Pentecost 14A 2026

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

Last week we heard the preceding verses to today’s Gospel, Peter’s confession and Jesus’ response. Today we hear what it really means to confess Jesus as the Christ. It’s not a lesson likely to result in what some among us have described as “happy clappy people.” 

First, though, we have to deal with Simon, now called Peter. He’s a bit full of himself at this point, relishing the afterglow of Jesus’ response to Peter’s confession. Peter simply cannot accept that his Messiah must suffer rejection, cruelty, and death. After all, centuries of teaching point to the coming Messiah as a conquering king, one who will deliver Israel from those very things Jesus says must lie ahead not just for him, but as we soon learn, for those who follow him. 

Peter learns that as quickly as his earlier words echoed the Spirit of God, his next breath could just as easily inhale an opposing spirit. Jesus makes that point abundantly clear. “Get behind me, Satan!” It’s easy to envision the shock on Peter’s face, and even his gasp seeking a renewed spirit. 

I’ve often thought that Jesus isn’t just speaking to Peter at this point. His words are more directed at the spiritual source of Peter’s admonition. The Gospel begins with an encounter with that same source, where Jesus rejects the offer of power and worship. I wonder what he might say to those of us gathered today to celebrate his grasp of those very things he found necessary to reject. 

My thoughts also cause me to wonder what our world might be like if Jesus’ words were accepted. What if Satan, the accuser, the adversary, actually chose to heed them and instead of continuing to try to undo the work of Jesus, decided to follow him. It’s a great big “what if.” Maybe the biggest what if in history. 

“If anyone wants to be my disciple, that one must take up her or his cross and follow me.” He continues with words calling us to accept suffering and hardship, and even death, just as he will show he does for himself. 

Peter wasn’t the first to misunderstand what that means. Jeremiah, some five or six centuries before, bellowed his lament to God. He calls God out as unreliable, as a trickster who made promises to the prophet that appear to be broken, even completely forgotten. 
God’s answer feels a bit unwelcome, and again not leading to a state of “happy clappiness.” “You will stand before me.” Not in judgement, but as the front person speaking not just for God, but God’s own words to the people whom Jeremiah would rather see struck by several well-placed lightning bolts. 

God tells Jeremiah that the wounds, the sorrow, the rejection felt by the prophet are also borne by the One in whose name he speaks. It’s not easy to accept that your work might be justified only after your own life has ended, but later when your words become true, become historical fact. It’s also not easy to accept that those who must suffer are those you also love, revealing God’s own emotion while watching it happen. 

I once spent a weekend helping with a diocesan youth retreat, with about 150 teenagers gathered at a local parish. One of the breakout sessions focused on words from today’s Epistle. “Pray for those who persecute you.” Stories of bullying and other high school traditions came out. 

I switched the focus for a bit when I asked, “Have any of you prayed for Osama bin Laden lately?” He was still alive at that time. They stared at me, and I explained, “Not that his work will find success, but that his heart and mind might be changed.” A few weeks later I asked the same question of my parish across town. 

The crosses we bear could become known when cries for justice let go of the desire for vengeance, but instead go to the source of the many injustices around us and call their instigators to true discipleship, to follow Jesus with us. A cross we bear could be one where we let go of individual wants in order to help furnish someone else’s very real need. But I think the greatest cross we must bear is the one written in love shown toward those seemingly filled with hatred toward ourselves and others. 

Those crosses mean we die to ourselves, we repudiate many of the things that our selfish selves want to grab, leaving us with nothing life-giving to share with others. That is the discipleship Jesus means when he says, “Follow me.” 

Then we have to pick up one more cross, the one that asks, “Are we really following Jesus?” Is our work, is our soul’s desire, a revelation of the Spirit of the Messiah, the Son of the living God? If not, then we need to look again at who it is we truly follow. Yet, too many times, we decide to do that which makes us feel good about ourselves, and create a god in our image who we hope will magically make our own desires come true. 
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Because as Jeremiah learned, standing before God now, facing in the same direction as our Creator, seeing as God sees and speaking God’s word in so many ways, could mean that when we turn and stand before God in our final direction, facing the Giver of life, we find the salvation of the crosses borne by us, and once and for all, the cross borne for us. And then, we might hear another confession that identifies who we are, words that say, “Welcome home, my child.”