Mistaken identity
Commentary
Appearances can be deceiving. John Wayne, for instance, acted the part of a genuine cowboy in dozens of motion pictures and fired make-believe rifles and revolvers hundreds of times. Even his last starring role in The Shootist, he portrayed an aging western gunslinger. Yet here is what Wayne had to say about his skills with a firearm: “I couldn’t hit a wall with a six-gun, but I can twirl one. It looks good!”
Appearances can be deceiving. Still, we often trust what we see more than what we read or hear. That is one of the reasons why television is so captivating. “Seeing is believing,” we say.
Sometimes appearances can even change the way we think about things, and “deceive” us into a whole new attitude. Consider, for example, the report of Dr. Maxwell Maltz, a former New York cosmetic surgeon, who tells of a magazine contest to find the ugliest young woman in the United States. Cruel as such a competition may seem, the magazine editors actually hoped to change the life of this unfortunate person for the better.
Photos poured in from all over North America. The editors selected a young woman with poor features, terrible grooming, and appalling clothes as the “Ugliest Girl in America.” For her prize, she won a plane ticket to New York City. There a team of specialists went to work on her. Dr. Maltz reshaped her nose and built up her chin. Others gave her a new hairstyle, an elaborate wardrobe of the latest fashions, and grooming instructions. In a modern Cinderella story, the “ugliest” became quite beautiful almost overnight. Within a few months she was married.
In fact, says Dr. Maltz, the young woman’s whole attitude toward life changed. Before the cosmetic transformation she had been shy and inhibited. She felt foolish and ignorant and out of place in almost any company. But once she had tasted what she could become, her personality also exploded with new possibilities. She became confident and poised, articulate and informed. She attracted people to herself in any crowd.
Appearances can be deceiving. But who among us would be able to say which appearance was the deceptive one -- the young woman whose photos won the “Ugliest Girl” contest, or the young woman who waltzed in beauty?
Each of today’s lectionary readings is connected to the theme of mistaken identity. Moses the Israelite destined for drowning death becomes instead the drawn-out prince of Egypt. Paul declares that the identities we think we have, granted by the world around us, are not our truest expression of who we are or should be. And Jesus carries on an interesting conversation with his disciples about whether anyone really understands who he is.
Do we know?
Exodus 1:8--2:10
The struggles of Israel in Exodus 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that “Joseph” has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backwards, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile “miraculously” ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt’s farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile’s currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute, and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
The meaning of Moses’ name is derived from the ancient Egyptian word describing the action of “emerging” or being “drawn from,” which connects Moses to the story of his discovery by the Pharaoh’s daughter (Exodus 2:10). But it also links Moses to the royal family of his era. Several generations before Moses’ birth, Aakheperkare (1520-1492) established a dynasty that ruled for nearly a century, with three successive males in the leadership line identifying themselves as “Thutmose.” This name meant “draw from...” or “born out of Thot,” one of the more important gods of the ancient Egyptian pantheon. Greater still was Ra, the sun god, for whom Thot acted as a primary guardian or emissary, and whose identity the Pharaohs of Moses’ own day took upon themselves: Menpehtire Ramses -- “drawn from...” or “born out of Ra” (1292-1290) and Usermaatre-setpenre Ramses (Ramses II or Ramses “The Great,” 1279-1213). In any case, Moses’ training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities.
Romans 12:1-8
Paul may well have had to wrestle his way through that problem of divine election (Romans 9-11) at least in part because of the mixed Jewish-Gentile makeup of the Roman congregation. This possible tension seems to reassert itself again in Paul’s applications of Christian behavior in the chapters that follow, beginning with today’s New Testament reading. First, Paul urges a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus (12:1-2), shaped by spiritual giftedness (12:3-8), and energized by love (12:9-21). Then Paul makes this servant behavior even more specific, by nodding to its public expressions (Romans 13): obey the government as a tool of God’s care in the restraint of evil (13:1-6), and live as good neighbors who glow with the righteousness of God in some pretty dark neighborhoods (13:8-14). Finally, Paul revisits the issues surrounding the matter of the purchase and consumption of meat offered to idols (Romans 14:1--15:13), just as he had probed it in 1 Corinthians 8:1--11:1. Here, though, the overt tensions between legalistic and licentious extremes of Christian behavior seem less consuming than they did when Paul wrote to the Galatians and the Corinthians. Instead, his instructions flow more gently out of his social ethic of love and service.
