Sermon for Sunday, August 23, 2026

August 23, 2026
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 16:13-20



When I teach first year students in Composition classes, the first writing assignment is for them to write about themselves. What could be easier? They can write about one aspect of themselves, or 3 aspects: for example, what sport do they play, what hobbies do they have, what experiences have made them who they are today. It’s been interesting to read these essays as I’ve been thinking about this week’s Gospel.


I’ve been imagining Jesus teaching my Composition students, the way he’s been teaching the disciples. Some of my students don’t feel like they’ve done anything interesting ever. Some of them are convinced that they are on the cusp of greatness—or that they are already there and are just waiting for the world to recognize this fact. I wonder how Peter behaved, after Jesus tells him he’ll be the cornerstone of the church. Did his opinion of himself change? Did his behavior change? Or perhaps Peter already thought of himself this highly.


It might be worth thinking in poetic terms about this Gospel. If Peter is the Rock, who are we? Some of us are willow trees that bend with storms but don’t break. Or maybe we’re sand, having been worn down by those storms, but still valuable. Maybe we’re soil made rich by the compost of circumstances. Some of us are grass, that steady groundcover that makes the larger plants possible by holding the soil in place.


The Gospel wants us to wrestle with these questions. Who are you? And who is the triune God in relation to you?


This year, I’ve been surprised by how many students have been writing about their relationship with Jesus. Of course it is a Methodist college. The phrase “personal Lord and savior” gets used a lot. It’s an interesting contrast to Peter’s answer when Jesus asks, “"But who do you say that I am?"


Notice, though, Peter’s answer: "You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God." Peter is not saying “You are my personal Lord and savior.” Peter is not inviting Jesus into his heart so that he can avoid going to Hell when he dies or any other benefits that might accrue.


We hear Peter’s language, with the word, “Messiah,” and we may have a very different idea of what it means. Maybe we think of the Halleluiah chorus or the rest of that magnificent choral piece, Handel’s “Messiah,” that so many of us sing or hear at Christmas and Easter. Maybe we think of the word “Messiah” as one more of the many names of Jesus, like last week’s use of Lord.


Like Lord, that word Messiah has a much more specific meaning for first century Jews. Messiah means savior, but not a personal savior. Ancient prophets promised that a future Messiah would come to rescue the whole nation of Israel. A messiah is a savior, yes, but in the way that Peter uses the word, the Messiah is the savior of the whole Jewish people.


In next week’s Gospel, when we will hear of Peter’s shock and Jesus’ rejection, remember what Peter is expecting from Jesus: someone who will set the Jewish people free. He is likely not expecting to be set free from personal sins that he has committed. No, like oppressed people everywhere, Peter is dreaming of getting the empire of Rome out of his business, both his personal business and his family business.


Today’s Gospel takes place in the district of Caesarea Philippi. New Testament scholar Eric Barreto says, “The location of this event in Caesarea Philippi is no accident. Caesar’s name and the city he built hovers over the scene. Jesus’ identity is composed in the context of God’s interaction with Israel as well as the [kingly] power of Jesus’ own time. When Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah or the anointed one of God, images of political independence are certainly in the air.”


We’re told that before he left to follow Jesus, Peter made his living by fishing, and in Roman times, the fishing economy would have been heavily taxed and controlled in oppressive ways that made it hard to get ahead or even feed one’s family, much like sharecropping once was and is in places where it still exists. It’s not a surprise that Peter has hope that deliverance has come. Next week, we’ll see Peter disappointed in what the shape of that deliverance will be. Next week, we’ll ask ourselves about our 21st century ideas about the juxtaposition of political power and Divine power.


Today’s text also asks us, implicitly, to answer the question that Jesus asks. What part does Jesus play in our lives? A guy we see once a week in church? A fellow traveler? Comforter? Savior? Co-creator of a joy-filled life? A reason for living?


Perhaps our answer is all of these things. But here’s an equally important question:
can people see who Jesus is to us by the way we live our lives? Many a theologian has said that our lives are living Gospels—and what that means is that we are testifying to people, even when we don’t open our mouths.


As we move through the semester, I’ll be paying attention to the students who have confessed, the way that Peter confessed his faith. My students will be paying attention to me, too, because I’ve told them I’m a minister here. I’ve done it in the context of how I would write the paper I’m asking them to write: important things about me: I teach, I’m a minister, I’m a poet. This semester will also be an election year, and it will be interesting to see who is confessing to which beliefs in some of the more public arenas that we have. I’ll be teaching my students the critical thinking skills to see where words match actions. And I’ll also be teaching them about the AI assistants that are ever more intrusive.


We live in a world that’s full of words, many of them empty words, a world where it’s increasingly unclear that humans are the ones generating the words. In this world of intelligence that’s often not very smart and not very humane, may our actions match our words, and may we have abundant answers to the question of who we say that Jesus is and what Jesus is doing—for us, for our community, and for the larger world.