August 30, 2026
Matthew 16:21–28
“The Church We Say We Are”

Last week was a high point in the life of Peter. If you recall, Peter has just given the
right answer. Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter replies, “You
are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus blesses him, calls him the rock, and
gives him the keys of the kingdom of heaven.

Peter is the first in class, big man on campus, future business leader of America,
because Peter has understood something essential about Jesus. One can imagine him
standing a little taller. The fisherman from Galilee has become the keeper of the keys.
The movement is gaining momentum. The future appears bright.Then Jesus tells the disciples what being the Messiah will actually mean. Jesus will go to Jerusalem. He will suffer at the hands of the religious and political authorities. He will be killed. On the third day, he will be raised.

Peter immediately takes Jesus aside and rebukes him. Peter’s confidence deserves a
certain admiration. Jesus has just been identified as the Son of the living God, and
Peter already feels qualified to offer him professional guidance. Peter’s response
sounds like a concerned member of a strategic planning committee: “Jesus, the
presentation began very well. The material about the kingdom tested strongly. The
section about suffering and death may require rethink and further development.”
Peter has identified the Messiah correctly while imagining the Messiah incorrectly. He
wants Jesus to triumph, receive recognition, exercise power, and restore Israel. Peter
has invested a great deal in this ministry, and he wants the story to unfold according to
his expectations.

Peter loves Jesus. He also loves his idea of Jesus.

Peter’s “idea of Jesus” has been the focus of my reflection since we gathered last
Sunday. Every Christian community faces a similar temptation. We receive Christ, and
then we build a church around him. We create patterns of worship, traditions, ministries,
buildings, schedules, committees, and ways of making decisions. These things carry
meaning. They hold memories and give rhythm to our common life.

Over time, however, the church we have built can become confused with the Christ who
called it into being. Customs that once helped us follow Jesus can begin to occupy the
center. Energy that could carry the gospel into the world becomes devoted to preserving
our preferred experience of church.

Most congregations have a description of themselves. A parish may describe itself as
warm, welcoming, generous, flexible, collaborative, active, and deeply committed to
serving the wider community. Those words express sincere aspirations. They also make
excellent material for websites, parish profiles, and strategic plans. Every church knows
how to describe the congregation it hopes to be. Every church knows how to look good
on paper.

But words can only go beyond just being words when they are actively brought to
fruition. “Welcome” becomes visible when new people bring new ideas. “Flexibility”
becomes visible when a familiar pattern changes. “Trust” becomes visible when
responsibility rests in someone else’s hands. “Generosity” becomes visible when
sharing affects our own choices. “Mission” becomes visible when the love of Christ
travels beyond church property.

I believe that a congregation reveals its character through the things that receive its
energy or doesn’t.

That gives us challenging spiritual questions: What draws our attention, fills our
conversations, and inspires us to act? Which concerns generate emails, meetings,
opinions, and impassioned appeals? Which ministries wait quietly for volunteers?
Churches can summon remarkable energy for small internal matters. A schedule
change, a paint color for the bathroom wall, the selection of music, or the use of a room
can inspire intense discussion. People who have otherwise remained silent about
poverty, hunger, loneliness, racism, and climate change suddenly discover their
prophetic voice when something like how church announcements are made changes.

And I’ve been contemplating the sometimes wide distance between how churches
describe themselves and how ministry is actually played out. Here at St. Mary’s we
describe ourselves as warm, welcoming, generous, flexible, collaborative, active, and
deeply committed to serving the wider community. Yet active outreach struggles to
attract volunteers. Creation care remains the work of a faithful few, namely, Amy
Crocker. Ministries serving vulnerable neighbors search for leadership. Committees
devoted to mission struggle to fill their chairs.

The church possesses passion, yet that passion sometimes gathers most intensely
around matters of personal preference while the needs of the world wait at the door.
Because who has time for all of that when we can debate for weeks on end whether the
temperature in the sanctuary should be at 68’F or 70’F?

But today we see Jesus turns toward Jerusalem because the mission of God demands
his life, while Peter concentrates on protecting the future he has imagined.
The Church faces that choice in every generation. We can spend our energy managing
our internal life, or we can offer our life for the sake of the world. We can concentrate on
preserving familiar patterns, or we can ask where Christ is already suffering among our
neighbors. We can measure parish vitality by our personal satisfaction, or we can
measure it by the love, mercy, justice, and hope flowing through us into the community.

Jesus tells his disciples to take up their cross and follow him. And my friends the cross
represents far more than irritation or inconvenience. The cross is the cost of love
directed toward the life of another. It appears when we give time to feed hungry people,
welcome the isolated, care for creation, accompany the grieving, advocate for the
vulnerable, and create space for people who wonder whether the Church has room for
them.

That work requires far more of us than expressing an opinion. It requires showing up.
Someone must cook, deliver, organize, visit, advocate, contribute, and lead. Someone
must examine how our habits, buildings, investments, and consumption reflect our
praise of the Creator. Someone must decide that these concerns deserve as much
energy as the things that affect our personal experience of parish life.

I often wonder if perhaps some internal church controversies become enormous
because our mission has become too small. When a church lacks a compelling outward
purpose, every inward matter gains weight. The placement of the baptismal font can
feel momentous when nobody is asking how the parish might help heal the world
beyond its doors. A procedural disagreement can dominate the community when few
people are gathering around the urgent work of love.

Shared mission gives our concerns their proper proportion. When people serve
together, relationships deepen. When parishioners gather around creation care, hunger
relief, companionship, justice, and mercy, they begin to see one another as partners in
the gospel. The church becomes more than a place where individual preferences
compete for attention. It becomes the body of Christ offering itself for the life of the
world.

This calling belongs to the whole community. Clergy, lay leaders, longtime members,
and newcomers all stand beneath the same gospel. Each of us must examine where
our attention goes. Each of us must ask whether our strongest passions serve the
mission of Christ or protect our preferred experience.

Peter eventually learns that following Christ involves more than naming Jesus correctly.
He also learns that his “idea” of the Messiah has become a personal preference
unmoored from the truth of Jesus’s mission. It takes Jesus to transform his expectations
and enlarge his vision.

The same invitation comes to us. We already possess passion, gifts, resources, and
people capable of extraordinary generosity. For better or worse, our life together will be
shaped by where we direct them. We can spend ourselves debating the church we prefer.

Or we can spend ourselves becoming the church the world needs.
But Jesus has already shown us which life leads to resurrection.
Maybe that’s something we want to give some deep thought to as a parish.

Amen.