Bible reading: Matthew 16:13-28.

John McEnroe was one of the greatest male tennis players of his day. He won seven Grand Slam titles including three at Wimbledon and was No.1 in the world for 170 weeks. Today he is a respected senior commentator on the game, but back in 1981 he was just 22 years old and known as known as “Superbrat” because of his fiery temper. For many people he has always been defined by one brief moment during that summer, when he argued with the umpire over a line call and said, “You cannot be serious!”. He was fined £750 and narrowly escaped disqualification. In later life he said, “I’d call it a mixed blessing but more positive than negative, ironically. it was the only time I said it in my 15-year career; then all of a sudden when I played on the Seniors’ tour, I got paid a bonus if I said it!”

I’m pretty sure that Peter the disciple never played tennis (although he did, of course, have intimate knowledge of nets!). But it does seem fairly clear that he, too, had a quick temper and we definitely know that he tended to make knee-jerk responses. And that’s exactly what we see in today’s reading when Jesus says, “I must go to Jerusalem; when I’m there I will suffer at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, be killed, and on the third day be raised”. Peter is aghast at what he’s heard, grabs Jesus and says (well, “says” is far too mild a word, he actually has a good go at him): “Master, you cannot be serious. That can never happen, it’s utterly unthinkable”. And this is when Jesus makes his famous reply: “Get behind me, Satan, and don’t even think of standing in my way; for you haven’t got even the faintest idea of what I’m saying”. Ouch! That must have hurt.

Before we think about this decidedly strange conversation, we need to look at where it sits in the Gospel story. When we do that, we realise that it comes just after a crucially important moment. Jesus has now been with his disciples for some time and hears them discussing what they’ve heard people saying about him. He says, “Right, tell me what you’ve heard”; and they reply, “Well, some folk think that you’re John the Baptist (who’d just been killed), others think that you’re one of the Old Testament prophets come back to life”. “OK”, says Jesus, “That’s what they’re saying. But what about you? Who do you think I am?” I guess that no-one wanted to reply, for fear of giving the wrong answer – you can easily imagine them exchanging worried glances. There’s an embarrassed silence; and then Peter (who else?) blurts out a reply.

What he says is staggering and potentially blasphemous: “We think that you are the Messiah, the Son of the living God”. He waits for a lightning bolt to strike him dead, or at least for Jesus to angrily reply, “Don’t be so ridiculous!” But neither of these things happen; instead, Jesus congratulates him for having given the right answer. The other disciples, who may or may not have come to same conclusion, listen and realise that, after this confession, things can never be the same.

It’s immediately after this that Jesus announces that he’s going to Jerusalem to suffer and die – Luke’s Gospel says that he “set his face” to go. But, for Peter and his colleagues, what Jesus is saying simply doesn’t form part of the script. The Messiah will be a mighty warrior who will raise up an army to kick out the hated Romans and make Israel great again, he will be a king reigning from his glorious palace in Jerusalem, the disciples will be given high-status roles in his new government – isn’t that what they signed up to when they responded to Jesus’ call? Suffering and dying, let alone (as Jesus goes on to say) taking up crosses formed no part of their thinking. It’s no wonder that Peter was so resistant: he was only saying out loud what the others were all thinking. For Jesus tells them that they’ve correctly worked out who is – and then says that they haven’t understood him at all.

I don’t think we should blame Peter for his reaction: the notion of a rejected and suffering Messiah flew in the face of accepted Jewish belief. Had we been there we’d have almost certainly said something very similar. Now, of course, Christians believe that the Messiah’s path to victory of evil could only come through the Cross – but Peter didn’t know that. Nevertheless, the suggestion that Jesus should turn away from Jerusalem and stay on the path of safety was a temptation akin to those he had endured during his forty days in the wilderness: superficially attractive, even sensible, but one which would destroy his entire ministry. If Jesus has chosen to do what the disciples expected, what would have been the result? It could only have been of a poorly-armed raggle-taggle Jewish militia mounting a feeble revolt against the mighty Romans. They would have been crushed like flies.

In this context, Jesus’ stinging rebuke to “Get behind me, Satan” was entirely justified (and, by the way, that word “Satan” doesn’t have to be translated as “devil”, it can merely mean “adversary”). For Peter was, in effect, acting as a wolf in sheep’s clothing or as an unwitting tool of the Devil, desperate to thwart Jesus’ plans. Quite apart from the difficulties he may have had in thinking that the Messiah could suffer and die, there were far more human reasons for Peter reacting as he did. For he well knew what the Romans did to people who stood against them, and didn’t want to see his dear friend harmed. He may also have been wondering what might happen to him, Peter, if the authorities knew that he’d been a close associate of Jesus? Would they come after him as well? That was a worrying thought!

