Sunday Sermon Manuscript – August 30
To the Place He Leads
Text: Matthew 16:21-28
A Week's Reversal, and a Single Word
Last week we read how Jesus praised Peter because of his confession. We remember Peter as the rock of the church, the one who receives the keys of heaven — the very picture of Jesus' foremost disciple. Yet in the passage we read today, Peter receives a completely different verdict; he is rebuked by Jesus.
"Get behind me, Satan." What could possibly have caused such an extreme reversal? Did Peter really sell his soul to Satan and do the kinds of things we associate with Satan?
What was it that changed Jesus' verdict on Peter? Today's message begins from exactly this question. How did Peter go from being Jesus' foremost disciple to being called "Satan"? What is striking is that verse 21 begins with the words, "From that time." This is the very expression used in Matthew 4:17, where it says, "From that time Jesus began to proclaim the kingdom of God."
With this single phrase, Matthew divides his Gospel into two. If in chapter 4 the "proclamation" begins, in chapter 16 the "road toward Jerusalem, toward the cross" begins. So the sharp reversal we feel today is not a matter of one man's emotions; it is a great hinge on which the whole Gospel turns its direction.
Peter Was Trapped in His Own Picture
The Peter we remember from last week is the one who boldly confessed who Jesus is. In Caesarea Philippi, a place filled with all kinds of idols, he swept all of them aside and confessed: Jesus is the Son of the living God!
In Peter's confession, "Son of God" may seem to carry the greater weight, but confessing that God is "living" is an important confession precisely because it stood in such contrast to the atmosphere of Caesarea Philippi. The Gentiles standing before idols carved out of stone, Rome, the traces of the many gods that existed under various names — all of it was filled with frozen, lifeless things that could not sense any life at all.
In such a place, for Peter to describe God as living was to confess "the dynamism of God" — not a dead god who merely sits and receives offerings, but a God whose love comes down deep into human life and can be truly experienced. That is why his confession is so highly regarded.
Yet it seems Peter stayed put in that confession and that praise. He thought that Jesus, the Son of the living God, might have glory, honor, and worship, but that death was an unimaginable realm for him. "Jesus is absolutely not one who goes to die" — this was Peter's fixed understanding of Jesus, and it is exactly why he blocked Jesus when Jesus spoke of death.
To this, Jesus says to Peter: "You are not thinking the things of God, but the things of man" (v. 23).
It is true that religious conviction feels safer inside a sturdy fence. But if that fence is nothing more than a personal conviction, then that is another matter altogether. To have faith means we must remember this: we must not lock Jesus inside our own ideas, and it is absolutely not the case that Jesus must be the way I believe he should be.
"Lord, no. This must never happen to you." Peter appears to be looking out for Jesus, but in truth he had a sturdy fence within him — the conviction that the Lord he had confessed could have nothing to do with death. He wanted Jesus to stay inside the fence he himself had built. To this Peter, Jesus says, "You are a stumbling block to me."
And yet, hidden in this rebuke is a reversal we easily miss. The phrase "get behind me" when Jesus says, "Get behind me, Satan," and the word "follow" when he immediately says, "Whoever wants to come after me" — these are the same expression in Greek. Peter was, at that moment, standing in front of Jesus, blocking his way.
To such a Peter, Jesus is saying, "Go back to your place — the place of a disciple who follows me." This is not a casting out but a restoration. It is a call to return from the place where he tried to drag Jesus along according to his own will, back to the place of a disciple who follows behind.
But Jesus Is Not Trapped — Not by the Cross, Not by Death
To his disciples Jesus says, "If you want to follow me" — which, put in today's terms, is easier to understand as "if you believe in me" — "take up your cross and follow me" (v. 24). Jesus expands the meaning of his own death into a cross that all must bear together. Peter thought it must not happen to Jesus alone, but Jesus stretches the cross out to become something every disciple carries.
One thing worth noticing is that before "take up your cross," Jesus first says, "deny yourself." What was Peter's sickness? It was forcing his own picture onto Jesus — an excess of self-assertion. And the prescription Jesus offers is precisely the opposite: "self-denial." It is laying down the picture I have drawn. Following begins from laying down the very "picture of my own" in which Peter was trapped.
Does this mean, then, that the disciples too must share in the suffering and death of the cross that Jesus endured? The cross Jesus speaks of does not mean walking into suffering.
In early Korea, even before missionaries arrived, the Bible was translated into Korean and passed along. There were so-called Gospel portions — single-sheet Gospels — that traveling peddlers carried across the country and distributed. When they heard that missionaries had arrived and gathered at a certain place, Korean Christians came, so the story goes, carrying crosses on their backs. Just as Scripture said — that to follow Jesus one must take up one's cross — they did exactly that.
Hearing it now, it moves us and strikes us as pure. To follow Jesus with all their hearts, they made crosses and carried them on their backs. So what does the text mean when it says to take up your own cross? What Peter understood was death and suffering, but taking up the cross does not mean walking into suffering. It can be seen as an invitation to break out of our narrow picture and come out into a greater ministry.
Of course, the cross they carried on their backs was not suffering for its own sake. It was an expression of love for Jesus, and a gesture of offering themselves before a greater calling.
Jesus' death was not speaking of an end. It speaks of God's grand plan to save the whole world. So taking up one's own cross — following Jesus — means that we who believe in Jesus also come to walk together in this grand plan God has prepared.
