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CHAPTER IX You Are The Christ
Jerusalem now lay almost 115 miles behind us, to the south, over a week's journey away.
We had taken the usual route, skirting Samaria this time, stopping by Capharnaum for a visit with Peter's family. We stayed there several days, fishing and enjoying the lake. Over all, the trip had taken us twice the time it should have taken. Jesus seemed in no hurry, but it was clear that he wanted to put as much distance between us and Jerusalem as possible. Now even Galilee lay well over a day's journey to the south. This is the northernmost point Jesus would come for as long as I knew him. We were at the foot of Mt. Hermon in the city of Caesarea Philippi, a little village on a pleasing site about 1,150 feet above the sea overlooking a fertile valley at the foot of the mountain.
Under Antiochus the Great, the city bore the Greek name Panion, owing to a cave consecrated to the worship of Pan, the god of nature, and purported to be his birthplace. This is a magnificent cave sinking deep into the bowels of Hermon. Inside there is a prodigious abyss filled with clear water and out of which flows the main headwaters of the Jordan River. There are five niches hewn out of rock to the right of the cave's entrance holding statues which bear inscriptions in Greek mentioning Pan, Echo and the pagan priest, Galerius.
More than thirty years ago Herod the Great's son, Philip, named the town and its famous cave in honor of Caesar Augustus. It became known as Caesarea Philippi. Standing on the road, we surveyed an area punctuated by the Temples of Syrian and Greek gods looking down on us like great lifeless demons in white marble splendor.
It was an odd irony that Jesus chose this place of idolatry and misbegotten faith to be alone with his disciples. One good thing--there were no Jewish legalists here with whom to argue and debate. Maybe, at least, among the pagan faithful he could take a break from derisive, pietistic fools he always encountered in Jerusalem. It didn't occur to me at the moment, but as I look back over the years at this occasion, I can't help but wonder if Jesus, as he absorbed this hopeless scene, was not somehow struck by the massive waste of worship these edifices and statues represented. Aware of his own persona, knowing who he was, I can't help but wonder if the poignancy of this scene prompted his question . . .
"Who do people say that I, the Son of Man, am?"
In the spirit of the moment James replied, "Some have confused you with John the Baptist!"
"Others say Elijah and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets," Andrew added.
"Each of these were good men," Jesus said pensively, "but they are all dead." In the pause that followed, his words struck home. John, Elijah and Jeremiah were indeed dead, but this Lord whom we follow is alive. Everything about him is alive. There is nothing about Jesus that does not resonate with vitality. But he was still a young man. Would he not also die? When his body became old and weak, would it not also give out and his spirit go to spend eternity with his Father? The answer to these thoughts would become clear to us soon enough, but at that time we had no way of knowing, of understanding what was ahead.
"What about you?" he asked of us all, "Who do you say I am? What is your opinion about me?"
The wind hissed through the leaves in the distance. There were no other sounds. A hawk traced its silent way through the blue above us observing the crevasses for a marmot or the fields for a mouse. No one spoke. Every one of us wanted to answer him but none could form the words. Finally they came, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God," from a simple fisherman. Jesus' eyes searched until they located the speaker and fixed him with their gaze. Peter's eyes seemed to ask, "Am I right?" while all the time knowing that he was. "Peter, the rock!" Jesus exclaimed. "How right you are named!" His affection was palpable, the bond between them beyond our understanding. "Bless you, Simon, son of Jonas," he continued. "This was revealed to you by my Father in heaven." In the presence of us all he said, "This confession of Simon's is the rock upon which I build my church!" "My church?" A term he had not used before. Was he talking about a new temple, a new place to worship? Or was it something else? Something more than that? "The strongest powers of evil, even the gates of hell will be powerless against it. I give to you the key, Peter, which will open the doors to the kingdom of heaven. That key is the immense love of the Father and my love for the world. By this, you will be the first to show the way to the nations. Others will follow your lead. Those who return hatred for the love you bring will forfeit eternal life, but those who are liberated by that love will themselves liberate that love in eternity!" With that, he leaned closer and we were all drawn in to hear what apparently were to be words of great import. He then implored us to not, at this time, share with others what Peter had just declared and what he was about to say. We nodded our concurrence. "The Son of Man, must suffer and be rejected by his own people and die. The very people to whom he has been born, the very people to whom he has been sent will kill him." He spoke as though he were speaking of someone other than himself. We were aghast at the stark words, our mood shocked into silence. The intenseness in his eyes relaxed a bit as he continued, "And, in case you were wondering, unlike the prophets and teachers that have preceded my coming, after three days I will defeat sin and death once and for all and rise from the dead." There. He said it. He was definitely speaking about himself. He spoke plainly and forthrightly about this as if it were a certainty.
We were all confused and upset, especially Peter. Perhaps he thought the magnitude of his confession allowed him to take liberties with Jesus. It was clear that he was angry. Taking Jesus by the arm and forcibly dragging him aside he said, "No, Lord!" he exclaimed. "How can you suggest such a thing? This will not happen!" said he, as if willing it so himself. Jesus turned and looked at his disciples. We watched and wondered what would happen. They do not yet comprehend! Don't they understand that I must subject myself to this? And don't they know that I struggle within myself when I think of it? I feel like I might as well be back in the desert with the Tempter. Then he looked back at Peter. The look of love and affection in his eyes had evaporated. It had been replaced by a palpable, frightening fury. "Get out of my sight, Satan!" Jesus snapped. "You are much too thick to understand the things of God!" It is amazing how sweetness can turn to bitterness in such a short moment, how one can possess profound theological insight in one glance and be inutterably dull in the next. But a few sentences ago, Jesus had issued upon Peter the sublimest of blessings, and in close to the same breath he had cursed him with the worst of curses. How can this be? None of us understood. Peter was smitten. Never had Jesus spoken to one of his own like this. Never. It would not be forgotten. This incident also underscored a change in the character and tone of what and how Jesus taught us. This was the beginning of a shift in the content of his teachings about ethical concerns and the beauty of the Father to something more ominous to us but to him inevitable and necessary. He seemed to believe he was going to die, and soon.
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