“Who do people say that I am?”

Jesus poses this question to his disciples this week in the Gospel of Mark. It marks a significant transition in Jesus’ ministry. After this moment, Jesus stops wandering around the Galilean countryside and begins more intentionally moving toward confrontation in Jerusalem which eventually lands him on the cross. 

You could argue that this moment’s narrative significance becomes what the Gospel of Mark is about. In fact, you could say that Mark’s gospel is about revealing to the reader who Jesus truly is. 

Amazingly, the essence of this question remains as puzzling today among Christians and followers of Jesus as it was to the disciples in the 1st century. It isn’t that they didn’t know, it is that they had several answers and perhaps weren’t totally certain which one was the right one. Among colleagues, versions of this question keep coming up when we gather in ministerial meetings. Who do we say Jesus is? Who are we as communities of faith? What is the difference between a church, a country club and a museum? 

Certainly, much of the current state that Christianity finds itself in today has to do with being unable to address this question in recent decades. Not that many church leaders have been shy about loudly telling people who they think Jesus is. Rather, the thing we haven’t done well is what Jesus does in the passage of Mark. He invites conversation. He opens up space for the disciples to consider the many, many answers that were swirling around them and to settle in on a response that comes with a more solid grounding. The church has not been very good at doing that, inviting conversations, making space for honest wonderings and questions, for half-baked ideas and partially formed thoughts. 

We haven’t been good at simply talking about who Jesus is. Talking about what church and faith are all about. Talking about why we keep showing up to worship, for choir practice and bible study, for council meetings and confirmation class etc… 

Who do people say that I am?

As I walked around Wittenberg this May, along with many of the other cities we travelled to, I was reminded how just omnipresent Christianity is in the fabric of European society. Large church buildings dominate cityscapes, reliefs and frescos plastering many walls, music and art with biblical imagery all around, and church bells that toll the hour day and night. We may think we have beautiful churches and cities, but they are nothing compared to centuries-old church buildings that are ubiquitous in Europe. 

One evening, we had dinner with some folks local to Wittenberg who were active members at St. Mary’s Town Church – the congregation that Martin Luther served. I asked the Wittenbergers felt tension with Lutherans from all over the world showing up and acting like their home belonged to us too. The answer surprised me: No. Most Germans know very little about Martin Luther. Most Wittenbengers only know Luther vaguely as a historical figure, if at all. Surrounded by the symbols, history and artifacts of Christianity, the church there has done no better a job at talking about who Jesus is than we have here.

In fact, our habit of not talking about the faith may have come from across the ocean (but that is a topic for another day). 

Now, I am not sure I know what the solution is to our habit of not talking about the faith and not articulating who Jesus is through conversation and wondering. Being surrounded by Christian stuff doesn’t seem to help, nor does observing more Christian holidays either. 

I don’t know the solution… except to start doing it. To start making a point of not just assuming that we know who Jesus is, or why we come to church, or why church is different than a museum or club, but to talk about it openly. 

We need to practice making space for questions and wonderings, to allow that we might be coming from different perspectives and experiences, yet arriving in the same place to follow Jesus and to do it together.