THE MESSIAH MANY DIDN’T EXPECT
Last Sunday, we stood with Peter at one of the great mountaintops of faith. Jesus asked his disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" And Peter answered:
"You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God."
It was a remarkable confession. Peter saw what many others could not. He recognized that in Jesus, God was doing something new and extraordinary. Yet in today's Gospel, we discover that Peter may have known who Jesus was, but he did not yet understand what kind of Messiah Jesus would be.
The moment Jesus begins speaking about suffering, rejection, the cross, and death, Peter objects.
"God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you."
Peter cannot imagine that suffering could have anything to do with God's purposes. And if we are honest, neither can we. Most of us would prefer a Messiah who fixes problems rather than enters them. We would prefer a Messiah who removes suffering rather than walks through suffering. We would prefer a Messiah who wins quickly and decisively.
But Jesus reveals something entirely different.
The question before us this morning is not simply, "Who is Jesus?" The deeper question is:
What kind of Messiah is Jesus? And perhaps an even more challenging question: What kind of Messiah are we looking for?
Because every generation creates an image of the Messiah that reflects its own hopes and fears.
In Jesus' day, many hoped for a Messiah who would overthrow Rome. A strong leader. A military hero. Someone who would defeat enemies and restore national greatness. Peter carried those expectations. When Jesus spoke of suffering and death, Peter thought Jesus was talking about failure. But Jesus was revealing God's way of transforming the world.
And two thousand years later, we still struggle with the same misunderstanding. We still look for salvation through power.
We still believe that strength comes through domination. We still imagine that winning is more important than faithfulness.
Look at our world.
We live in a time of extraordinary technological advancement, yet we are witnessing extraordinary human suffering. Wars continue to devastate communities and families. Political divisions grow deeper. Public discourse is increasingly shaped by anger and fear.
Millions of people are displaced from their homes. Climate disasters affect communities across the globe. Even here in British Columbia, we have seen wildfires, floods, and extreme weather reshape entire communities. People are anxious. People are tired. People are worried about the future.
And in such times, there is a temptation to look for strong saviours. Strong leaders. Strong governments. Strong institutions. Strong ideologies. Yet Jesus points us in a different direction. He points us toward the power of sacrificial love, the power of compassion, the power of faithfulness and the power of the cross.
That is not the Messiah Peter expected. And it is often not the Messiah we expect either. Because the cross makes us uncomfortable. The cross reminds us that love is costly. The cross reminds us that discipleship involves sacrifice. The cross reminds us that following Jesus is not simply about receiving blessings. It is about becoming a blessing.
I often think that parish life teaches us this better than any textbook. In every congregation there are people carrying crosses that no one else fully sees. There is the widow who comes faithfully every Sunday even though the pew beside her has been empty for years.
Someone is looking after a spouse living with dementia. There is a parent who is worrying about an adult child who seems lost. There is the parish volunteer who quietly sets up chairs, prepares coffee, visits the sick, balances accounts, or tends the garden, never seeking recognition.
Some carry grief that remains long after the funeral is over. There are those living with chronic illness who continue to trust God one day at a time.
Most crosses do not look dramatic. Most crosses are carried quietly. Most crosses are carried faithfully. And often, they are carried with remarkable grace.
In parish ministry, I have discovered that some of the strongest Christians are not those who speak most loudly about faith.
They are those who continue loving when life has given them every reason to become bitter. They continue serving when they are tired. They continue praying when answers seem slow in coming. They continue trusting when they cannot see the way ahead. That is the way of the cross. That is the way of Christ.
Jesus says,
"If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me."
Those words have sometimes been misunderstood. Jesus is not telling us to think less of ourselves. He is not asking us to become doormats. He is not glorifying suffering.
Rather, he is inviting us to place God at the centre of our lives rather than ourselves. He is inviting us to move beyond self-preservation as our highest value. The world says: "Protect yourself." Jesus says: "Give yourself." The world says: "Look after your own interests first." Jesus says: "Love your neighbour." The world says: "Win." Jesus says: "Be faithful." The world says: "Fear." Jesus says: "Trust."
And that may be one of the greatest challenges facing Christians today. Fear surrounds us. Fear of economic uncertainty. Fear of change. Fear of decline. Fear of losing what we cherish. One of our Parishioners said words that I will never forget- she said, “As we look into the future, let's be more prayerful than fearful”.
My friends, the world does not need a Church obsessed with its own survival. The world needs a Church that embodies the way of Jesus. A Church that welcomes strangers. A Church that feeds the hungry. A Church that comforts the grieving. A Church that stands with the vulnerable. A Church that offers hope where others offer despair. A Church that refuses to let fear have the final word. Because that is exactly what Jesus did.
When I started Grade One, there was one thing I loved. Every time I did well on a test, my teacher would place a shining gold star in my exercise book. I would proudly show it to my parents and friends. Those stars felt like applause. They told me I had done something right.
But then came the day when I failed a test. Instead of a gold star, the teacher drew a large zero, gave it ears, eyes, and a mouth, and wrote underneath, “Try harder next time.” One day I was receiving praise; the next day I was being corrected. It was a humbling experience.
Peter must have felt something similar in today's Gospel. At first, he receives the equivalent of a gold star from Jesus. When Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter gives the right answer: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus praises him in front of everyone: “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah!” It is a moment of applause, affirmation, and recognition. Peter gets the answer exactly right.
But only moments later, the gold star disappears. Jesus begins to explain that this Messiah must suffer, be rejected, be killed, and on the third day rise again. Peter cannot accept it. He takes Jesus aside and says, in effect, “No, Lord, that's not how the story is supposed to go.” Then comes one of the sharpest rebukes in the Gospels: “Get behind me, Satan!”
How could Peter move so quickly from “Blessed are you” to “Get behind me, Satan”? The answer is that Peter had the right title for Jesus but the wrong understanding of what that title meant.
The Messiah Peter expected was not the Messiah God sent. And often the Christ we want is not the Christ who comes to us. Yet the good news is that God's Messiah is far greater than our expectations. For through suffering comes redemption, through the cross comes resurrection, and through self-giving love comes the salvation of the world.
That was a lesson Peter had to learn. It is a lesson the Church is still learning. And it is a lesson each one of us must learn as we follow Jesus on the way of the cross. Amen