The disciples saw only the Jesus of miracles, teaching, and gathering crowds, and understood that to be all there was to him. But God's plan was far larger than that, and Jesus was sharing that larger vision with his disciples for its sake.
The proof of it was the death of the cross. The disciples thought death was the final end, but Jesus calls it a "tasting." And he tells them that beyond it they can behold the glory of the Father.
This word "taste" also cannot simply be passed over. In Scripture, "to taste" is an idiomatic expression meaning "to pass through and experience." He places death not as a "completed end" but as a "passing experience." In fact, Jesus said, "There are some standing here who will see the Son of Man coming in his kingly power" (v. 28) — and in the very next chapter, Peter, James, and John catch an early glimpse of that glory on the Mount of Transfiguration.
Is it not astonishing? The gospel breaks down our old inertia and brings a new understanding. God is not far off but near; God is not a judge but the One who loves, who sent his only Son for our salvation.
Through death being unveiled, our understanding of death — that it is the final end — is changed, and God invites us into a wholly new intervention and understanding! And beyond it, to behold the glory of God.
If, having heard this gospel, we have become those who believe in Jesus, then it means we are invited to see the many walls and obstacles we face in a new way. Despair is still distressing; sorrow is still sorrowful. That does not change. But the way we face despair, the way we face sorrow — that becomes different.
Here the text goes one step deeper. "Whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it" (v. 25). Here, "life" means not merely biological life but "myself" — the self I am clutching. Grasp it, and you lose it; let it go, and you find it.
This is the paradox Jesus speaks of. Clutch my picture, my fence, my place, and I am trapped; let them go, and I move out into the wider place God opens. So then — what are we clutching today, and where are we trapped?
So Where Are We Trapped Right Now?
Over the sale of the Oakland church building and the sale of Trinity Chapel, I have exchanged emails often with the conference leadership. Every time I do this kind of work, there are moments when I feel a certain being-brushed-off, a certain disregard, a helplessness where nothing moves forward.
That feeling of no one listening no matter how much you speak — most people, at such times, either stop the conversation altogether or return the disregard in kind. But leaving that feeling and that situation untended does no good when you are trying to make something new.
Last week a white van pulled into our parking lot. The driver promised to stay only about two days, and then did not leave. Neighbors who saw it kept calling me. "They said they'd be here about two days and then go, so let's wait" — but on Saturday it left for a moment, and on Monday it came back. With no other choice, I filed a police report, and when I came in on Tuesday, it was still sitting in that same spot.
As it happened, police were gathered in the parking lot for another matter, so I explained the situation, and they told me many people had called about this white van — and that the driver had been telling them he was staying with the church's permission. Going through that, all sorts of thoughts came to me. It was only a few short days, but in them I experienced, in compressed form, the disregard and the being-brushed-off that a Korean church pastor goes through.
And here a thought suddenly struck me: if I simply stay put in the repetition of these experiences, am I not making the same mistake as Peter? People are varied and react in many ways. But I must not let those reactions dictate my mood; rather, I must strive to see clearly what it is I truly want and ought to do.
Taking it one step further, it is to examine what responsibility has been given to me through such an experience. When, through these experiences, I endure better than expected and even handle matters more cleanly, in the end an expectation is born — of what needs to change, and in what direction to prepare our ministry. However full of disregard and indifference the situation may be, we can hold the strength to overcome it and, in the end, get the work done.
Our conference has a Wellness Committee for pastors. For several years it has run a task force where the hardships of pastoral ministry can be voiced, and where healing and restoration can happen. Out of this, an idea came to me: that we ought to create a task force on discrimination.
It occurred to me that next year, at conference, I should submit this petition in the name of our church. Having lived as immigrants, we hold a great deal of information about the various forms of discrimination we have experienced. And yet I wondered — do we sometimes go on living as if this experience were simply to be taken for granted?
You might ask, what change could it possibly make? But our thinking must not simply stay there; it seems we ourselves must do the work of actually leading toward change, toward new expectation and understanding.
In American immigrant society we are called an ethnic minority. We call ourselves "minor." The immigrant life may be minor, but our being can never be minor. We must not lock ourselves inside this, but rather cross this boundary and strive for what we can contribute to this society, to this community.
We are God's people. If we build our identity on this, we will not stay trapped inside the frames that have been made for us. We must remember the larger vision of God that Jesus revealed to his disciples. Beyond gathering here to worship together, we must be able to show the wider community what a person of God is.
Closing — Death Is Not a Wall but a Door
Pastor Bonhoeffer said this: "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die." When we consider that Bonhoeffer resisted the Nazis in his lifetime, this sentence can sound all the more grave — telling us that the end of the calling is different from what we imagine.
To be a child of God, to take up the cross, to walk together with the Lord — just as Jesus died hanging on the cross, and just as beyond that cross he rose to new life, we too must remember that we have been invited into a life like his.
There will be countless obstacles ahead. Life cannot be smooth. The church is no different; it cannot always be calm. But that is not the end. Just as death was not a wall but a door, the walls that seem to block our way may in fact be doors that God is opening. May you and I not stay trapped in that limited frame, but press on into the new understanding and the new confession God has prepared.
There is only one thing for us to remember: We are God's people.
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