Matthew 16:13-20
Faith is a matter of appearances as well. It is important that we understand who Jesus is, not just in our sometimes mistaken notions of who we would like him to be, but who he is by his own testimony and actions. That seems to be why Jesus challenges his disciples to read the appearances well as they walk one day in the north country of Palestine. “Who do people say I am?” he asks them.
The setting was quite appropriate for such a question, even if it does not immediately strike us that way from our first reading of the text. They were wandering in the region of Caesarea Philippi, we are told. This was a relatively new city built near the site of an ancient gathering place of spiritual significance on the slopes of Mount Hermon.
Mount Hermon is the highest point in Galilee, a striking conical dormant volcano that provides the only significant ski slopes in modern Israel. Because of its high altitude and its position in the northern regions of the land, Mount Hermon receives more rain on its slopes than do many parts of Palestine. The waters not only run down in creeks and streams, but they also sink below the surface to produce springs on the lower skirts of its foothills.
Near Caesarea Philippi there are springs and streams that create an exceptionally well-watered area. Trees grow in abundance and provide a shaded canopy filled with the sounds of gurgling and trickling waters, and a chorus of bird song. It is no wonder that Jesus would take his disciples there for a strolling Socratic teaching session.
But the place held more than just pleasant park-like settings. Because the waters bubbled and gurgled up from caves at the base of the mountain, area residents had long believed this to be the doorway into the underworld. Here, they thought, the spirits of the deep tried to communicate with creatures on the surface. Sometimes sulfuric gasses were emitted, and these only confirmed the presence of otherworldly voices and the breath of Hades.
Over the centuries a variety of religious sects had used the place as a cultic shrine. They cut niches in the rock walls of the mountain just above the burbling caves and set up statues of gods they thought might be resident there. They even gave the place a spiritual name. They called it “The Gates of Hades.” Here, they believed, was the doorway between the realm of the living and the abode of the dead. Those with keen faculties would be able to hear the whispers of the departed and the voice of the underworld gods. It was considered to be a very holy place.
But appearances can be deceiving, so Jesus comes with his disciples to test their perceptions. “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”
We ought not read too much into Jesus’ self-identification here. Some think he is making a divine claim already in the question that he asks his disciples. But it is more likely that Jesus is using the term “Son of Man” in a manner similar to that found in the prophecy of Ezekiel. According to Ezekiel, when he was approached by heavenly messengers to form a link in the communication process between God and God’s people, the angels called him “Son of Man.” The designation was more of a representational term than anything else. In effect it was an acknowledgement that Ezekiel was truly human, but that he was being used in these settings as the conduit between the celestial and the terrestrial.
The “Son of Man,” thus, was someone who had no unusual powers in himself, but who had been entrusted with a special revelation that was now supposed to be passed along to others. If Jesus used the term in this manner, he was merely asking his disciples what people thought about him now that he had become a point of contact between them and God.
So the answers came. “Some say John the Baptist,” they told him. This was Herod’s favorite and fearful line. Herod had long been fascinated with Jesus’ cousin John, a wild man who lived outside the system. But John was also a prophet who criticized the system and those who ran it, and no one came under more of John’s judgmental tirade than did Herod. Herod’s forebears had taught him how to survive in politics: it was a matter of deception, bribery, murder, and power plays. When Herod dared to kill his brother and marry his brother’s wife, it surprised few. After all, they had been carrying on an openly “secret” affair for years. Moreover, the new alliance produced political benefits for a variety of courtiers and solidified Herod’s rule in territorial acquisition and the conferring of titles.
Herod wanted to get rid of John, but he hesitated to kill the man. For one thing John was a popular figure, and Herod didn’t want to build too much resistance. After all, he fancied himself a true “King of the Jews,” even if his ethnicity made that a huge stretch, and his religious devotion announced it to be a farce.
Fear of a popular uprising wasn’t the only reason Herod didn’t want to execute John. Herod was also superstitious enough to believe that John actually spoke for a powerful divinity. So Herod was trying to play it safe. He was not about to garner more ire than necessary, especially if it came from transcendent sources. To have a powerful God against you was an unwise political bargain.
Still, John’s public indignation against Herod, especially after Herod stole his brother’s wife, was more than the king could tolerate. Herodias, too, disliked the man. She was at least as cunning as her new husband, and would not dismiss John quietly like some quack or minor irritation. Together they had John put in prison. Even there, however, the prophet refused to be silenced. Herod himself made many secret trips to see the man, now that he was so close at hand. And others who claimed to be John’s disciples had ongoing access to their leader through sympathetic guards. The martyr-like John in prison was almost more powerful than was the former wild man of the Jordan valley. His mystique only grew larger.
