Mark 8: 27-38
Sixteenth
Sunday after Pentecost/ 16th September 2012
Every text has a context. Every text is surrounded by a context. Every text is embedded in a larger
setting. To know something about the context,
the surrounded terrain, the setting helps us to open up a text. There’s much to know about these couple of
verses in Mark’s gospel, the theological center of his narrative. There’s much that can be said and has been
said about this text. But what needs to
be lifted up, at least initially and exclusively for us here today, is the
significance of this verse, “Jesus went
on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi….”
Why is this significant? Because Jesus intentionally takes them there
to preach to the villages of this area. But what we need to know and what the
text fails to state explicitly is that Caesarea Philippi was a Gentile
region. Jesus leads the disciples away
from the safe, “clean,” respectable Galilee, a Jewish region, and crosses into
Gentile territory, an area named for Philip, the son of Herod the Great. After the death of Herod the Great in 4 BC,
the Roman Empire was determined to undermine and divide the power that would
come to Herod’s heir. So the Romans
split the territory up into four kingdoms.
This region was very Gentile. The
main city, Banias, the location of the imperial palace, was a kind of pagan Las
Vegas of the Roman world. There were
avenues after avenues of temples to all the Roman and Greek gods. You could go there and hang out with your
favorite god. There is a huge cave there
that, tradition has it, claimed to be the birthplace of the Greek god Pan, the
god of the underworld, hence the name of the city, Banias. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the temple ruins. I’ve stood at the entrance to the cave. They’re very impressive.
That’s where Jesus takes them and
invites them to preach the good news of God’s kingdom. But why there? Why into this most Gentile, this most pagan
of places?
There’s something else we need to
know that only now are scholars discovering.
Archeologists have long known that there was a temple to Caesar Augustus
(63 BC – 14 AD) in Banias. This
particular kind of temple is known as an Augusteum – temple to Augustus. I’ve seen the sign in Banias that states
somewhere nearby stood the Augusteum to Augustus. But the sign is incorrect because in 1999,
archeologists from Macalaster College, a Presbyterian-related college in St.
Paul, MN, stumbled upon an enormous find on a hill in a field several miles
from Banias. What they found was the
foundation of what would have been an enormous temple, made of marble that was
shipped from as far away as Turkey. The
exterior was probably painted gold to reflect the hot sun. This was
the Augusteum, built by Herod the Great (74/73 – 4 BC), to honor Caesar
Augustus – a temple for the worship of Caesar’s divinity. Remember, Augustus was not his last name or
his proper name, it was one of his many titles.
Augustus, meaning the illustrious one, refers to the fact the emperor
was a practitioner of the augurs, he was a skilled priest, he was a religious
authority, as well as a political authority.
The Roman Senate declared him Augustus in 27 BC. He was also considered divine, worthy to be
worship. One of his other titles was Imperator Caesar divi filius: Commander Caesar son of the deified one, or,
simply, son of God.
Now this Augusteum was situated
along the main road that ran from the Galilee north into Caesarea
Philippi. Every one traveling on that
road would have seen the temple.
Everyone on that road would have been conscious of the presence of the emperor
reflected in the temple. And when Mark’s
gospel reads, “Jesus went with his disciples to villages of Caesarea Philippi,
and on the way he asked his
disciples, “Who do the people say that I am?” somewhere along their way they
would have walked right past the Augusteum.
 |
| Foundation of the temple in Omrit (Augusteum) |
Was it at that point, somewhere
along the way, on the way, blinded by the light reflecting from the temple that
Jesus posed two of the most significant questions of his ministry? I like to think so.
It’s clear that the power and authority of the Roman Empire is never,
ever far from anything that goes on in the New Testament. There’s always a Roman soldier lurking somewhere
close by. It’s in that context, the
wider context of the power of empire where many, including his fellow Jews who
served the emperor, which Jesus wants to know from them, “Who do the people say
that I am?”
So they give a report, “John the
Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.”
Then he moves closer to home, “But
who do you say that I am?” Now, Jesus is
getting personal. He wants to know their
answer because a lot is riding on the answer.
What would you say if posed the question? Who is Jesus?
What would you say? Who is Jesus
to you?
It’s quite extraordinary, really,
given what we know about Jesus’ society and practices that he even posed such a
question. In Jesus’ age one’s sense of
self was clearly defined by the collective, by one’s community or tribe or
social setting. Your belief, your
traditions, your ethics, the way you understood the cosmos and your purpose in
life were pretty much determined by where you were born, by your context. And there was very little room for
change. You were stuck where you were
born. No upward mobility. No leaving home to venture out on your own.
