Heartbreaker
Mark 8:31-38
Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’
He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, ‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.’
Last week, I talked about how the gospel of Mark is the simplest, starkest and least descriptive of the gospels, and I said it in a rather negative light. Mark isn’t my favorite gospel (though it was my favorite when I was studying Greek in divinity school since it was by default the easiest). But I digress—this week, its starkness really adds to the urgency and the reality of what Jesus was warning his disciples. Mark pulls no punches, Mark doesn’t sugarcoat anything, he makes it clear that following Jesus means pain, it means hurt, it means hardship. In the gospel of Mark, Jesus spells it right out for his disciples—he’s going to suffer, be rejected, killed, and rise again after three days. Now, Peter doesn’t seem to hear the “rise again in three days” part—he’s clearly horrified by the idea that someone supposedly so powerful could suffer in any way, much less die and leave his followers behind.
Peter, as usual, means well, but Jesus is clearly deeply frustrated with him—“get behind me, Satan!” he yells at his friend. It wasn’t long ago that Jesus was being tempted in the desert by a satan, and adversary, tempting him to give up his difficult journey, tempting him to throw away everything for which he was sent to this world—now, Peter, though well-intentioned is doing the same thing. He doesn’t want to imagine this man he’s given up his life to follow suffering and dying for reasons he does not yet understand.
A few weeks back we talked about the dangers of toxic positivity, something that is all too prevalent in both Christian and American culture as a whole—it’s that concept of always looking on the bright side, of finding silver linings no matter what—it’s not allowing ourselves to face or confront the real issues and faults of today’s world; it’s not allowing ourselves to see the brokenness in today’s world, and we therefore will have no motivation to fix that brokenness. I have a hunch, that were Peter around today, he would be the perfect prey for toxic positivity. The interaction between Peter and Jesus in this passage would be akin to that situation we’ve probably all experienced—when we just want to vent to a trusted friend or our spouse, or any loved one, and that person, rather than responding with a compassionate validating of our feelings, instead responds with, “Well have you tried x y or z?” or maybe they respond with “no, no, there’s no reason to feel that way, look at x y and z!” I don’t know about you, but I see red when I vent to someone about something that’s really bothering me, or something that’s hurt me, and I’m met with what someone would see as an easy fix, or met with someone telling me I shouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling.
Jesus is infuriated with Peter’s brand of toxic positivity here, because he’s sick and tired of explaining himself—surely he’s scared of what he knows is coming, and here Peter is trying to tell him that he’s wrong, he doesn’t have to think about all that bad stuff— good vibes only here, Jesus, no bad vibes allowed!
After Jesus rebukes Peter back, I picture him closing his eyes, resetting for a minute, taking a deep breath, and then gathering the crowd around and explaining, yet again, what it means to follow him, and the sacrifices it’s going take. And so Jesus gives them several paradoxes—if you try to save your life you’ll lose it, and vice versa. But what the most crucial quote in this, especially in this season of Lent, is that “followers [must] deny themselves and take up their cross…”
In parsing this quote, we have to first realize that denying oneself doesn’t mean self-hatred, and it doesn’t mean denying oneself little treats or necessities (though denying material things certainly is a part of Jesus’ call, but this context speaks to something different). In this case, denying oneself is denying our ego and a selfish need for self-preservation. Denying oneself means living our lives in service to Jesus, which means living our lives in service to others. Because notice that Jesus says that followers need to take up “their” cross, he doesn’t say my cross—taking of Jesus’ cross would mean death for his followers, and there’s not much of a movement if his followers are all dead. But taking up our respective crosses does mean things will be difficult. It does mean our stances won’t be popular with the powerful. It means life isn’t going to be easy.
I wrote in my Thursday note to the church this week that for this sermon, I’ve been revisiting the German theologian Jurgen Moltmann’s book The Crucified God. I want to read a longer version of that quote—
It is true that in a technocratic society all human relationships are reduced to the level of things, and general apathy is spreading on an epidemic scale. It is true that in a world of high consumption, where anything and everything is possible, nothing is so humanizing as love, and a conscious interest in the life of others, particularly in the life of the oppressed. For love leaves us open to wounding and disappointment. It makes us ready to suffer. It leads us out of isolation into a fellowship with others, with people different from ourselves, and this fellowship is always associated with suffering. It changes the world, in so far as it puts life into a static situation and overcomes the death urge which turns everything into a possession or an instrument of power.
Love leaves us open to wounding and disappointment. It makes us ready to suffer. Most of us know this from our personal lives—opening ourselves up to love opens us up to the possibility of heartbreak—it opens us to the inevitability of heartbreak. It opens us up to the inevitability of grief. Whether we’ve had a loved one who died, or a relationship that’s ended, we’ve felt those feelings of deep, deep sadness because we took the risky action of loving. Just as we risk that heartbreak in our personal lives, we risk that heartbreak and suffering in our lives living for Jesus and others as well.
