by Fred G. Garry - September 17, 2000
Texts: Matthew 16:13-23 and Mark 8:27-38 Sometimes what you don't say is more
important than what you do say. We've an been in a position,
a place, a meeting where when asked a question, we've held back.
"Tell me what you think?" Such questions are often
followed by a judicious pause. These pauses sometimes speak volumes.
It is true that in some cases the long pause is actually the
hurried attempt of a daydreamer to respond in an intelligent
sense. Silence can also be the absence of any coherent idea or
thought. Yet in most instances, the silence is a time where we
decide what to say, and what not to say.
What we don't say is sometimes essential.
Recently I was on vacation and during this time I was able to
sharpen my counseling skills. For during any given day there
were at least a half dozen moments of crisis where a parental
counselor/ arbitrator was called for. Kathy, quite graciously,
allowed me to handle some of these so to rejoin the real fray
of life. In each and every dispute, accusation, or call for binding
arbitration I noticed a rather persistent factor. Each party
left something out. And what they left out was usually the key
issue. If it was a boundary issue (someone was in someone else's
space), then they would leave out crucial evidence that led to
their presence; if it was an issue of ownership, then the whole
concept of sharing was somehow forgotten.
"You have to share with your brother."
Such a concept was greeted with a blank stare, and one of those
pauses, as if to say, "I'm not following you." Children
are notorious for omissions. Whole levels of decorum can be omitted
once they are out of earshot, or believe they are. And from these
breaches of decorum come stories that rival any respondent in
a senate hearing. "No. I have no recollection of that, senator.
To the best of my recollection I have no knowledge of that."
In fact during my time off I often felt there was on going senate
investigation into the wiles of playground life. "Why did
he hit you?" Blank stare.
"I don't know."
"Did you hit him?"
"Yes, but not that hard."
Somehow these details seem to slip right
out of their mind. But details are like that.
And this is true not only for children.
We are subject to such omissions. Events of the past with the
passage of time seem to wear smooth like stones on the shore.
With the coming and going of the tide of time our memories are
worn smooth and much of the details, the rough edges, are worn
away. That is a very poetic way of saying we forget, and thus
omit, whole parts of our life, and its course.
This would not pose a problem if we all
had a similar course, if we all were worn smooth in the same
way. But alas this is not the case. This is my favorite part
of family reunions, or witnessing domestic disputes. No one remembers
the story the same way. You can grow up hearing your father or
your mother tell the same childhood anecdote all your life, and
then have the fortune of hearing the events recalled by their
sibling, by a brother or sister, and somehow the same story is
completely changed. The change is almost always an issue of omission.
Something the teller has left aside, or forgotten.
Parents and children often have very
different memories as well. Often their differences are distinguished
by what is omitted by one and remembered by the other. The parent
will remember one aspect shaping the story, the child another.
Beleaguered parents bombarded by stories slanted in favor of
their child's memory can rest in the fact that as the species
is perpetuated, what has come around will go around.
Now without venturing into some psychoanalytical
speculation as to the origin of this difference, suffice it to
say, sometimes what we don't say, what we don't remember, what
we omit, is as important as what we do say, remember, or retain.
New Testament scholars have had to wrestle with this truth when
they turn their gaze to the four gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke
and John all tell the same simple story: Jesus was born of Mary,
baptized by John, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified,
died, and was buried. This burial was followed three days later
by an empty tomb where an angel claimed Jesus had risen from
the dead. This is the basic story they all tell.
And if this was all that they said, then
there would be no need for endowed chairs of New Testament studies
at universities. In fact, each of the four go far beyond this
basic story. In their extended forays we find stories of Jesus'
birth, teachings, healings, disputes with Pharisees, meals, types
of washings, and even walking on water and the turning of water
into wine. Sometimes a story is retold differently in each of
the four gospels, sometimes a story is omitted in one but featured
prominently in another; sometimes a story is recast in such a
way that makes harmonizing all four very difficult.
Nowhere does the tendency for difference
and omission feature more prominently in a story than in the
one we read today. We read the same story twice. The first time
we heard Matthew's account of the story; the second time we heard
Mark's version. The story is known as the confession of Peter.
Each of the four gospels has a version of it. While all have
a version, the two most poignant and powerful are the ones we
read today. And the reason for this power is found in the omission
of Mark.
Mark leaves something out. He tells the
same story that Matthew does. Jesus asks who his disciples believe
he is, Peter says, "you are the Christ." Following
this declaration Mark goes directly to the words Jesus spoke
concerning his coming death. These words lead Peter to pull Jesus
aside and say, "hey, you're not going to die." And
then Jesus calls him Satan, and tells him to get behind, he is
looking to earthly things and not heavenly ones. Now this is
what Mark recounts, as does Matthew. Except, Matthew includes
something that Mark leaves out, the blessing of Peter.
