Imagine the scene, Jesus and the disciples are walking through the villages of Caesarea Phillip, when Jesus asks them a question. “Who do you say that I am?” I can just hear the relief in the disciples’ voices, “This is an easy one! People say you’re John the Baptist! No, they say you’re Elijah! Oh, and some say you’re one of the prophets.”
And for a moment, Jesus simply listens. But then he asks a different question, “But who do you say that I am?” And cue Peter. Bold, reckless, earnest, impulsive Peter. He answers, as confidently as he can, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”
It seems like the perfect answer. But to everyone’s surprise, Jesus immediately tells them to not tell anyone about him. And if that weren’t confusing enough, Jesus goes on talk about how he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
And Peter is sure that it can’t be true.
And so, Peter pulls Jesus aside and tells him that he’s wrong. Immediately, Jesus turns and rebukes Peter with words that still shock us two thousand years later: “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
And then, Jesus turns to his disciples and says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
But what exactly does that mean? Deny ourselves. Take up our cross. And follow Jesus.
I’ve found myself wondering if Jesus’ words have nothing to do with death itself. Maybe to take up a cross, as Jesus did, is to stand, always, in the center of the world’s pain. Not just to glance in the general direction of suffering and then creep away, but to dwell there. To identify ourselves with those who are aching, weeping, screaming, and dying. To insist that our comfort isn't worth it unless the least and the lost can share in it, too.
Or maybe taking up the cross means recognizing Christ crucified in every suffering soul and body that surrounds us and pouring our energies and our lives into alleviating their pain — no matter what it costs.
Or maybe Jesus’ words have everything to do with death. Maybe they mean accepting — against all the lies of the world — that we will die. That we have come from dust and to dust we will return.
And so, maybe taking up the cross means asking different questions: given my inevitable death, how shall I spend this brief, singular, God-breathed life? Will I pursue my own comfort, or will I work endlessly to bring glimpses of the kingdom of God to this earth?
Jesus says, “Deny yourself. Take up your cross. And follow me.”
Will we listen?
Peace and grace,
Kimmy
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