The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Two nuns were out shopping and passed through the aisle displaying beer. The first nun mused how nice it would be to have some beer with their pizza that night. The second nun agreed but said she wouldn't feel comfortable buying it. What would people think about them?

The first nun replied that she had an idea. She picked up a six-pack and took it to the cashier who had a surprised look on his face. “We use beer for washing our hair,” said the nun, “a sort of shampoo.” Without blinking an eye, the cashier reached under the counter, pulled out a package of pretzel sticks, placed them in the bag with the beer, looked the nun straight in the eye, smiled, and said, “The curlers are on the house.”

Humor aside, I have the utmost respect for consecrated women and believe that their ministry has been a powerful witness. When I was in elementary school, the nuns who taught us were surrounded with an aura of mystery. Part of that was the habit that covered them from head to toe, part was our illusion about what convent life was all about. It wasn’t until years later when I was in college and studied alongside the many sisters who were there for summer courses that I learned that they were human beings with feelings and opinions and a sense of humor. They missed their families, liked to watch TV and enjoyed beer with their pizza. One of them secretly smoked!

They had answered a special calling in life and, unfortunately, the rigidity of their convent lifestyle not only masked much of their appearance but also concealed the unique human being living under the veil. Things have changed and religious sisters—both Roman Catholic and Anglican—often wear regular dress and have the freedom both to allow their personality and unique gifts to be part of their service to the church and to offer it in a wide variety of venues and ministries. But the kid in grammar school probably wondered who was behind that habit and veil. “Who, who are you?” as the song by the Who begins.

Jesus poses a serious question: “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus makes a distinction between what others—the crowds, the Pharisees, the naysayers, the curious—say about him and what his closest friends say about him. What other people think doesn’t so much matter. Jesus wants to know what his followers think about him.

Theologian Paul Tillich contends that Christianity was not born at in a stable to a peasant couple named Mary and Joseph nor was it born when angels declared to the shepherds that a savior had been born nor when astrologers came from the East bearing gifts for the “King of Kings,” but rather there at the base of Mt. Hermon when Jesus of Nazareth asked his followers a question that billions of people ever since have had to face.

How many times in our lives might we have felt insecure and unsure of ourselves? Have we wondered, “What do you think I’m like, really?” or “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” or “Am I okay?” It’s a hard to live with the fact that the world doesn’t want to know us as we really are. When are rejected because of our gender, race, personality, looks, age, sexual orientation, IQ, peculiarities; when people have huge and unreasonable expectations about who they want us to be, it can quickly erode any sense of self-esteem we have formed. It can be the precursor to a serious and complicated syndrome called depression. We may mask our unhappiness by feigned smiles behind which lives a reservoir of anguish, heartache, and even despondency.

We know who Jesus is. Peter spelled it out for us. 2000 years of study, research, learning and listening to God’s word has informed us that Jesus was a person that had compassion on the poor, healed the sick, preached justice, forgiveness and reconciliation, invited everyone to sit at the table with him, and would allow no outcasts. Here was a man who wore the face of God, who was God in the flesh.

What if we were to take Jesus’ question and turn it around? What if we were to ask Jesus, “Who do you say that I am?” What would his answer be to that? He might point to our gifts, to the unique person we are, to the very features of our make-up we may have felt constrained to conceal or deny. Of this, I am certain. Jesus would tell you that you, sister or brother, are God’s beloved one. You are precious in God’s sight. You are loved just as you are and without condition.

We are asked to believe a number of things that are challenging for some: the Virgin birth, the Resurrection of Jesus, the true presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, the doctrine of the Trinity. We may struggle with these doctrines—or not—but I’m wondering if the harder thing for many of us to really believe is God’s enormous, even outrageous love for us; that God is not happiest when we are miserable and wants us to be whole, healthy, and happy.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hear from Jesus’ lips just who he sees in us? So, ask him. You have nothing to fear. “Who do you say that I am?” Knowing who Jesus is, we can pretty much predict the answer.