So Herodias devised a plan to push Herod into the executioner’s chair. Using her daughter’s beguiling dancing as a lure, she created a scenario where Herod had to buckle. At a heads-of-states banquet where Herod hosted his powerful friends, Herodias got her daughter to serve as entertainment, and then coaxed out of Herod a drunken public promise to reward her seductive whirling in any way she wished. Too late Herod realized his wife’s part in the plot when it was John the Baptist’s head the young woman demanded as payment (Matthew 14:1-12).
Herod followed through on the recompense, for he had made a kingly vow. But since that time he had not slept well, believing that John would come back to haunt him. One may connive and kill others in the royal household, because that is the price of playing with power and living in its vortex. But John was an innocent from outside the system, and there would surely be divine retribution stalking Herod until blood was satisfied with other blood.
So when Jesus showed up looking like John, sounding like John, and running an itinerant school of prophets like John, Herod was sure John had come back to do him in. This new John was probably even more powerful than his previous incarnation -- hence the many miracles Herod had heard about -- and was probably building a broad base of support to take Herod down in a very painful and public way. Herod believed Jesus was John reborn, and had great reason to fear.
But Jesus wasn’t John, and the disciples knew it. They had seen John and Jesus together, and knew the one from the other.
There were other rumors about Jesus’ identity floating around, of course. “Elijah” was a favorite among the scribes. They copied scripture and knew it well. Since every manuscript was a handwritten, labor-intensive work of faith, the scribes were committed to knowing every detail of the holy books and transcribing them accurately.
Among the many prophetic notes they painstakingly reproduced was the one left by Malachi. Five hundred years before, when some of the Jews returned from Babylonian exile, three men had stood to communicate God’s new challenge to the restored community around Jerusalem. Haggai, the first of the prophetic trio, gave a divine word that was quick and specific. “Build the temple,” he shouted to Zerubbabel, “for the Lord your God is with you!” In a few brief motivational speeches on two separate occasions, Haggai served as the inspired cheerleader for this ragamuffin crew trying to pretend more strength than they felt in the face of overwhelming circumstances.
Zechariah was the second of the three most recent prophets. By way of apocalyptic visions Zechariah declared these days to be the harbinger of the end times. With smoke and fire and judgment God would soon come down to destroy all evil and to usher in the glory of the Messianic Age. It would happen right in and around Jerusalem, so those who had recently returned from exile should watch and wait and hope and pray.
The final member of the post-exilic band of prophetic brothers was Malachi. His very name meant “my messenger,” so he spoke unabashedly with the voice of God. When Malachi interacted with the crowds of Jerusalem, what emerged was a dialogue in which God accused, the people responded with rhetorical questions, and God preached sermons of indignation against them. One of the questions the people asked of God was why God did not return to this temple they had rebuilt. After all, when Solomon created the temple that used to stand here, God showed up at the dedication service and flooded the place with God’s own Shekinah glory presence. It was obvious that God had come to live in the temple.
But this time around God didn’t seem interested in moving in. An earlier prophet, Ezekiel, had declared visions in which he saw the glory of God leaving Solomon’s temple before the Babylonians finally destroyed it. Ezekiel had also predicted that the temple would be rebuilt, and firmly asserted that God’s glory presence would re-enter the place. Now the temple was resurrected, however, and still God had not shown up.
Malachi boomed the opinion of God that the people did not really want God in the neighborhood. God would show up when the people were really ready to have God around. As a sign of God’s good intentions, intoned Malachi, God would send another messenger to prepare the way. God would raise up Elijah of old, the first of the great prophets, and he would make things ready. Elijah would appear with stern speeches and mighty miracles. The people should get ready, for when Elijah came God would follow quickly on his heels.
That is why some people thought Jesus was Elijah. Especially among the scribes who copied the prophetic writings this idea took hold. Jesus spoke with divine authority. He performed miraculous healings, just like Elijah had done. Maybe this was the occasion for God to fulfill Malachi’s prophecies. If so, Jesus was the new Elijah.
But Jesus’ closest disciples knew that was another case of mistaken identity. After all, Jesus had recently spoken clearly about the matter (11:14). He said emphatically that John the Baptist was the person that Malachi had written about. John was the new Elijah.
So who, then, was Jesus? The disciples reported a couple of other rumors floating about. “Some say you are Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.”
