Victory [Proper 17A - Matthew 16:21-28]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Matthew 16:21-28

 

Victory

 

And finally, since we are on a roll with these, my last announcement is this: the 2023 NFL season begins on Thursday.  And that means, once again, I will root for the Cleveland Browns to appear in their first ever Super Bowl.  Once again I will tell myself, as I have so many times before: this could be the year.

 

I have cheered on the Browns for as long as I can remember; the Browns are like a family inheritance: you don’t choose them as much as you get them.  And, over the years, that has, admittedly, left some scars.  As a little boy, I cried because of “The Drive.”  And then the next year, when I was seven, I cried because of “The Fumble.”  And at a young age, I developed a hatred for John Elway that required of me many prayers of repentance. 

 

As painful as those experiences were, being a Browns fan only grew more difficult as I aged.  During high school, my team was stolen away.  They came back in 1999, but the 21^st century highlights have been few and far between.  They hit rock bottom during the 2016 and 2017 seasons.  Those teams went a combined 1-31.  The one game they won came when a Chargers’ field goal was blocked by a back-up defensive lineman who, I kid you not, soon after that glorious moment became a security guard at Cleveland Browns’ Stadium.

 

I am a pretty competitive guy; I do not like losing.  But, because I am a Browns’ fan, I have seen a lot of losses.  I have shuffled through too many sad Sunday afternoons.  I have watched so many shocking slip-ups and shortfalls, I will not let my family mention the word “victory” until the clock strikes zero – because, you just never know; I’ve seen too much.  It is hard to pledge your allegiance to a loser – Rockies’ fans know what I’m talking about.

 

And so does St. Peter.  Today’s Gospel is the moment Peter realizes that is on the losing team.  And he is not thrilled about it. 

 

Peter had some big things in mind.  He had been paying very close attention to this Jesus and all indications were that the future was bright.  Peter bought in low on Jesus, when he was just a charismatic nobody.  And that investment was about to pay off.  Jesus and his band of misfits were coming for the throne.  The miracles, the teachings, the crowds: it all gave him away: Jesus was the Prince who was Promised.  He was a prophetic dream come to life.  He was the Messiah, the Christ, the Son of the Living God.  

 

And Peter was the first one to get it, or at least the first to say it out loud.  That confession earned him the keys to the future kingdom.  And it was the king who was handing them over.  Nothing could be clearer: Jesus was planning to rule the world and Peter was in line to be his right-hand man.  He could already feel the keys jingling in his pocket, the triumph coursing through his veins.

 

Jesus was not quite as boisterous as Peter; Jesus wanted to keep it all quiet.  And that was fine; Peter could deal with Jesus wanting to keep this plan on the down low.  You don’t want to raise suspicions or attract fickle bandwagon fans or spoil the element of surprise.  That wasn’t the problem; the secrecy was fine.  It was the bleak fatalism that bothered Peter.  The constant talk of suffering and crucifixion did not befit an emerging Savior.

 

It was clearly up to Peter to say something.  They had a special relationship.  Peter could tell Jesus respected him.  He promised him the keys, after all.  Jesus even granted him authority to bind and loose things – on a grand cosmic level.  The other disciples didn’t get keys; the other disciples didn’t get to bind or loose.  Peter had to say something because Peter was really the only one who could say something.  And so he did.

 

Peter’s problem was that crosses were for losers.  And Peter did not join the losing team.  He was with Jesus and he believed in Jesus.  He was the sidekick to the Messiah.  Peter was already collecting paint samples for his palace office because his guy, this Jesus, he could do miracles.  Success was inevitable.  Together, they were going to topple Rome.  And sure, it was risky business, but there was no reason to be so negative.

 

The timing was right: Peter was on something of a roll.  Earlier in this conversation, in the verses that immediately precede today’s reading in the Gospel, Peter nails Jesus’ identity and is celebrated for it, is awarded for speaking up.  Here he is expecting now to go two-for-two.  Now, no one wants to be rebuked.  But in Peter’s mind this is, at its core, a word of encouragement for Jesus.  It is a way for him to show Jesus that he really does believe in him – maybe even more than Jesus believes in himself.

 

Jesus doesn’t take it quite as well as Peter hoped.  Peter ends up on the wrong side of a “Satan.”  That was certainly not how Peter imagined this conversation going.  But the truth is: Peter was acting very much like the devil…

 

…very much like the devil behaved in the wilderness – earlier in this very Gospel.  Jesus had heard this all before.  The temptations in the desert placed the kingdoms of the world before his eyes, in his sights.  Back then the devil suggested Jesus trade the cross for a crown.  And now, Peter, his own disciple and friend, was doing the same thing.    

 

Because Peter wanted to be a winner.  And he was afraid that Jesus was losing it.  And in doing so, Jesus was taking the twelve down with him.  That is not what they signed up for. 

 

You see, Peter did not have bad intentions; he just couldn’t see the bigger picture.  What Peter could not understand, at least not yet, was that not every win is plated in gold.  Not every winner holds a scepter.  There are victories that don’t show up in the box score.

 

The kingdom of heaven does not come for the conquerors.  It is not the reward of the successful or wealthy.  The kingdom of heaven is built on the back of Love, carried through this world like a loss.  Jesus never did move into a palace.  The only crown he wore was made of thorns.  His final victory speech was a prayer of forgiveness for the ones who ended his life.  His reward was condemnation.  His throne was a cross.  And he invites us into this kingdom, to take up a cross and follow him on the martyr’s way. 

 

The cross is not a trophy that we get carry.  It is not a pious act of self-flagellation or a badge of honor.  The cross is the cost we pay for following Jesus.  It is every bold act of love that is horribly transformed by a world that could never accept something so pure.  Jesus did not choose the cross; Jesus accepted the cross, as the cost of bringing great goodness into a violent and broken world. 

 

Jesus’ command to take up your cross is not an invitation to noble suffering.  It is an invitation to love dangerously in a dangerous world.  To bleed kindness on the grounds of injustice.  To be gentle and make peace in an age in which only the strong survive.  Jesus is inviting you to take a loss – and in doing so, to claim the only victory that truly matters: to drive out hatred with love, to beat back despair with hope, to overcome evil with good.