On The Keys

Matthew 16:13-20

¹³Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” ¹⁴And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” ¹⁵He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” ¹⁶Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” ¹⁷And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. ¹⁸And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. ¹⁹I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” ²⁰Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.

On The Keys

So great to be with you last week.

My family sends their greetings. We are in the throes of travel soccer starting, a place of turmoil in my heart because, well, when you promise a boy that if they make the team they can play, and then you learn that games are on Sunday afternoons and also, please buy these three uniforms and bags and soccer equipment and field fees and…

Beloved, let us learn not to make promises we won’t keep. But also, let us learn to vet the potential implications of said promises before we make them, yes?

But as with last week, this week is a short sermon, not because I want it to be, but because like my endearing poet mentor, Mary Oliver, the older I get, the more concise I am with words because, well, there’s just too little time in this world, so if we can say what we feel needs to be said in fewer words, do it, yes?

Yes.

You may not know this, but the Gospel writer for today, our friend Matthew, left us a little clue in this text that imparts a very special detail that we should take grasp of. The text says that he entered Caesarea Philippi, a location named for, you guessed it, a Ceasar who had an inflated ego. In fact, it was so important, that it was one of the capitals of the ancient world at least until 33 AD.

My point is, Jesus was not just passing by Oxford, NC, or some little town of no importance, he was passing by a town with multiple temples, multiple places of worship, huge commerce where people bowed down to the god of money, fame, fortune, and power, and it is there where he asks the disciples, “What’s my name?”

“Who am I?”

“Who do you think I am?”

And not only this, Beloved, but it is on the outskirts of this important town where an important spring of living water flowed out of the ground to feed, you guessed it, the Jordan River, the essential river playing a key role in the Jesus story; the river where he was baptized, the river we say we carry our dead over when they have passed…

Deeeep River, as our friends in the black church community say.

So, it is at this moment, in this time, at this place, where power and life-giving water converge where Jesus says to those gathered, ‘Who do you say that I am? Am I a person of commerce, bowing down to capitalism? Am I a person of power, creating a city in my own name? Or am I a river of life? Which one is it?”

Which one, Beloved?

This last week our nanny, our sweet nanny who has helped raise our boys since our youngest was 1, admitted that she had finally lost the key to our house. She said it with chagrin, and honestly, she hadn’t had to use it much because I usually was either home when she brought the boys home or had left the door unlocked for those brief moments between our comings and goings, but she said, “I can’t find it.”

“It’s ok,” I said, “we’ll make another one.”

After all, we have lots of keys to our house floating around, unfortunately. Many folks have lived with us over the years: fraternity brothers, colleagues, friends, all who needed a place to stay, each of them having a key…many of them losing it, but many of them tucking it away somewhere in case they needed it.

Which is ok. Sometimes it happens.

But here’s the thing, Beloved: I wonder if sometimes we’ve lost the key that Christ handed to St. Peter that day, ya know?

In this grand moment, at the pinnacle of both commerce, power, and life-giving water, Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is.

And they give various answers: a prophet from the past, a prophet of the present…

But Peter says, “You’re the promised one of old.”

The promised one of old.

The promised one who would shed light on the shadows, who would bring comfort to the grieving, who would convince the wealthy that the coins in their pocket belonged to the poor, and remind the poor that they are somebody, by God.

The promised of old who forgives sins, has a short memory of wrongs, loves the unloveable, and who would die to have us think or believe otherwise. Even die on a cross.

The Messiah.

And I don’t know if Peter knew what he was saying or, perhaps like me in most of my moments, stumbled onto a truth he couldn’t quite grasp, but in that moment Jesus hands him the keys to the car and says, “Carry on my wayward son…” as the band Kansas would say.

And carry on he did. And he would be a wayward son, as it were. In one breath calling him the Messiah, and in another denying he knew him. In one breath receiving the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, and in another being wishy-washy over who could be called a Christian as the early church began.

Peter held the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lost them.

Beloved: we hold the keys to the kingdom, but sometimes lose them.

We lose them when we fret so much about money that we lose sight of mission.

We lose them when we worry so much about who is not here than we do about who has shown up.

We lose them when we worry too much about who shouldn’t be let in to the graceful kingdom of God than we worry about who we excluding who is loved, by God.

By God.

We lose the keys to the kingdom all the time. And in this post pandemic world, as you’re waiting for your next pastor, I want to say to you: the keys of the kingdom of God are yours! Do not lose them!

It’s about mission, not budgets.

It’s about whose here, not who isn’t.

It’s about all-encompassing love, not gate-keeping.

The keys are here…and even if sometimes we lose them, you know?!

Well, let me tell you.

Our nanny said, “I’ve lost the key.”  And I said, “No worries, I can go and make a copy.”

And you know where the copy is made?  Well, for our home key, it’s probably made at Ace Hardware or Lowes, you know?

But for us, for the faithful, for the Beloved community of which you’re a part of, the copy of the key of the kingdom is made here: at this table.

This table where everyone is invited forward, and no one leaves without something: some bread, some wine, the body and blood of Christ, or at least a blessing.

Everyone comes, and no one leaves empty.

That’s the kingdom, Beloved.

So, here we are, in the shadow of North Carolina’s Capitol, the hub of commerce (arguably), and the seat of power (for sure), and in this place there is a spring called Lord of Life Lutheran Church and I ask you, Beloved, who do you say Jesus is?  Who do you say you are? 

The keys of the kingdom are yours. And if you’ve lost them, well, I have good news: we’re just about to have communion.

I bet you’ll find the keys there.