Jeremiah was a fitting possibility. More than any of the other prophets, Jeremiah entered scripture with a well-developed personality and a clearly articulated identity. He often reflected introspectively on his divine calling and the painfulness of his vocation. Jeremiah’s friend Baruch added to the mystique by including biographical information into the record that contained Jeremiah’s prophetic tirades.
Moreover, Jeremiah did not disappear from the scene easily. At the end of his prophecies he urged the remnant remaining in Jerusalem to stay there and rebuild. But they were fearful of a return visit from the Babylonian armies, so they kidnapped Jeremiah and forced him to march with them to Egypt. It was at that point that Jeremiah slipped into the hazes of history. Many believed that soon he would recover and roar again out of the fog of time. So when Jesus quoted Jeremiah’s prophecy on several occasions, many were quick to pin the ancient seer’s name on this new man of God.
Yet Jesus knew better than anyone else that he was neither John nor Elijah, neither Jeremiah nor another of the prophets come back to life. So he put the matter squarely to those who shared his meals and his snoring and his daily dusty walk: “But who do you think I am?”
It was Peter, of course, who answered. Peter is like that boy who sat in the front row of our third-grade class. Our teacher would treat us as if we obviously knew what she was talking about. The problem was, we usually didn’t. But none of us dared admit our ignorance, believing we would be the butt of every ridicule for the rest of the year.
Not so the boy in the front row. He was already out to lunch in our books, and we loved to hate him for it. When our teacher told us things she expected us to know, he would raise his hand and ask her why or what she meant. She would patiently explain everything again more elaborately, and we were in our childhood glory -- we got from her what we needed but were too afraid to ask, and we got from our naïve classmate someone to razz for being so stupid.
So with Peter. The rest of the disciples don’t really know what to say. Can they call Jesus a miracle worker? Should they say he speaks with a prophet’s voice? Dare they admit they think he might be Messiah?
All their fears of communication faux pas are put to rest when Peter jumps too quickly into the embarrassing silence and blurts out that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. But there is no satisfaction here, for the answer is more troubling than the question. As long as Jesus was merely interested in public opinion this discussion was a pleasant way to pass time and share a place in the spotlight of success. But now that Jesus has demanded clarification from them, they cannot hide behind other skirts.
What should they say? How do you live with someone in the intimacy of the kind of relationship they have had with Jesus and yet linger on the fringes of mistaken identity?
Application
While all of our readings for today express something of mistaken identities, everything comes to a head in the gospel passage. As the song put it some years ago:
The greatest man I never knew lived just down the hall
And every day we said hello but never touched at all
He was in his paper, I was in my room
How was I to know he thought I hung the moon
The greatest man I never knew came home late every night
He never had too much to say; too much was on his mind
I never really knew him, and now it seems so sad
Everything he gave to us took all he had
Jesus is their familiar stranger. He is the man who lives down the hall, yet remains an enigma. The disciples know they don’t really know him, yet they are willing to live with the tension as long as nobody has to name it. We are not that different from them.
Alternative Application
Matthew 16:13-20. Somehow Peter had learned enough during his time as a student in Jesus’ rabbinical school to get the answer right on the oral exam. Somehow he managed to sift through the files of mistaken identities and come up with the declaration that Jesus is more than a prophet, more than a religious curiosity, more than a spiritual guru superstar. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus brought heaven to earth and earth to heaven. Jesus is the link between imminent and transcendent, and all of us need to know that if we are to get firm footing on the Rock that really matters.
With the wall of religious trends there at Caesarea Philippi framed in the background, Jesus affirmed Peter’s testimony. None of these other superstitions, commonly known as the “Gates of Hades,” spanned the gap between heaven and earth. They never do. We reach and hope and hedge our bets and pray. But unless we know the identity of Jesus, our religious actions are like bad gas burping from the caves of an old volcano.
So the question Jesus asked back then is always relevant. “Who do you say I am?” Do you know?
Appearances can be deceiving. Still, we often trust what we see more than what we read or hear. That is one of the reasons why television is so captivating. “Seeing is believing,” we say.
Sometimes appearances can even change the way we think about things, and “deceive” us into a whole new attitude. Consider, for example, the report of Dr. Maxwell Maltz, a former New York cosmetic surgeon, who tells of a magazine contest to find the ugliest young woman in the United States. Cruel as such a competition may seem, the magazine editors actually hoped to change the life of this unfortunate person for the better.
