45 years ago, when I was a senior at Thomas Jefferson High School here in Richmond, the direction of my life changed. As a junior, I had thought that I would go into politics or law. The late 1960s were heady times in those two arenas: the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War protests, and engaging electoral contests involving the Kennedys, Lyndon Johnson, Barry Goldwater, Richard Nixon, Eugene McCarthy, and Hubert Humphrey. I envisioned myself going to law school and then entering politics, not necessarily as a candidate but as a campaign manager. But for an experience in my senior year, I might have ended up as a Karl Rove or more likely David Axelrod, as in those days, you might be surprised to know, I was a heartfelt liberal. My senior year I enrolled in an advanced placement English class taught by Helen Louise Coleman and became entranced by British and American literature and the way this stern but encouraging teacher brought drama, fiction and poetry to life. By the end of the year, I had resolved to major in English rather than political science and saw myself becoming a teacher. After college and graduate school, I ended up as a professor of English at J. Sargeant Reynolds Community College, where I taught for 38 years before retiring last October. I recall being a nerdy teacher’s pet in Miss Coleman’s English class, my hand always going up when she queried us about Hamlet’s motivation, Milton’s iambic pentameter, or Wordsworth’s imagery, and my head swelling with pride when she praised my answers. Then one day I blew it. We had been asked to write a poem in the style of the British romantic poets we had been studying. I chose John Keats’s “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” which ends with the famous lines "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," ‐ that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” It may surprise some of you, but in those days I was also a bit of a smart ass. Or maybe it won’t surprise you. My poem was entitled “Ode on a Corn Dog” …. with my closing line “Juicy and crisp, crisp and juicy, that is what / Ye have on the stick, and all ye need to have.” No sooner had I finished than I felt Miss Coleman’s withering look and heard a stern “Sit down, Mr. Ambrose. That is the worst thing I have ever heard.” I obviously had not yet read Paul’s advice in today’s epistle about not thinking yourself wiser than you are. And I suspect I felt a bit like Peter must have felt in today’s Gospel reading when Jesus rebukes him with “Get behind me, Satan.” What a roller coaster ride Peter has been on. In last week’s Gospel lesson, after boldly confessing that Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the Living God,” Simon is blessed and given a new nickname “Peter” (though some commentators say that the Greek name translates better to “Rocky”)1. Jesus then says he will be the rock on which the church will be built and promises him the keys of the kingdom of heaven. “Rocky” must be feeling pretty good about himself, although perhaps a bit confused. What is this about building a church? Jesus, you haven’t used that word before. And then you say don’t tell anybody you’re the messiah. If we’re going to do this kingdom thing, we surely need to start spreading the word and enlisting supporters. And now you’re telling us that we’re heading to Jerusalem. Sure, that makes sense, what else do you do if you’re going to restore the kingdom but march to the capital and the Temple? But what’s this about suffering at the hands of the power elites, being killed, and then being raised on the third day. All that makes no sense. Especially this being raised in three thing. What’s that supposed to mean? And how are we going to gather more supporters by promising them that the result will be great suffering and death? Your campaign slogan needs a lot of work. I can’t see people lining up under that banner. If Peter rebukes Jesus for faulty messaging, Jesus trumps it with an even harsher come‐back. Yesterday I was your pal “Rocky” and now it’s “Satan.” Yesterday I was the stone foundation for your church; today I am a stone on 1
The Harper Collins Study Bible. New York: Harper Collins, 1993.
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which you stumble. Yesterday, the Father was revealing truth to me, and now I’m thinking the opposite of the way God thinks. Peter’s head (and his heart) must be spinning. Of course, we know it won’t be the last time this happens to Peter. Jesus will continue to turn his world, his expectations, and his sense of self upside down and inside out. Peter and the other disciples apparently assumed the Messiah would restore the kingdom of Israel by kicking out the oppressive Romans and their collaborators. The disciples had witnessed the miraculous healings and feedings and even walking on water and surely anticipated more of the same. Jesus would surely roll victoriously into Jerusalem once his identity was made known. Their national story, the story of Israel rescued from the Egyptians, the story of God’s marvelous works repeated in the Psalms for hundreds of years made them certain that God would return to rescue His people again with unequivocal power. But then Jesus begins turning those traditions, assumptions and expectations upside down. Rather than national and personal pride, he talks of denying yourself. Instead of taking up banners and swords, he speaks of taking up your cross. Instead of rescue and restoration, he talks of loss, of losing our lives for his sake. Unlike Peter, we know the next chapters of this story and its repeated reversals of traditions, assumptions, and expectations: the transfiguration, the triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, the betrayal and arrest, the abandonment and denial, the trial and crucifixion, and most unexpected, most mysterious and most glorious of all, the resurrection and the defeat of an enemy far greater than the Romans, a restoration and rescue far wider than Israel. As the summer draws to a close and we prepare for a new season of worship and formation and look for ways that we can individually and collectively engage with our church, what traditions, assumptions and expectations do we need to be prepared to see radically transformed? Like Peter are we ready to be challenged to move beyond the creedal statements of who Jesus is and start working out how we can be disciples still eager to follow Him, even when we realize that this journey involves both cross and kingdom? Are we prepared to give up everything to follow Him, including long held assumptions about how we do church? Are we ready to examine which traditions may need reshaping to bring more people into this church? Are we prepared to redefine our expectations of what success means as we engage with an increasingly diverse community? Does it sound too much like a roller coaster? Surely it is nowhere near the wild ride that Peter had. Like Peter, we will sometimes get it gloriously right; at other times, terribly wrong. We will suffer loss; we will weep. But if we persevere in prayer and love one another in mutual affection, we know there is one expectation that will never be turned upside down: We will rejoice in the faithfulness of God. 2