But there was something else, something which Jesus put his finger on when he said, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things”. In other words, Peter was only thinking of Jesus and his ministry in normal, human, rational terms. He wanted to see him succeed, draw a following, become well-known, make a name for himself in the world – not suffer a wretched criminal’s death. We’d agree that that was the logical and correct way for Peter to see things panning out – but it wasn’t what God had in mind at all. There are times when we need to step back from being logical, sensible and safe and realise that God may have totally different ideas from us – ideas which may seem to be barmy or bonkers! I’m not saying that that will be the case for all or even much of the time; but, when we’re making our plans and projections we always need to keep in the back or our minds that mantra which says, “My ways are not the same as yours”.

We can see this in the Bible with certain individuals who were asked by God to do things that were apparently ridiculous and stupid. We heard in Holiday Bible Club of Noah, told to build a huge boat on dry land – we can just imagine his neighbours’ sneers and taunts as he and his family laboured for years on this monstrosity. (They weren’t laughing when the flood waters started rising). There was Gideon, who was told to whittle his army down from 32,000 men to just 300, first by asking those who were fearful to come (logical) and then by seeing how they drank water (where was the sense in that?) This was surely madness, as they prepared to face the Midianites; yet, as you may recall, God knew what he was doing and had a cunning plan to give them victory. There was, too, Elijah, told to build an altar to prove that his God was more powerful than Baal. We can visualise the pagan prophets rolling around in glee as he drenches his offering in water – how stupid is that? But God sends his fire from heaven and the sacrifice is burned up.

You might say, “All those things happened in Bible times. Do you have any modern examples?” What about Jackie Pullinger, the oboe player from Croydon and a graduate of the Royal College of Music. In 1966 she felt that God wanted her to be a missionary but had no idea of where she was supposed to serve! She applied to several missionary organisations but was turned down by every one – they presumably had no idea of how they could use a musician!

We can imagine that, by this time, her friends were offering advice: “Well, you tried but clearly God had other ideas. What you need to do is settle down and get a job as a music teacher – you’ll still be able to serve God in your local church”. That was wise counsel – but Jackie wasn’t to be put off. She asked a young Curate what he thought she should do, and he basically said, “Find a ship that’s sailing round the world” (you could do that in those days) “get on it and, when you feel you’ve arrived at the right place, get off”. Well, Jackie’s “right place” turned out to be Hong Kong where, without knowing anyone or speaking Chinese, she established a youth club in the infamous Walled City and began a recovery programme for drug addicts. In 1988 she was awarded the MBE and in 2007 was given an Honorary Doctorate in Social Science from Hong Kong University. None of that would have happened if Jackie had been “sensible” and heeded the advice of friends who must have told her that she was out of her mind and that her youthful idealism would soon come crashing down.

If I had to sum up what today’s story is saying in just a few words, it would be something like: “It’s usually good to listen to sensible advice – but sometimes we must reject it”; or: “Sometimes God wants us to do things which seem absurd, but are right”; or: “Thinking purely in human terms can prevent God’s plans from being carried forward”. We’ve seen how this can work out in individuals – but how might this thought be applied to church life? It strikes me that churches aren’t usually very good at taking risks. When we think about our future plans, we tend to tread safe and familiar paths, we look very carefully at the state of our finances, we declare, “It’s not worth trying that, we know it will never work”, we say, “the gain won’t be worth the pain”.

Now I’m not saying that churches should be irresponsible, squandering their precious resources or taking on huge projects which they will never be able to complete. But nor should they function like over-cautious business enterprises, frightened of change, unwilling to take risks, ultimately betraying a lack of faith and trust in God. A church like ours has the enormous advantage (if we do things correctly) of making its big decisions as we gather in Church Meeting. I know that these meetings are often routine and mundane, but they shouldn’t be. In fact they ought to be opportunities where we can share our dreams and catch God’s vision together, times when we begin to sense God leading us in new ways and eventually giving us the enthusiasm and confidence to say: “Yes! What God is saying to us sounds impossible, ridiculous and costly. But we’re convinced that it is his will for us – so we commit ourselves to his vision. That’s what we know we must do”.

Peter Berger, who died in 2017, was an eminent Austrian-American sociologist; I first came across his work when I was studying for my Master’s degree in the 1990s. He was also a committed Christian in the Lutheran tradition and no mean theologian. And, commenting on Jesus’ crazy, even suicidal, notion of going willingly to the Cross, he says, “If the Church gives up this ‘folly’, it gives up itself and its very reason for being. This is why the pursuit of the ‘wisdom of the world’ is so pernicious. It is not just that it is more-or-less futile or philosophically dubious. More importantly, if the Church (or, for that matter, individual Christians) gives up the transcendent core of the tradition in order to placate this or that alleged spirit of the times, what is given up is the most precious truth that has been entrusted to the Church’s care: the truth about the redemption of men and women through God’s coming into the world in Christ”.

Going to the Cross was folly and death for Jesus – yet it brought life to the world. Peter didn’t yet understand that, but we do. So: are we willing to follow in his steps?