Photos poured in from all over North America. The editors selected a young woman with poor features, terrible grooming, and appalling clothes as the “Ugliest Girl in America.” For her prize, she won a plane ticket to New York City. There a team of specialists went to work on her. Dr. Maltz reshaped her nose and built up her chin. Others gave her a new hairstyle, an elaborate wardrobe of the latest fashions, and grooming instructions. In a modern Cinderella story, the “ugliest” became quite beautiful almost overnight. Within a few months she was married.
In fact, says Dr. Maltz, the young woman’s whole attitude toward life changed. Before the cosmetic transformation she had been shy and inhibited. She felt foolish and ignorant and out of place in almost any company. But once she had tasted what she could become, her personality also exploded with new possibilities. She became confident and poised, articulate and informed. She attracted people to herself in any crowd.
Appearances can be deceiving. But who among us would be able to say which appearance was the deceptive one -- the young woman whose photos won the “Ugliest Girl” contest, or the young woman who waltzed in beauty?
Each of today’s lectionary readings is connected to the theme of mistaken identity. Moses the Israelite destined for drowning death becomes instead the drawn-out prince of Egypt. Paul declares that the identities we think we have, granted by the world around us, are not our truest expression of who we are or should be. And Jesus carries on an interesting conversation with his disciples about whether anyone really understands who he is.
Do we know?
Exodus 1:8--2:10
The struggles of Israel in Exodus 1-19 involve a number of things. At the start there is the nasty relationship that has developed between the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Israelites. An editorial note declares that “Joseph” has been forgotten, and this small reference forms the bridge that later draws Genesis into an even more broadly extended historical prologue to the Sinai covenant. We will find out, by reading backwards, that Joseph was the critical link between the Egyptians and this other ethnic community living within its borders. When the good that Joseph did for both races was forgotten, the dominant Egyptian culture attempted to dehumanize and then destroy these Israelite aliens.
The deadly solution proposed by the Pharaoh in dealing with the rising population of his slave community may sound harsh, but it was likely a very modest and welcomed political maneuver among his primary subjects. Because there is virtually no rain in Egypt, with most of its territory lying in or on the edge of the great Saharan desert, the Nile is and was the critical source of water that sustained life throughout the region. The Nile “miraculously” ebbed and flowed annually, responding to the rains of central Africa thousands of miles away. Far removed from Egypt’s farmlands and cities, this process was attributed to the gods that nurtured Egyptian civilization. Thus it was fitting for the people to pay homage to these gods, especially by giving appropriate sacrifices to the power of the Nile. In that manner, having the boy babies of the Hebrews tossed into the Nile’s currents would not have been considered genocide, but instead it would be deemed a suitable civic and cultural responsibility. Such a practice provided the Nile god with fittingly dear tribute, and at the same time allowed the bulk of the Egyptian population to save its own babies by substituting those of this surrogate vassal people living within their borders.
The meaning of Moses’ name is derived from the ancient Egyptian word describing the action of “emerging” or being “drawn from,” which connects Moses to the story of his discovery by the Pharaoh’s daughter (Exodus 2:10). But it also links Moses to the royal family of his era. Several generations before Moses’ birth, Aakheperkare (1520-1492) established a dynasty that ruled for nearly a century, with three successive males in the leadership line identifying themselves as “Thutmose.” This name meant “draw from...” or “born out of Thot,” one of the more important gods of the ancient Egyptian pantheon. Greater still was Ra, the sun god, for whom Thot acted as a primary guardian or emissary, and whose identity the Pharaohs of Moses’ own day took upon themselves: Menpehtire Ramses -- “drawn from...” or “born out of Ra” (1292-1290) and Usermaatre-setpenre Ramses (Ramses II or Ramses “The Great,” 1279-1213). In any case, Moses’ training in the palace schools would provide him with skills that set him apart from the rest of the Israelites in preparation for his unique leadership responsibilities.
Romans 12:1-8
Paul may well have had to wrestle his way through that problem of divine election (Romans 9-11) at least in part because of the mixed Jewish-Gentile makeup of the Roman congregation. This possible tension seems to reassert itself again in Paul’s applications of Christian behavior in the chapters that follow, beginning with today’s New Testament reading. First, Paul urges a lifestyle of service rooted in sacrifice to Jesus (12:1-2), shaped by spiritual giftedness (12:3-8), and energized by love (12:9-21). Then Paul makes this servant behavior even more specific, by nodding to its public expressions (Romans 13): obey the government as a tool of God’s care in the restraint of evil (13:1-6), and live as good neighbors who glow with the righteousness of God in some pretty dark neighborhoods (13:8-14). Finally, Paul revisits the issues surrounding the matter of the purchase and consumption of meat offered to idols (Romans 14:1--15:13), just as he had probed it in 1 Corinthians 8:1--11:1. Here, though, the overt tensions between legalistic and licentious extremes of Christian behavior seem less consuming than they did when Paul wrote to the Galatians and the Corinthians. Instead, his instructions flow more gently out of his social ethic of love and service.
