Loading...A couple of years ago Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmaltz created a piece known as the “Homeless Jesus.” This bronze sculpture, installed at Regis College in Toronto, shows a bearded man, covered by a thin blanket, sleeping on a park bench. It could be any homeless man – many of whom live on the streets and in the shelters of Spokane. But the man in the sculpture is Jesus.
It is so realistic- looking that someone reportedly called police in one city to report that the man on the bench should be arrested for sleeping in public. (Later pundits later reported that someone had called the cops on Jesus!)
One of several casts of this piece now resides at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Davidson, North Carolina. Others are in cities like Chicago and Detroit.
To some, this art piece is a moving depiction of the spirit of the words of Matthew 25 when Jesus says that those who have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, welcomed the stranger, and taken care of the sick – who had served the ‘least of these’ had served Jesus himself. He was those people.
Others have seen it as almost blasphemous – suggesting that Jesus – known as Lord and Savior and Son of God – could be equated with a homeless person. As one woman said in a newspaper interview, “But Jesus is here to meet our needs.”
One of the wonderful things about art is that it stimulates our imaginations. It opens us to new thoughts and feelings. It widens our world—and maybe even our prayer life. And today, as we heard the gospel reading from Mark, perhaps this piece of sculpture puts a new spin on the question Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?”
Let’s first put this gospel story into context. Jesus and his disciples are at Caesarea Philippi, a town in the north part of the country near the border between Jewish and Gentile territory. It’s near what today we call the Golan Heights – in the shadow of Mt. Hermon and at the headwaters of the Jordan River –that rush through the wooded countryside like a mountain stream.
This is also the place where Jesus’ journey with the disciples takes a turn toward Jerusalem and ultimately the cross.
As Jesus gathers the disciples around him, he asks them two questions. The first is “Who do people say that I am?” And the answers quickly come back: John the Baptist, Elijah, one of the prophets. It would seem that Jesus was getting a reputation as a prophetic voice.
The second question is more direct – almost like a little quiz: “Who do you say that I am?” he asks them. Peter gets that one right away, replying, “You are the Messiah.”
But Jesus cautions them not to share this with anyone and then teaches them something that they don’t want to hear: that he will suffer, be rejected and killed and then rise.
It’s here that Peter gets ‘part B’ of this question wrong. He doesn’t want to hear or accept what Jesus is saying and tells him so. And then Jesus upbraids Peter for not getting it – not really hearing what he said.
“Get behind me, Satan,” Jesus says to Peter. That must have felt like a punch to the stomach.
I think Peter is a lot like us. He kind of gets it, but also misses the point of what Jesus is teaching about being a disciple—a follower. There is some hard stuff ahead. Some hard choices: some risk-taking, some willingness to step out in faith, maybe even suffering. Jesus calls it “taking up their cross.”
Eugene Peterson in The Message relates Jesus’ words this way: Anyone who intends to come with me has to let me lead. You are not in the driver’s seat; I am. Don’t run from suffering: embrace it. Follow me and I’ll show you how. Self-help is no help at all. Self sacrifice is the way, my way to saving yourself, your true self. What good would it do to get everything you want and lose you, the real you? What could you ever trade your soul for?”
This time with Jesus in Caesarea Philippi was a watershed moment. Perhaps they were beginning to see Jesus with new eyes – facing into the reality that suffering, rejection, even death lay ahead.
The question echoes: Who do you say that I am?
Of course many us could rattle off a lot of names for Jesus. We used to have a poster with a lot of them at the cathedral – and also at the diocesan office: Lord, Savior, Redeemer, teacher, shepherd, master, king, prophet, rabbi, giver of life, healer, and so on. The gospels are filled with them. It is good that we know them, too, because this is one of the ways we know Jesus in a more expansive way – by the many roles he plays in our lives.
But we know Jesus isn’t confined to what he was called by his followers or by the circumstances of the first century. Jesus lives in our lives – in our world. The risen Jesus whom we worship enters into our lives and the struggles of our world.
That’s why the sculpture of the homeless Jesus, challenging as it is, is important. It helps us to see Jesus in the face of those who suffer in our world.
It helps us to see how Jesus reached out to the suffering, the ostracized, the marginalized – and continues to do so through his Church.
The homeless Jesus could be the refugee Jesus – escaping violence and terror in a homeland that has turned hostile and seeking safety and some measure of freedom. You and I have seen wave after wave of refugees working their way toward Europe these past weeks – sometimes welcomed, sometimes rejected. Risking their lives, leaving everything behind.
The homeless Jesus could be Jesus, the target of violence and discrimination because of ethnicity, a behavior that sadly is seen all over the world. The homeless Jesus could be the bone-thin victim of drought or famine, longing for a bowl of rice or a drink of water.
These are the pictures we see on the evening news. Every day. Streams of people fleeing violence. Homeless people on our streets. The hungry, the impoverished, the hopeless.
Who do you say that I am? is a complicated question. It can be answered with any of the many names in scripture and on our poster, but there is more. It can be intensely personal – because it is directed to each of us. But it is also a community question because the Church – you and I together – are now the hands and feet of Christ in the world.
This is not a theoretical question. It is not one to be answered in theological techno-speak. It is a question to be answered when we are ready to take up our cross – to enter into the risky way of compassion and concern, of service and sacrifice.
I’ll ask you to sing with me just the first verse of what will be our closing hymn today as Jesus asks:
Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don’t know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my Name be known?
Will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?
Maybe the questions in that hymn can help to stimulate our prayers and continue to form our answer to Jesus’ question, “Who do you say that I am?”
Amen.
