Is this a “Whoops!” or an “Aaaaaargh!”?
Posted by stpauls on August 28, 2011 under Sermons | 
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“Torch Song Trilogy” is a wonderfully disrespectful, hilarious, yet honest and genuine portrayal of gay life in North America in the 1980s. Starring Harvey Fierstein as Arnold, the 1988 movie makes you cry and laugh and cry again and laugh again. In one of the more heart-breaking exchanges towards the end of the movie, Arnold and his mother get into a serious fight. It is the clash of titans with no prisoners taken and deeply hurtful things being said. In the middle of this blood-boiling conflict, Arnold’s partner Ed enters the scene. Startled by the situation, Ed utters a single: “Whoops!” And because it is a classic, I want to quote Arnold’s reaction to Ed’s monosyllabic surprise:
“Ed, did you say ‘WHOOPS?’ No, Ed. ‘WHOOPS’ is when you fall down an elevator. ‘Whoops’ is when you skinny dip in a school of piranhas. ‘Whoops’ is when you accidentally douche with Drano. No, Ed. This was no ‘Whoops.’ This was an ‘Aaaaargh!’”
I was reminded of this, when reading the exchange between Jesus and Peter in today’s text from the Gospel according to Matthew. I am sure, Peter might have thought “Whoops!” after Jesus had cried out: “Get behind me, Satan!” But Jesus probably had more of a reaction akin to Arnold’s when Peter “took him aside and rebuked him.” For Jesus, this probably was an “Aaaaaargh!”
Just think about it: Peter and Jesus had travelled together for years. Jesus had shared his life and his teachings openly and the disciples had witnessed the depth and breadth of Jesus’ ministry in the world. And still: Peter didn’t get it. Peter didn’t understand that what and who Jesus was upset the political, economic, and religious elites as much as the spiritual powers in charge of this world. And together these dominions had already started to plot how to get rid of this itinerant preacher from the edges of society: Jesus was just too much as he threatened to overthrow the oppressive social and spiritual status quo and as he proclaimed God’s reign not in exclusive ways, but in ways that offered reconciliation for all. Class, status, ethnicity, gender, identity, and background matters no more: In Jesus, God’s saving embrace is accessible for all alike. In Jesus, the abundant compassion of the Creator is offered to each and every one of us, no exception. In Jesus, sins are forgiven and we can all be restored to the awesome beauty intended by God, regardless of what might have distorted this beauty and regardless of the voices that whisper despair, shame, fear, and condemnation.
Furthermore, in Jesus God’s justice and peace are proclaimed. These are not just secondary issues, but justice and peace are central to God’s self-revelation. A few chapters later, for example, Jesus judges rather harshly all those, who do not give food, do not give to drink, do not welcome, do not clothe, do not visit the most vulnerable.[1] And this very Gospel also proclaims that “peacemakers” are blessed, for they will be “called children of God.”[2] Yes, the reign of God is indeed a reign where all share around the table, where all have equal access, where all are sisters and brothers, and where spears are turned into ploughshares.[3]
Yep, in Jesus, God rocks the boat. Actually, in Jesus, God is doing something much more radical than this.
And Peter didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. And yes, a “Whoops!” just didn’t suffice in this situation. This whole affair is even more upsetting as it comes right after Peter had professed Jesus to be the “Messiah, the Son of the living God.”[4] Remember? This is what we heard just last week. And within a few verses Peter fails to live up to his own proclamation. No wonder, Jesus reacted the way he did. This was no “Whoops!” This was an “Aaaaargh!”