Matthew 16:13-20
Faith is a matter of appearances as well. It is important that we understand who Jesus is, not just in our sometimes mistaken notions of who we would like him to be, but who he is by his own testimony and actions. That seems to be why Jesus challenges his disciples to read the appearances well as they walk one day in the north country of Palestine. “Who do people say I am?” he asks them.
The setting was quite appropriate for such a question, even if it does not immediately strike us that way from our first reading of the text. They were wandering in the region of Caesarea Philippi, we are told. This was a relatively new city built near the site of an ancient gathering place of spiritual significance on the slopes of Mount Hermon.
Mount Hermon is the highest point in Galilee, a striking conical dormant volcano that provides the only significant ski slopes in modern Israel. Because of its high altitude and its position in the northern regions of the land, Mount Hermon receives more rain on its slopes than do many parts of Palestine. The waters not only run down in creeks and streams, but they also sink below the surface to produce springs on the lower skirts of its foothills.
Near Caesarea Philippi there are springs and streams that create an exceptionally well-watered area. Trees grow in abundance and provide a shaded canopy filled with the sounds of gurgling and trickling waters, and a chorus of bird song. It is no wonder that Jesus would take his disciples there for a strolling Socratic teaching session.
But the place held more than just pleasant park-like settings. Because the waters bubbled and gurgled up from caves at the base of the mountain, area residents had long believed this to be the doorway into the underworld. Here, they thought, the spirits of the deep tried to communicate with creatures on the surface. Sometimes sulfuric gasses were emitted, and these only confirmed the presence of otherworldly voices and the breath of Hades.
Over the centuries a variety of religious sects had used the place as a cultic shrine. They cut niches in the rock walls of the mountain just above the burbling caves and set up statues of gods they thought might be resident there. They even gave the place a spiritual name. They called it “The Gates of Hades.” Here, they believed, was the doorway between the realm of the living and the abode of the dead. Those with keen faculties would be able to hear the whispers of the departed and the voice of the underworld gods. It was considered to be a very holy place.
But appearances can be deceiving, so Jesus comes with his disciples to test their perceptions. “Who do people say the Son of Man is?”
We ought not read too much into Jesus’ self-identification here. Some think he is making a divine claim already in the question that he asks his disciples. But it is more likely that Jesus is using the term “Son of Man” in a manner similar to that found in the prophecy of Ezekiel. According to Ezekiel, when he was approached by heavenly messengers to form a link in the communication process between God and God’s people, the angels called him “Son of Man.” The designation was more of a representational term than anything else. In effect it was an acknowledgement that Ezekiel was truly human, but that he was being used in these settings as the conduit between the celestial and the terrestrial.
The “Son of Man,” thus, was someone who had no unusual powers in himself, but who had been entrusted with a special revelation that was now supposed to be passed along to others. If Jesus used the term in this manner, he was merely asking his disciples what people thought about him now that he had become a point of contact between them and God.
So the answers came. “Some say John the Baptist,” they told him. This was Herod’s favorite and fearful line. Herod had long been fascinated with Jesus’ cousin John, a wild man who lived outside the system. But John was also a prophet who criticized the system and those who ran it, and no one came under more of John’s judgmental tirade than did Herod. Herod’s forebears had taught him how to survive in politics: it was a matter of deception, bribery, murder, and power plays. When Herod dared to kill his brother and marry his brother’s wife, it surprised few. After all, they had been carrying on an openly “secret” affair for years. Moreover, the new alliance produced political benefits for a variety of courtiers and solidified Herod’s rule in territorial acquisition and the conferring of titles.
Herod wanted to get rid of John, but he hesitated to kill the man. For one thing John was a popular figure, and Herod didn’t want to build too much resistance. After all, he fancied himself a true “King of the Jews,” even if his ethnicity made that a huge stretch, and his religious devotion announced it to be a farce.
Fear of a popular uprising wasn’t the only reason Herod didn’t want to execute John. Herod was also superstitious enough to believe that John actually spoke for a powerful divinity. So Herod was trying to play it safe. He was not about to garner more ire than necessary, especially if it came from transcendent sources. To have a powerful God against you was an unwise political bargain.
