Mission
Impossible! The wildly popular
television and movie series follows the exploits of the IMF – the Impossible
Missions Force – a small team of secret agents who engage in covert missions
against dictators, evil organizations and crime lords. Interestingly, the IMF’s so-called impossible
missions always succeed. They always
turn out to be . . . possible . . . in no small part because of the skill and
determination of the IMF agents who are willing to risk life and limb against
all odds for the success of the mission. Jesus calls us to follow him on a Christian
mission. Our readings tell us what we
need to do to make his seemingly impossible mission . . . possible.
In
our Gospel reading, Jesus asks his disciples the magic question: “Who do you
say that I am?” Peter correctly answers
that Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, but he’s quickly smacked down when he challenges
Jesus’s teaching that the Messiah must suffer, be rejected and killed, and rise
on the third day. “Clearly, Peter attaches
significance to the title ‘Messiah’ that excludes suffering.”[1] That’s not surprising because in Jesus’ time, there
were many theories about what the coming of the Messiah would mean. “Most of them have to do with glory and
triumph for the Messiah himself and for all those who follow him. None of these meanings have to do with rejection,
suffering, death, and resurrection.”[2] But Jesus was clear, he spoke openly that the
mission of the Messiah is the mission of the Suffering Servant that we hear
about in our first reading and our psalm: it’s the mission of the cross.
The
Christian mission is nothing short of a rescue mission. “Enemy-occupied territory – that is what the world
is. Christianity is the story of how the
rightful king has landed . . . and is calling us all to take part in a great
campaign of sabotage.” Think of it this
way: the world is turned upside down by sin, and Jesus came to turn it right-side
up. But the forces of evil don’t
understand or accept that Jesus has won; he already conquered sin and death through
his own life, death and resurrection. The
forces of evil have lost the war, but they continue to incite battles. That’s where we come in. Jesus calls us to fight these battles with him
with the full disclosure that ‘[t]he Lord’s rescue mission is a strange one. Anyone who wishes to be saved must risk the
hostility, punishment and humiliation that our rescuer first experienced.”[3] Our mission, if we choose to accept it, is to deny
ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus.
What
does that mean? Well, Saint James, in
our second reading, makes clear that our faith demands action. “Faith that is alive needs to demonstrate
itself in action – that is the type of faith that saves.”[4] What kind of action are we talking about? We have to follow Jesus in word and in deed. Jesus’ “words were enfleshed in his actions and
in his very person. He forgave sins not
only by words of forgiveness but by eating with sinners. He announced the healing mercy of God by
touching lepers. . . . He challenged
preconceived social roles by talking with and loving Samaritans, tax
collectors, prostitutes.”[5] When we follow Jesus, we set our faith in
action against evil, not through violence and force, but through love and
invitation. Love conquers all, and the
forces of evil can’t tolerate it, so they fight back. That’s why we suffer when we follow Jesus; that’s
why Good Friday precedes Easter Sunday; that’s why the Christian mission
includes the cross.
Let’s face it,
when confronted with the possibility of suffering, most of us react just like
Peter. We tuck tail and run. Who wants to suffer? Well, God doesn’t want us to suffer either, so
we have to remember that God wouldn’t allow suffering to continue if he couldn’t
make a greater good come out of it. The world
is full of suffering, and living the Christian mission isn’t easy, especially
these days it seems. We face illness,
anxiety, and depression; poverty, violence and war; scandal, silence, and
inaction. The world is strewn with
crosses to bear. If we ignore those crosses,
if we avoid the suffering that necessarily accompanies the Christian mission,
we reject God’s invitation to make a greater good come out of that suffering
through us. We embrace the Jesus of the
miracles but deny the Jesus of the cross.[6] We think “not as God does, but as human beings
do.” (Mark 8: 33) The Christian mission is all or nothing. It’s the miracles, the healing, the love, and the suffering. Jesus’ question to Peter – “Who do you say
that I am?” – isn’t an opportunity to define Jesus or to shape him into the kind
of Messiah we want him to be. It’s an invitation
to contemplate who he really is so we
can freely choose to take up our cross and follow him, suffering and all.
We are God’s
secret agents in this world. Our
mission, if we choose to accept it, is to dedicate our skill and determination,
to risk life and limb against all odds, in a great campaign of sabotage against
the forces of evil. We undertake this
mission at great risk, but where there’s great risk, there’s even greater
reward. If we’re caught or killed, the
Lord will acknowledge our actions; he
will free our soul from death, our eyes from tears, and our feet from stumbling. “We will walk before the Lord in the land of
the living.” (Psalm 116: 8-9) Yes, the
Christian Mission is difficult, but when
we take up our crosses and follow Jesus, we make that seemingly impossible
mission, not just possible, but guaranteed.
If it hasn’t already done so, this homily will self-destruct in 5
seconds.
[1]
Pheme Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” in The
New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. VIII (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 624.
[2]
John Shea, The Spiritual Wisdom of the Gospels
for Christian Preachers and Teachers, Year B: Eating with the Bridegroom
(Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2005), 226.
[3]
Michael Simone, “Take Up Your Cross,” America,
September 3, 2018, 76.
[4]
Patrick J. Hartin, “The Letter of James,” in New Collegeville Bible Commentary: New Testament, ed. Daniel Durkin
(Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2009), 776.
[5]
Mary Catherine Hilkert, Naming Grace:
Preaching and the Sacramental Imagination (New York: The Continuum Publishing
Company, 1997), 54.
[6]
Perkins, 626.
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