Who Am  I to you, and the Keys to the open community

(Mt 16:13–23)

    More than halfway through his public life, Jesus has not yet offered any set formulas, but poses a challenging question – one that demands far more of us than the usual legalistic expressions.

Broadly speaking, the crowd may have likened him to eminent figures such as John the Baptist (who proved himself to be a stranger to courtly flattery) or Elijah (for his denunciation of idols) or Jeremiah (the opponent of the buying and selling of blessings).

But He did not come – like the ancient prophets – to improve the situation or patch up devotional practices, nor to purify the Temple, but rather to replace it!

Traditional imagery depicts Christ in many ways (to atheists, a philanthropist), the most widespread of which is still that of an ancient Lord, the guarantor of conventional behaviour.

He, on the other hand – to make us reflect – takes his disciples to a building site (in northern Palestine, Caesarea Philippi was under construction), far from the self-serving rhetoric of the ‘holy’ City.

The common mindset judged the success of life – and the truth of a religion – on the basis of success, dominance, wealth and security in general.

The question Jesus poses to his disciples reveals a novelty that overturns the entire system: the Call is addressed to every single person.

It is a proposal that pushes boundaries, much like the symbolic geographical location of the capital of Philip’s kingdom (one of the three sons and heirs of Herod the Great): in Palestine, the point furthest from the centre of conformist religiosity.

The Face of the ‘Son of Man’ can only be recognised by placing oneself as far as possible from political schemes and the established order – otherwise we too would be unable to perceive his personal light.

In the community described in Matthew, there was indeed an experience of an ever-increasing participation of Gentiles, who had previously felt excluded (and were gradually becoming integrated).

In our way of thinking, house keys serve to lock and bolt the front door, to keep out those with ill intent. In the Semitic mindset, however, they were rather a symbol of opening the door.

In Perugino’s famous masterpiece on the north wall of the Sistine Chapel, Jesus hands the head of the Church two keys: the golden key to Paradise and the silver key to Purgatory.

But the meaning of the passage is not about the afterlife – indeed, it is not even institutional in nature (as the sumptuous architecture of the triumphal arches and the temple in the background of the fresco might suggest).

In Hebrew, the word ‘key’ is derived from the verb ‘to open’!

The primary missionary task of community leaders is to keep the Kingdom of Heaven wide open – that is, to ensure a welcoming Church!

Peter must not embody the archetype of the arrogant monarch, an image of authority (acting as a substitute for the emperor).

Simon must take primary responsibility for welcoming those who are outside.

This seems strange by the standards of any ancient tradition, where it was assumed that God feared becoming defiled through contact with the world.

The Father is the One who dares the most.

Faith is not a safety net (as if it were merely ‘doctrinal belief’) but a loving relationship that does not cloud the mind and enables us to embrace the enriching flow of life.

Creative Providence – all-encompassing and boundless, and today particularly disruptive to every habitual way of life – is the true expression and authentic Revelation of the Mystery.

This is why Jesus strictly imposes total messianic silence [v.20] upon the lips and the traditional mindset of the Apostles.

Peter and the disciples wanted to return to the familiar idea of ‘the’ Messiah [cf. Greek text] awaited by all.

A script that is far too ordinary, incapable of renewing us.

But who do you say that I am? Peter’s Faith

Distancing oneself from what one hopes for

Jesus leads his followers away from the realm of the ideology of power and from the sacred centre of the official religious institution – Judea.

The Lord wants his closest followers to distance themselves from limitations and preconceptions.

The relative success achieved by the Master in Galilee had, in fact, rekindled the apostles’ hopes of (one-sided) glory.

The region of Caesarea Philippi, in the far north of Palestine, was enchanting; renowned for its fertility and lush pastures. An area famous for the beauty of its surroundings and the abundance of its flocks and herds.

Even the disciples were captivated by the landscape and the comfortable lifestyle of the region’s inhabitants; not to mention the magnificence of the palaces.

The reference to the setting alludes to the comforts generally offered by pagan religion; excessive prosperity that enchanted the Twelve.

Christ asks the apostles – in effect – what the people expected of Him. In this way, He wants them to realise the harmful effects of their own preaching.

A ‘proclamation’ that readily conflated material and spiritual blessings.

Whilst the gods demonstrate their ability to shower their devotees with riches – and a lavish court life that (precisely) captivated everyone – what does Christ offer?

The Master realises that the disciples were still heavily influenced by the propaganda of the political and religious authorities [vv. 6, 11], which promised prosperity [vv. 5–12; cf. Mt 15:32–38].

And Jesus instructs them once more, so that at least his emissaries might overcome the blindness and the crisis brought about by his Cross (v. 21), and by the commitment required in the spirit of self-giving.

He is not merely a follower of the Baptist’s uncompromising stance, never inclined to compromise with the courts or opulence; nor is he one of the many restorers of the Law of Moses, with the zeal of Elijah.