At this point, in today’s sermon, I have to make a cut. I have to stop this train of thought, because most of us know all this, right? I mean I have been preaching my heart out from this pulpit for the last seven years, joined by lay and ordained preachers alike, and before me Neil Grey, David Crawley, and many others. All of us together have delivered and listened to hundreds, if not thousands of sermons talking exactly about this. Week after week, we hear about how we should love God and love our neighbours. This is not news. And I fear I might have lost some of you already as you gently dozed off, thinking: Here we travel again into familiar territory. And maybe it is true that preachers only have one sermon, which they re-write and recycle every week…
But, despite hearing this over and over again, do we get it? Do we understand the radical message proclaimed on the pages of our sacred texts? Do we grasp the radical claim of the Gospel that goes way beyond a few well formulated teachings of a rabbi from Nazareth, but has to do with the life, the identity, the ontological self of the One born of our sister Mary? Do we dare to be embraced by the radical love of God, which seeks to engulf every fibre of our being?
For me, today’s text isn’t intriguing and challenging, because Peter still didn’t get it, which ultimately is true until the resurrection of Jesus fully opened his eyes, his other senses, and his heart and mind and soul. But my fascination lies in the fact that after a moment of prophetic recognition of Jesus’ identity it is as if Peter quickly ran away, because he couldn’t or didn’t want to deal with the implications. Rather than letting God’s radical message take a hold of him fully, Peter tried to control and manipulate it for his own agenda. Was it all just too embarrassing, too radical, and too much? Is that why today he shut down his own prophetic profession from last week?
I believe we have a tendency to do the same. Like Peter, when faced with the cross, that ultimate centre of the story of Jesus, we run the other way or soften its radicalism. This might be because we don’t want to upset, put off, or frighten others: Jesus’ teachings might be great, but the crucifixion is too much to stomach. Or we might think of spirituality as a private thing, which addresses our relationship with the divine, but has nothing to do with our way of life and how it impacts our interactions with others. Or we might just have heard the story too often and it has lost its challenging and upsetting radicalism. So we indeed tune off, like some of you might have about two minutes into this sermon.
Whatever the reason we run away, though, if what we do here on Sundays has no impact on what we do during the week; if our faith does not upset what is considered the norm, does not disturb the power-balances around us; if we try to take Jesus aside and rebuke him for his untidy, messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific radicalism; if we do not want to deal with Jesus who seeks to take a hold of every fibre of our being and who tries to penetrate our every way of interacting with the world, than this is not just a “Whoops!” – this is a major “Aaaaargh!”
Or to put it in more eloquently in the words of Dorothy L. Slayers, daughter of a Church of England priest, who lived from 1893 to 1957: “Not Herod, not Caiaphas, not Pilate, not Judas ever contrived to fasten upon Jesus Christ the reproach of insipidity; that final indignation was left for pious hands to inflict. To make of [Jesus’] story something that could neither startle, nor shock, nor terrify, nor excite, nor inspire a living soul is to crucify the Son of God afresh and put him to an open shame. ”[5] End of quote. What we witness in today’s Gospel text is Peter driving a nail into the hand of Jesus.
So what to do?
Well, thank God, God has not left us orphaned. We are not alone. God has sent us the Holy Spirit as a companion on the way to shake us up, to raise us from our nap, and to discern with us a way forward. And this is true both for us individually, as it is for us a community of faith.
And God has furthermore sent us human signposts to rock our boat and keep us moving. These include obvious candidates such as Catherine of Siena, Evelyn Underhill, Dorothy Day, or Florence Li Tim Oi. All these and so many more are voices from within our tradition that remind us that there is no such thing as cheap grace, but that we must stand with Jesus at the cross, stand with God in God’s suffering, in order to be taken into his resurrection.
But God has gifted us also with prophetic voices from outside our tradition: Mahatma Ghandi, Anne Frank, Harvey Milk, David Suzuki, Pitikwahanapiwiyin, and of course, Jack Layton. Yes, Jack’s political conviction did not meet with universal approval. But his prophetic voice and his passion for the plight of those overlooked by society, all so wonderfully expressed in his final letter to Canadians, remain a challenge for us –and they remain a reflection of the messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific radicalism of the Gospel.
Yes, the Gospel is messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific. Yes, the Gospel claims us whole and all. And, yes, the Gospel compels us to rock the boat and rock it mightily. But this is how we will find life. Or to put it in the words of Jesus the Christ: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?”[6]