it is another chance to stand and kneel before the throne of the Most High? Do we encounter each action as another chance to bring glory to the One to whom all glory is due?

Or when we think about Jesus, do we just see a store-bought deity, the one we picked up off the shelf because it was on sale?

Jesus and his disciples were on their way to Caesarea Philippi. It was a place of religious promiscuity, where an individual could serve and worship whatever and whomever he so desired at any given moment. It was a place where lewd and dark acts were the norm, and where morality did not seem to hold as much weight as it should. It was a place, honestly, not unlike many cities in our great nation. And on the way to this spiritually and morally corrupt city, Jesus asks the question we all must answer.

Who do you say Jesus is?

Is he the One who receives all of your praise and devotion? Is he the One you treat with reverence because you know that in him you are given new life?

Or is he something less than that?

This gentleman that I do not know and to whom will probably never speak a word wholly impressed me. He showed care and reverence and devotion to his flag because of everything that it represented to him. His honor of it was evidenced in his eyes and in his actions. For him, that flag deserved the utmost respect, the utmost honor.

But friends, I’m here to tell you now that as much honor and respect and care that the symbol of our nation deserves, as much reverence and veneration as that man gave it that day, Jesus Christ, the Son of God and the Savior of the world deserves even more.

So when we look to Christ, may we not simply see the outward appearance that the world sees. May we look past the dirty, sweaty, maybe even stinky exterior and see what Peter saw in him: Hope, freedom. May we, even when we find ourselves on the way to Caesarea Phillipi, remain strong on that conviction, always showing God the utmost love and loyalty that is God’s due. And may we, like this man treated his flag, always live in such a way that blesses Christ, showing him all honor and respect. For no one and no thing is more deserving. Amen.