Nor did he wish merely to purify religion of spurious elements, but rather to take the place of the Temple [Mt 21:12–17, 18–19, 42; 23:2, 37–39; 24:30] – the place of encounter between the Father and his children.

On this issue, at that time, the rifts were particularly acute, not only with regard to paganism, but also in the conflicts between Jews who had converted to the Lord and those who observed the tradition.

Indeed, the sacred texts of late Judaism spoke of great figures who had left their mark on the history of Israel and were expected to reappear to usher in the messianic age.

Even within the persecuted communities of Galilee and Syria, Matthew notes a lack of understanding and the great difficulty in embracing the new proposal – one which offered no guarantee of success or recognition, nor any immediate rewards.

(From the very first generations, it was realised that Faith does not easily align with our most basic human impulses: indeed, it is disconcerting, given our obvious perspectives and instincts).

Thus the Master contradicts Peter himself [vv. 20, 23], whose view remained tied to the conformist and populist idea of ‘the’ [vv. 16, 20: ‘that’] expected Messiah.

In short, the leader of the apostles – so weak in the Faith – must stop pointing out to Christ which path to take ‘behind’ him [v. 23], leading him astray!

Simon must start afresh as a disciple; he must stop charting out recognised and opportunistic paths for everyone, hijacking God in God’s own name.

The Lord is the One who dares the most.

A special note on the subject of the Name:

Whilst in our culture it is often merely a label, amongst Eastern peoples the name is one and the same as the person, and designates them in a special way.

As can be seen, for example, in the ‘second’ commandment, the power of the Name carries great weight: it is a matter of knowing the (divine) Subject in essence and in the meaning of action; almost a taking hold of His power.

Even in our own tradition of prayer, spirituality and mysticism, the proper Name (e.g. Jesus) has often been regarded as almost an auditory icon of the person, embodying their virtues; evocative of their presence and power.

In ancient cultures, uttering a name meant being able to grasp the seed, the meaningful and all-encompassing core of the figure in question.

Not infrequently, even in our own way of thinking, it has been intended to express an omen, a mandate, a wish, a blessing, a vocation, a destiny, a task, a calling, a mission [nomen (est) omen].

But this is where the difference between a sacred mindset and Faith becomes apparent. In religions, the proper name that the master or founder bestows upon the disciple is a sort of signpost: anyone lacking the insight, fortune, strength or courage to fulfil it would diminish in dignity.

Christ, on the other hand, through his titles, calls us to follow a path – certainly – but one that is deeply commensurate with our essence.

He urges us to set out on a journey – not according to set models – because first He leads the person back into themselves. So that we may all commit ourselves deeply and to the full extent that is required.

First step: to encounter ourselves in our entirety; in our various facets, even the surprising, unexpressed or unknown ones – generally, traits that are unimaginable according to rules and classifications.

Even our eccentric, ambiguous, hidden or even personally rejected ways of being: along the Way, these will reveal the best sides of ourselves.

Only on this multifaceted path do we find the way to an adventure rich in meaning; not mechanical, nor repetitive – but rather like life itself: always new and authentic.

Not starting from superficial appearances or calculated pretences: there is an Author’s signature that precedes us, in the building up of ourselves and of the world.

Passing through the various building sites in the city of Philip, Jesus instead chose to compare Simon to the inert, piled-up materials (even in a rather haphazard manner) that lay before him.

That situation struck at the very root of the apostles’ expectations!

The disciples had not yet made room within themselves for the Mystery, for the idea of a secret salvation that bursts forth with its own innate energy; one that transcends ordinary dreams.

‘Cefa’ is in fact derived from the Aramaic ‘Kefas’: a building stone; something hard: in practical terms, a stubborn man like so many others; nothing special, quite the contrary. Jesus gives Simon a derogatory nickname!

In fact, the Greek term ‘petros’ [v.18] is not a proper name: it refers to a stone (picked up from the ground) which can indeed be useful for building – provided, of course, it is shaped to fit. And which not only supports, but is supported; which not only brings together, but is brought together.

Note: the Greek term ‘petra’ [v.18] is not the feminine form of ‘petros’: it means ‘rock’, and refers to the Person of Christ, our sole security (together with faith in Him).

A name that unpredictably transforms an entire life. For it is only the inner Friend who draws from our [even flawed] baggage the unexpected that wells up.

Each of us is chiselled by the Lord according to the name Peter, in the sense of a unique piece, an individual and special element.

Placed in a singular way yet within a great mosaic: that of the history of salvation, where each of us is simultaneously ourselves and in a constant state of regeneration.

The sole sense of belonging shared by the many building stones (all living): the conviviality of differences, the communion of disparate fraternal members within the ministerial Church.

None of them forever, but everywhere (ceaselessly) pulsating nuclei of a humble institution, entirely gathered from the earth… Freed without cost.