Still, John’s public indignation against Herod, especially after Herod stole his brother’s wife, was more than the king could tolerate. Herodias, too, disliked the man. She was at least as cunning as her new husband, and would not dismiss John quietly like some quack or minor irritation. Together they had John put in prison. Even there, however, the prophet refused to be silenced. Herod himself made many secret trips to see the man, now that he was so close at hand. And others who claimed to be John’s disciples had ongoing access to their leader through sympathetic guards. The martyr-like John in prison was almost more powerful than was the former wild man of the Jordan valley. His mystique only grew larger.
So Herodias devised a plan to push Herod into the executioner’s chair. Using her daughter’s beguiling dancing as a lure, she created a scenario where Herod had to buckle. At a heads-of-states banquet where Herod hosted his powerful friends, Herodias got her daughter to serve as entertainment, and then coaxed out of Herod a drunken public promise to reward her seductive whirling in any way she wished. Too late Herod realized his wife’s part in the plot when it was John the Baptist’s head the young woman demanded as payment (Matthew 14:1-12).
Herod followed through on the recompense, for he had made a kingly vow. But since that time he had not slept well, believing that John would come back to haunt him. One may connive and kill others in the royal household, because that is the price of playing with power and living in its vortex. But John was an innocent from outside the system, and there would surely be divine retribution stalking Herod until blood was satisfied with other blood.
So when Jesus showed up looking like John, sounding like John, and running an itinerant school of prophets like John, Herod was sure John had come back to do him in. This new John was probably even more powerful than his previous incarnation -- hence the many miracles Herod had heard about -- and was probably building a broad base of support to take Herod down in a very painful and public way. Herod believed Jesus was John reborn, and had great reason to fear.
But Jesus wasn’t John, and the disciples knew it. They had seen John and Jesus together, and knew the one from the other.
There were other rumors about Jesus’ identity floating around, of course. “Elijah” was a favorite among the scribes. They copied scripture and knew it well. Since every manuscript was a handwritten, labor-intensive work of faith, the scribes were committed to knowing every detail of the holy books and transcribing them accurately.
Among the many prophetic notes they painstakingly reproduced was the one left by Malachi. Five hundred years before, when some of the Jews returned from Babylonian exile, three men had stood to communicate God’s new challenge to the restored community around Jerusalem. Haggai, the first of the prophetic trio, gave a divine word that was quick and specific. “Build the temple,” he shouted to Zerubbabel, “for the Lord your God is with you!” In a few brief motivational speeches on two separate occasions, Haggai served as the inspired cheerleader for this ragamuffin crew trying to pretend more strength than they felt in the face of overwhelming circumstances.
Zechariah was the second of the three most recent prophets. By way of apocalyptic visions Zechariah declared these days to be the harbinger of the end times. With smoke and fire and judgment God would soon come down to destroy all evil and to usher in the glory of the Messianic Age. It would happen right in and around Jerusalem, so those who had recently returned from exile should watch and wait and hope and pray.
The final member of the post-exilic band of prophetic brothers was Malachi. His very name meant “my messenger,” so he spoke unabashedly with the voice of God. When Malachi interacted with the crowds of Jerusalem, what emerged was a dialogue in which God accused, the people responded with rhetorical questions, and God preached sermons of indignation against them. One of the questions the people asked of God was why God did not return to this temple they had rebuilt. After all, when Solomon created the temple that used to stand here, God showed up at the dedication service and flooded the place with God’s own Shekinah glory presence. It was obvious that God had come to live in the temple.
But this time around God didn’t seem interested in moving in. An earlier prophet, Ezekiel, had declared visions in which he saw the glory of God leaving Solomon’s temple before the Babylonians finally destroyed it. Ezekiel had also predicted that the temple would be rebuilt, and firmly asserted that God’s glory presence would re-enter the place. Now the temple was resurrected, however, and still God had not shown up.
Malachi boomed the opinion of God that the people did not really want God in the neighborhood. God would show up when the people were really ready to have God around. As a sign of God’s good intentions, intoned Malachi, God would send another messenger to prepare the way. God would raise up Elijah of old, the first of the great prophets, and he would make things ready. Elijah would appear with stern speeches and mighty miracles. The people should get ready, for when Elijah came God would follow quickly on his heels.