If this were an innocuous blessing we
could simply shrug it off and keep going. But this is the grand
daddy of all blessings. This is a blessing that rivals Abraham's,
the blessing the whole Old Testament was built upon. Peter is
told in Matthew, blessed are you Simon Bar Jonah, heaven and
earth have not revealed this to you but my Father in heaven.
And then the biggies. Upon you I will build my church and I will
give you the keys to the kingdom. When Mark omits this blessing
it is like someone winning the lottery and forgetting to tell
his or her spouse. It's a big omission.
Most scholars believe two things about
this omission. The first is that the gospel writer, Mark, was
the protege of Peter. So in essence the gospel of Mark is the
story Peter told him. Which has always led me to imagine Mark
hearing the story from someone else and rolling his eyes thinking,
it would have been good to include this blessing. The second
thing most contend is that Peter did not include the blessing
as an act of humility, and more practically, to be able to use
this gospel as part of his own ministry rather than a kind of
personal claim about himself. Both of these things are very plausible
and accepted. But I don't believe they go far enough.
They don't go far enough because they
omit the great struggle of Peter, the struggle of faith and the
limit of our understanding. Again, I believe humility played
a role in omitting the blessing, but I also believe there was
a deeper purpose. And the purpose was this: the confession that
Peter offered and the rebuke that followed on its heals (you
are the Christ; get in back of me Satan), these two were of such
a great significance to Peter he wanted nothing to separate them,
or distract the reader from the potency. For truly Peter's confession
is the clearest most profound, simple unadulterated picture of
faith we have ("you are the Christ"); and the rebuke
is all those things turned upside down.
By omitting the blessing Peter let the
confession and the rebuke stand together, clearly. It's not as
if the gospel of Matthew waters them down, but in Mark's gospel
they stand without trapping, without adjective or aid. Peter
goes from apex to pit in a heartbeat. We are given a sense that
both of these exist in him: both faith and confusion, understanding
and misunderstanding. And with this picture we are close to what
I believe is Peter's greatest legacy. In him you and I can come
to God, not when we have everything worked out, figured out,
or cleared up, but with merely a simple faith. Peter could speak
the truth one moment offering the clearest understanding of who
Jesus is, and on the other hand offer a complete misunderstanding,
a total lack of trust.
I have always considered Peter my caveat
into the gospels because of his mistakes and his simple faith.
I can walk into the gospel story because I possess the simple
faith he confessed. I believe Jesus was God in our midst, God
of God, light of light, the messiah, the lamb of God who takes
away the sins of the world. I possess this simple faith, and
I also possess the profound misunderstanding of Peter. I too
can put my right foot into my mouth, and like Peter, I can only
do this after I dislodge my left foot, which has permanent parking
space there.
Peter is a caveat into the gospels, and
he is also a trusted guide. For he keeps me to the straight and
narrow. Like him, I am blessed. Now the last time I checked I
was not given the keys to the kingdom, but I am blessed. In fact
the more I look to my life and the world, in spite of difficulties
and hardships, the more blessedness I see. Yet even though I
have these blessings they are not what I truly am. And this is
Peter's work, Peter's reminder. At the core I am simply a moment
of confession, I believe in Jesus Christ; and after that things
get pretty chaotic and confusing. Add five children in a car
on a three-hour drive and there is little left that is clear.
Like Peter I don't have all the answers, so much as my soul has
been answered in Jesus Christ.
Peter may have omitted the blessing as
an act of humility. This is plausible. But I believe he omitted
it as a reminder, a clear reminder: we don't have all the answers;
we have fragmentary lives, and fragmentary stories that go with
them, stories full of omissions worn smooth by time; we have
faults and mistakes, broken parts and pieces; yet, yet there
is a spirit rising within us, working and willing salvation,
sometimes in spite of us.
Remember this day, at the core of who
we are is a simple confession: I believe Jesus is the Christ
saving us from sin and death. I would love to tell you such a
simple confession will provide all the answers to all our questions,
providing us with clarity and unswerving statements. Life just
doesn't live that way. God comes to us in our fragments, not
our perfections. Jesus never abandoned Peter, even when Peter
abandoned him.
Rejoice today in the blessings God has
brought to you, the wonder of creation, the strength of family
and friends, the memories you have no matter how partial or selective
they may be, and give thanks. And in their midst let your voice
speak our simple trust, you are the Christ. Amen.
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