This world will break your heart. That’s what those in power want. Broken hearts can lead to despair… unless you find that fellowship with others that comes out of that heartbreak, that comes out of that isolation, as Moltmann writes.
Last week, I talked about the concept the wilderness as a metaphor for former NFL players who find themselves in the real world, adrift and unsure how to be, as young men no longer able to the only thing they’ve really done all their lives. Maybe the ultimate example of this is Colin Kaepernick, who, almost eight years ago now, knelt during the national anthem as a protest to bring attention to rampant police brutality and racial injustice against people of color, and since then, he has found himself in the NFL wilderness, a pro-bowler without a team, remaining unsigned despite immense talent. Kaepernick lost his career for doing something so seemingly small and simple as taking a knee during the anthem—not to protest the flag or the military, but to bring attention to racial injustice that remains one of this country’s most shameful sins.
Chris and I have been one a sort of WWII kick lately, we’ve been watching the miniseries Band of Brothers, and we also watched the incredibly disturbing movie Zone of Interest over the weekend, which is about the commandant of the Auschwitz concentration camp, and the idyllic life that he and his family lead living directly next door to the camp, the muffled sounds of gunshots and screams are constantly in the background while the family goes about their otherwise serene existence. After watching these two very different, but deeply moving pieces of WWII media, Jurgen Moltmann’s quote became even more meaningful to me—because Moltmann was a sixteen-years-old when he was drafted into the Nazi army in WWII. He was quickly captured and remained a POW for the remainder of the war, and in one camp, there were pictures of the concentration camps hanging in the POW’s bunker to show them what their country had done. Moltmann was horrified and for a long time didn’t want to live after knowing what his country did, and the type of army he was forced into. But it was during that time as a POW, that he found the redemptive power of Christianity, and the hope that can come from the heartbreak and brokenness of this world by way of the resurrection…
…but, we still have a ways to go before we get to the hope that comes with the resurrection. We’re still in that Lenten slog, we’re still waiting, we’re still making our way through the wildernesses of our own making. We’re figuring out what kind of cross we must bear to transform this world. Someone like Colin Kaepernick’s cross was to lose his career, lose what he worked his entire life for; and he lost it, ironically, for protesting peacefully, a right that those who fought against fascism in WWII fought to protect. But this is exactly what Jesus warns is disciples of—you will lose your lives following me—your livelihoods, your popularity, your riches—but you will ultimately win and earth as it is in heaven.
So as Lent continues on, we have to think of what type of cross are we willing to take up? It’s a heavy question, considering we know Jesus’ cross was a literal one that led to his death, but let’s continue to remember the ‘their’ Jesus has in that sentence—‘…my followers…[will] take up their cross…’. It’s going to be different for each one of us. And this isn’t just a Lenten practice. Deny yourselves, remember, isn’t just deny yourselves that little treat. Deny yourselves is the command to put away your ego and live for the oppressed of this world. It’s Jesus saying, when the time is right, you will put your principles of unconditional Love above everything else—you will be willing to take up a cross for those like Nex Benedict, the genderqueer 16-year-old who died after being beaten by her peers in Oklahoma; it means you’ll be willing to take up a cross for the George Floyds of the world, those who’ve had their lives threatened and taken from the state; it means you’ll be willing take up a cross for the homeless, the poor, right here in our own backyard, by fighting for ways to alleviate, no to end, the housing and cost-of-living crisis that threatens the stability and safety of our own neighbors.
But bear in mind— doing this work will break your heart. It will leave you disappointed and frustrated and full of rage, because those in power will fight tooth and nail to keep things as they are so they can continue to reap the benefits of our unjust system. The trick is to not let that heartbreak keep you down. The trick is to let it fuel you—and allow ourselves to be fueled by heartbreak by being in fellowship with one another. Church, that’s why community is so important. We gather together for the good of all, in the name of the unconditional Love that Jesus shows us.
After WWII, Jurgen Moltmann had hoped that the Confessing Church, which was the Christian resistance movement against the Nazis would usher in a new age of Christianity, in which we would learn from the horrors of our past—but he, and many others, was ultimately disappointed to see church reverting back to what it was before the war, and institution that was so easily coopted by the powerful. But he didn’t let that grave disappointment affect his faith. He continued working and fighting for a sort of proto-liberation theology in which the oppressed and oppressor alike will be reconciled.
We see the church being coopted for hate every day—Oklahoma’s superintendent, just days after the beating and death of Nex Benedict, is quoted as saying that he doesn’t believe nonbinary or trans people exist, that God only created two genders. This, church, is why we have to take up our cross. This is why we have to risk heartbreak—for the innocent people who are victimized every day by the state, by those who claim to be Christian, by those who simply don’t want things to change.
This Lent, we will risk suffering, wounding, and disappointment, but we won’t let it keep us down. Because we will have risen out of that heartbroken isolation together; in fellowship, in support, and out of Love for one another. Amen.