That is why some people thought Jesus was Elijah. Especially among the scribes who copied the prophetic writings this idea took hold. Jesus spoke with divine authority. He performed miraculous healings, just like Elijah had done. Maybe this was the occasion for God to fulfill Malachi’s prophecies. If so, Jesus was the new Elijah.
But Jesus’ closest disciples knew that was another case of mistaken identity. After all, Jesus had recently spoken clearly about the matter (11:14). He said emphatically that John the Baptist was the person that Malachi had written about. John was the new Elijah.
So who, then, was Jesus? The disciples reported a couple of other rumors floating about. “Some say you are Jeremiah or one of the other prophets.”
Jeremiah was a fitting possibility. More than any of the other prophets, Jeremiah entered scripture with a well-developed personality and a clearly articulated identity. He often reflected introspectively on his divine calling and the painfulness of his vocation. Jeremiah’s friend Baruch added to the mystique by including biographical information into the record that contained Jeremiah’s prophetic tirades.
Moreover, Jeremiah did not disappear from the scene easily. At the end of his prophecies he urged the remnant remaining in Jerusalem to stay there and rebuild. But they were fearful of a return visit from the Babylonian armies, so they kidnapped Jeremiah and forced him to march with them to Egypt. It was at that point that Jeremiah slipped into the hazes of history. Many believed that soon he would recover and roar again out of the fog of time. So when Jesus quoted Jeremiah’s prophecy on several occasions, many were quick to pin the ancient seer’s name on this new man of God.
Yet Jesus knew better than anyone else that he was neither John nor Elijah, neither Jeremiah nor another of the prophets come back to life. So he put the matter squarely to those who shared his meals and his snoring and his daily dusty walk: “But who do you think I am?”
It was Peter, of course, who answered. Peter is like that boy who sat in the front row of our third-grade class. Our teacher would treat us as if we obviously knew what she was talking about. The problem was, we usually didn’t. But none of us dared admit our ignorance, believing we would be the butt of every ridicule for the rest of the year.
Not so the boy in the front row. He was already out to lunch in our books, and we loved to hate him for it. When our teacher told us things she expected us to know, he would raise his hand and ask her why or what she meant. She would patiently explain everything again more elaborately, and we were in our childhood glory -- we got from her what we needed but were too afraid to ask, and we got from our naïve classmate someone to razz for being so stupid.
So with Peter. The rest of the disciples don’t really know what to say. Can they call Jesus a miracle worker? Should they say he speaks with a prophet’s voice? Dare they admit they think he might be Messiah?
All their fears of communication faux pas are put to rest when Peter jumps too quickly into the embarrassing silence and blurts out that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. But there is no satisfaction here, for the answer is more troubling than the question. As long as Jesus was merely interested in public opinion this discussion was a pleasant way to pass time and share a place in the spotlight of success. But now that Jesus has demanded clarification from them, they cannot hide behind other skirts.
What should they say? How do you live with someone in the intimacy of the kind of relationship they have had with Jesus and yet linger on the fringes of mistaken identity?
Application
While all of our readings for today express something of mistaken identities, everything comes to a head in the gospel passage. As the song put it some years ago:
The greatest man I never knew lived just down the hall
And every day we said hello but never touched at all
He was in his paper, I was in my room
How was I to know he thought I hung the moon
The greatest man I never knew came home late every night
He never had too much to say; too much was on his mind
I never really knew him, and now it seems so sad
Everything he gave to us took all he had
Jesus is their familiar stranger. He is the man who lives down the hall, yet remains an enigma. The disciples know they don’t really know him, yet they are willing to live with the tension as long as nobody has to name it. We are not that different from them.
Alternative Application
Matthew 16:13-20. Somehow Peter had learned enough during his time as a student in Jesus’ rabbinical school to get the answer right on the oral exam. Somehow he managed to sift through the files of mistaken identities and come up with the declaration that Jesus is more than a prophet, more than a religious curiosity, more than a spiritual guru superstar. Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God. Jesus brought heaven to earth and earth to heaven. Jesus is the link between imminent and transcendent, and all of us need to know that if we are to get firm footing on the Rock that really matters.
With the wall of religious trends there at Caesarea Philippi framed in the background, Jesus affirmed Peter’s testimony. None of these other superstitions, commonly known as the “Gates of Hades,” spanned the gap between heaven and earth. They never do. We reach and hope and hedge our bets and pray. But unless we know the identity of Jesus, our religious actions are like bad gas burping from the caves of an old volcano.
So the question Jesus asked back then is always relevant. “Who do you say I am?” Do you know?