No sense of individuality apart from your family. The Roman understanding of the household was
operative in Jesus’ world; the household was ruled by a pater (father), the Roman pater
familias defined the structure of the family. The father was the owner of the family estate. The family members were considered
property. One’s welfare was contingent
upon being part of a larger social environment.
So that when Jesus asks, “Who do people say that I am?” such a question
wouldn’t have been all that unusual. You
would have been considered what everyone else thinks, you would have been
concerned about the perspective of others.
You wouldn’t want to be different from the crowd, blending in was
important. The disciples respond. But
did you notice that Jesus doesn’t really care what the crowd thinks. He’s not concerned about their
group-think. Jesus doesn’t affirm or
deny their claims.
Jesus, ever the teacher, brings it
closer to home. The question that really
matters is this: what do you think? Who do
you say that I am? Not the crowd, not
the community, not the religious elders.
You – who do you say that I
am? That’s what Jesus wants to
know. That’s what Jesus wants them to
talk about, reflect upon, wrestle with, and then answer and answer and answer.
That’s why I think Jesus takes them
away from “home.” He takes them out of
their comfort zone. They must have been freaked out by a place like
Banias. He takes them away from the nosy
religious leaders. He takes them to a
place where nobody knows them. This
foreign, Gentile, “unclean” place becomes a safe place for them to really say
what’s on their minds, to say who Jesus is to them. And they don’t have to say what others expect
them to say. They can speak from their heart. They can be real. Honest.
Authentic.
And that’s what Jesus wants from all
his disciples as we step out on our way.
So much rides on how this question is answered. The answer reflects our level of commitment
to him. How we answer this question shapes
every step of our lives. It determines
the journey, the direction we take, how we see the world and ourselves within
it, how we live and relate to others, how we make decisions, what we buy or how
we vote for or how much we pledge. So
much is riding on this question.
This morning in adult education we
talked at length about evangelism – the dreaded E-word for Presbyterians, what
it is and what it isn’t. What we have
here in this text directly shapes our approach to this word. Evangelism, first of all, is a terrible word;
it’s not an –ism, an ideology. What we
are called to be is evangelical – in
the New Testament, biblical sense of this word, which means someone who shares
God’s good news, which is Jesus Christ.
Being evangelical means that we share the good news of what Jesus has
shown us, taught us, revealed to us about God’s grace and justice and
love. That’s what we share. Our ability to share is directly related to
our ability to answer who Jesus is to us.
If Jesus is not God’s good news for you, then it’s not worth sharing.
But if he’s God’s good news, then that’s worth sharing, right? That’s worth talking about, right? That’s worth shouting from the roof tops,
right? And yet we’re reluctant to share
our faith, or talk about it, and none of us are shouting from the Church House
roof, including me.
I think a lot of our reluctance is
found in our not wanting to look like a religious fool or a fanatic or zealot
or Jesus freak. We worry too much about
what people might think of us.[1] Some feel uncomfortable talking about their
faith because they don’t want to end up in a position of having to defend what
they believe; they don’t want to get in an argument. Why does it have to be an argument or debate?
We have lost the ability to talk about our faith. Unfortunately, then, one’s faith is reduced
to one’s opinion that one holds privately, without an opportunity to engage
with the wider society. There are far
too many Christians out there who do a poor job of representing Jesus and
giving the rest of us a bad name that we don’t want the stigma of being
identified as a Jesus follower. But
maybe we need to take on the stigma, be different, step out, share our faith.
I came across a cartoon that
captures this sentiment. Two men are
standing on a street corner waiting for a bus.
One man is in a suit and carrying a brief case. The other man is wearing a black t-shirt that
reads in large white letters, “LET’S TALK ABOUT JESUS.” The man in the suit
gives him a weird, querulous look. The
man in the t-shirt says to him, “It guarantees me a seat all to myself.”
For the past two weeks I’ve been
talking about call and journey, vocation and the Christian way. The call and the journey, the vocation and
the way matter little without a sense of how we would answer this question
– and answer it. There isn’t one answer
and the answer can change and evolve on the way. But we have to answer it. You don’t have to write a theological
treatise. Make it simple. What’s your elevator speech? What would you say if someone asked you in an
elevator, who do you say Jesus is? Who do you say Jesus is?
When you reach the ground floor and
the door opens, whatever you say will shape you, whether consciously or
unconsciously, as you go on your way.
[1] Cf. the quotation from
the worship bulletin: “…the greatest
degree of authenticity is possible only if we avoid identifying with what
others think of us.” Aldo Carotenuto
(1933-2005), To Love, To Betray,
trans. Joan Tambureno (Wilmette, IL:
Chiron Publications, 1996), 26.
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