Follow Me

Imagine yourself with Jesus and his disciples on the road. You’re dressed in simple, homespun clothes. You’re wearing leather sandals and your feet are covered with dust. Right now you’re walking along a dirt trail—but you might have spent some time earlier in the day on a stony Roman road. The region of Caesarea Phillipi was as far north as Jesus and his followers are ever reported to have gone, well north of the sea of Galilee. It’s rough country, hilly, rocky. You’re far from home.

You hear Jesus ask a question: “Who do people say that I am?”

That’s easy to answer, isn’t it? It’s no challenge to report what others say. John the Baptist. Or Elijah. Or one of the prophets. Today we might add “a teacher,” or “a spiritual leader.”

But then Jesus asks another question. “Who do you say that I am?”

That one’s harder, isn’t it? “Who do you say that I am?” Now you can’t just report on the current gossip. Now you have to declare yourself. Jesus has forced the issue, put you on the spot. How would you answer?

We all know Peter’s answer. “You are the Messiah.” Maybe that would be your answer as well. It’s a good answer, as far as it goes. The messiah. The savior promised by God. The anointed one. But maybe you’re not as sure of yourself as Peter was. Maybe you’re more like the other disciples, who responded to Jesus’s question with confused silence.

“Who do you say that Jesus is?” It’s a hard question.

Even Peter, who got it right, didn’t really understand what he was saying. Peter wanted a new King David who would ride in on a white horse and put all the evils of the world to right. He wasn’t looking for a messiah who would suffer and die. Peter’s version of the story didn’t include a cross.

Who do you say that Jesus is?

If Jesus’s disciples had trouble answering this question, maybe it’s not so surprising that we sometimes have trouble too.

Fortunately, today’s Gospel passage doesn’t end with Jesus’s question. Even if we can’t fully wrap our heads around who Jesus is, he still calls us to follow him.

Well, that’s good then. Maybe we’re off the hook. Maybe we can just follow Jesus and leave the complicated theology to others.

Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Hmm. That doesn’t sound so easy either.

The truth is that a life of faith isn’t easy.

We don’t have to do anything to earn God’s love. God’s love is certain, even before we ask.

But a life of faith is how we live in response to God’s love. And a life of faith has two parts: believing and acting.

The believing part is finding the courage to answer Jesus’s question for ourselves: “who do you say that I am?”

The acting part is choosing to follow him, whatever that choice might cost us.

What does that look like?

Jesus says it looks like denying yourself. It looks like taking up a cross. Losing your life for his sake and for the sake of the gospel.

That sounds difficult—but it also sounds exciting and important.

But I think one of the hardest things about a life of faith is that most of the time it isn’t so dramatic. Most of the time, it’s lived out in small ways, tiny gestures. A kind word. A glass of water. A moment of rudeness forgiven. A quiet prayer.

Jesus says that those who wish to follow him should love their enemies, care for their neighbors, give to those who ask, pray without ceasing, forgive others, pay attention to the small things.

Those small things matter.

There are as many small ways to follow Jesus as there are moments in a day, but I was particularly struck this morning by the letter to James and its warning to watch our words, to watch our tongues. “How great a forest is set ablaze by a small fire!” James says. “And the tongue is a fire.”

We tell children that “sticks and stones can break my bones but words can never hurt me.” But that isn’t really true, is it?

We’re living in a time when the power of words to do harm is as clear as it’s ever been. James’ description of the tongue works just as well as a description for much of social media: “a restless evil, full of deadly poison.”

Careless words one day. Bomb threats the next. Rumors turn to fear. Fear turns to hate. And hate can all too easily turn to violence.

As James says, “with [our tongue] we bless the Lord and Father, and with it we curse those who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing.”

“My brothers and sisters, this ought not to be so.”

It ought not to be so. But it’s a trap we’re all capable of falling into.

Paying attention to your own words is one small thing you can do to follow Jesus. Bless, and do not curse. Check yourself when you hear something that scares you. Pause before you repeat a good story that might be a lie. And remember that even if you do have enemies, Jesus commands you to love them.

Small things, maybe. But small things that matter. It’s all part of the dance of faith. Big, important ideas. And small actions, small moments.

Jesus asks, “who do you say that I am?” How you answer that question matters.

He says, “take up your cross and follow me.” How you do that matters too.

Yesterday was the feast of the Holy Cross. It’s a good time to remember that the power of the cross is a power of paradox, a power proved in weakness. The cross won’t stop a storm or change an unjust law. It won’t protect us from violence or from hatred. But the cross can give us the confidence to live in hope, and to act, always in love, secure in the knowledge that the most important battle is already won.

Whether you find yourself on a dusty road north of Galilee or at a kitchen table in Kansas, the scenes played out in today’s lessons give a pretty good outline of Christian life. Seeing Jesus. Answering his call. Recognizing him for who he is. Choosing to follow him even knowing what it might cost you. And then doing the next right thing, however small that thing might seem.