From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed and on the third day be raised. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance[a] to me, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Matthew 16:21-28
Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any wish to come after me, 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 will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?
“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”
My sermon from the 14th Sunday after Pentecost Sunday (August 30, 2026).
One of the things I’m grateful for is how Sunday always comes. Regardless of whatever happened during the week, we get to gather and know Jesus is with us. It doesn’t matter if the last few days were filled with laughter and joy or left us with a hole in our soul we know we will never fill – Sunday is right there for us. And while I know not every Sunday feels as special as we’d like it to be, Sundays are always a tangible reminder that God has already written a new chapter for you. Sundays are amazing but they can also be a little scary since there’s always another sermon I need to write. This usually isn’t a problem since preaching is one of my favorite things. Yet it can become a little difficult when I’m fighting through a short summer cold. I’m feeling okay today but a combination of nasal congestion, brain fog, and extra strength cold medicine means I wrote most of this sermon while feeling completely spaced out. I’m sure many of us have had to give presentations or a speech when we know we’re not at our best. And there have been plenty of moments when we aren’t entirely sure we can trust the words coming out of our mouths. And when this happens, what we end up sharing usually reveals the stories, points of view, expectations, and assumptions we hold deep in our souls. When we’re too worn out to think and ponder and imagine that what we know might not be all there is to know – then the things we’ve learned from our families, communities, culture, and world become the truth we share instead. And even if an authoritative and trusted source told us that what we were saying wasn’t true, we wouldn’t actually be able to hear what they said. When our bodies, minds, and souls are worn down by all that life can bring, it’s hard to imagine that the default stories, ideas, and beliefs that make us who we are might limit who we get to be instead.
Today’s reading from the gospel according to Matthew is part two of a story we began last week. Jesus and his friends were near the city of Ceasarea Phillippi and I imagine they weren’t quite sure why they were there. The city was, after all, founded by local leaders as a way to flatter the Roman Empire and a temple on a nearby hill celebrated the Roman Emperor’s so-called divinity. Jesus had, by this point, also developed the reputation of being a kind rabble rouser who kept proclaiming that a kingdom other than Rome had now come near. Peter and the other disciples knew that the area they were in wasn’t safe since those in power had recently executed John the Baptist for saying similar kinds of things. I imagine that the lack of safety and an anxious feeling of dread felt like a heavy weight on the shoulders of Jesus’ friends. Even though they had seen Jesus cure the sick, feed thousands with a few loaves of bread, and calm a storm – the threat of violence surrounded them. They tried their best to stay focused on the ministry of compassion, healing, and wholeness that Jesus practiced in all he said and did. But while wandering within view of a place embodying everything the Roman Empire represented, they were worried that something dangerous might be hiding around the bend. As they drew closer to the city, their fear and their anxiety grew – making it difficult to talk freely and openly. When Jesus asked them “who do you say that I am?,” their minds kept returning to those stories and ideas that were already a part of them. They didn’t have the energy, the space, or even the opportunity to imagine that what they know might not be the limit of what life could be. And so when Peter declared Jesus to be the Messiah, Jesus – rightly – praised him for an insight that he had received from above. Yet when Jesus began to tell Peter what he was about to go through, the default story Peter carried within him couldn’t trust that what Jesus was saying was actually true.
We’re not 100% sure what exactly Peter disagreed with since the gospel writers never tell us and there wasn’t a Messiah checklist floating around 2000 years ago that everyone agreed with. But we get the sense that when people imagined God intervening in the world in this way, that it would resemble how power tends to operate in our world. Power, to him, was all about making other people do what you want. The Messiah wouldn’t only embody God’s healing and mercy; the Messiah would also do everything they could to push the Romans back into the sea. A Messiah would need to raise up an army and turn their disciples into commanders who would then conquer nations in the name of the Lord. A kingdom of heaven couldn’t be a kingdom unless it resembled all other kingdoms in the world. Peter’s Messiah would wield power over others rather than experience all the ways we use power to proclaim who has value and who doesn’t. And so when Jesus began to talk about how others would try their best to overpower him, Peter couldn’t even hear what he said. While standing in view of a kingdom that assumed it was destined to rule the world, the story of how God would intervene in the world that gave Peter life required him to tell the Son of God that Jesus’ words weren’t true. Power over others was what life was all about. And a Messiah who acted otherwise couldn’t be the kind of Messiah the world actually needed.
Now I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter didn’t realize how essential to his own identity the story of the Messiah had become. And that’s because we don’t always recognize how certain stories, ideas, and expectations shape who we understand ourselves to be. These are the words we assume are always true because we can’t imagine life existing in any other way. And they come to us through all the different ways our families, friends, communities, and world shows us who has value and who doesn’t. These default stories linger within us even when, through prayer and study, we’ve learned they aren’t necessarily true. Yet when our minds and bodies and souls are at their weakest, that’s when what’s deep inside begins to climb to the surface. The old ideas of who matters and who doesn’t; the old experiences of who is good and who should be pushed aside; the old realities of how power works in our world and what it means to have it; and what our life would really look like if we had God on our side – the things we cling onto when life becomes too much has a way of disrupting who God has invited us to become. Yet Jesus, after hearing Peter’s expectation for his life, doesn’t choose to cast him aside. Even after he calls him Satan, Jesus keeps Peter in the fold. Jesus reminds him that there’s something more than merely those old expectations that define us when our souls feel tired and worn. There’s something other than the words others have shared with us that shape who we get to be. God won’t let our expectations about goodness, mercy, and hope be the limit of the life we live. And while we often act as if our words, our experiences, our stories, and our choices represent the fullness of who we are, whose we are matters too. When our story isn’t enough, God’s story becomes the thing that holds us through. It’s a story that knows how hard life can be and yet continues to write a new chapter where healing and wholeness shines. It’s a story that does not let the Crosses we build be the only power in our world. And when we are worn down to the point where we no longer remember who we are, Jesus reminds us that – in baptism and through faith – we already belong to him. You truly are a beloved child of God even on those days when that’s really hard to believe. And you carry within you a new story about a Jesus who will carry you through.
Amen.