Human Things

When the Reasonable Answer Is Still Wrong

You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.

— Matthew 16

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Usually when we read this passage, I think we're rather fond of Peter.

Poor Peter. He screwed up again.

There's something reassuring about that. Here is the great Apostle, the man who has just declared that Jesus is the Messiah, getting something spectacularly wrong and being sharply corrected for it. Peter was human. We're human. We make mistakes too.

But that can become a convenient way of reading the passage, because once I've identified Peter as the guy who didn't understand, I don't have to consider the possibility that I would have said exactly the same thing.

And really, what was so terrible about what Peter said?

Jesus had just told His disciples that He was going to Jerusalem, where He would suffer terribly and be killed.

Peter objected.

Of course he did.

He loved Jesus. He believed Jesus was the Messiah. He had followed Him for years. Perhaps Peter even thought this was one of those moments when loyalty required him to stand up and say something.

“God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”

From an ordinary human perspective, that's a pretty good response.

Imagine a friend telling you that he was about to walk knowingly into terrible suffering and death. Wouldn't you try to stop him? Wouldn't you say, “Absolutely not. We're going to find another way”?

You might even consider yourself a pretty lousy friend if you didn't.

And that's what makes Jesus' response so startling.

“You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Peter's problem isn't that he's being cruel or selfish.

He's being reasonable.

And perhaps that's why this passage deserves more attention than we sometimes give it.

Human thinking doesn't always announce itself through obviously wicked ideas. Sometimes it sounds compassionate. Sometimes it sounds courageous. Sometimes everybody around us agrees with it. Sometimes it is so obviously sensible that questioning it seems foolish.

“You deserve better than this.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

“This shouldn't happen to you.”

“You have to fight back.”

“Don't let them win.”

Those statements can sometimes be appropriate. But they also reveal how instinctively we understand life in human terms. Somebody wins and somebody loses. Resources are limited. Power must be obtained or resisted. Enemies must be defeated. Suffering is something to escape. Death is the ultimate loss.

Peter is thinking inside that world.

If Jesus is the Messiah, then surely the Messiah is supposed to win.

He isn't supposed to be arrested by the authorities. He isn't supposed to be humiliated. He isn't supposed to be tortured and killed.

Peter had heard the rest of what Jesus said—that on the third day He would be raised—but apparently that part didn't register strongly enough to overcome the horrifying thing immediately in front of it.

Death.

Maybe I shouldn't be too hard on Peter for that either.

We do the same thing.

We become so occupied with the immediate human stakes that we lose sight of the larger story. Politics becomes enormously important because somebody must win the next election. Our side must prevail. Our opponents must be stopped. We divide ourselves into camps, count votes, gather resources, defend territory and sometimes even begin talking about taking up arms.

Everything becomes urgent because everything appears temporary.

If this life is all there is, perhaps that makes sense.

But Jesus is introducing Peter to a radically different reality.

Death itself is about to lose.

Peter wants to save Jesus from death. God intends to send Jesus directly through it and out the other side.

That is a very different kind of victory.

And it makes me reconsider some of the things we've been reflecting upon lately: peace, unity and genuine love.

Human beings can create temporary versions of all three. We can keep the peace as long as everybody behaves. We can form alliances as long as our interests coincide. We can love while the relationship remains satisfying. We can build institutions that survive for generations.

But eventually something breaks.

People change. Alliances fracture. Governments fall. Bodies weaken. People we love die.

Human things end.

The Kingdom of God is moving toward something else.

Peace that doesn't expire.

Love that doesn't diminish.

Unity that isn't merely an agreement among competing parties.

Life that doesn't end in death.

Perhaps that's why Jesus reacts so strongly to Peter. Peter is trying, lovingly and reasonably, to prevent the very event through which God intends to break the cycle.

He wants to save Jesus from Friday.

He doesn't yet understand Sunday.

And perhaps that's the warning for me.

I shouldn't assume that something is godly merely because it seems reasonable, compassionate, fair or politically necessary to me. My perspective is still bounded by mortality. I see what is immediately in front of me. I worry about losing things. I calculate what I deserve, what somebody else deserves, what must be defended and what cannot be allowed to happen.

Sometimes those calculations are necessary.

But they are still human things.

The harder discipline is to keep listening for the divine thing—the possibility that God is accomplishing something I cannot yet see, perhaps even through something I would instinctively prevent.

Peter loved Jesus.

Peter wanted to protect Jesus.

Peter was completely sincere.

And Peter was standing in God's way.

That's worth remembering whenever I'm absolutely certain that my good intentions, my common sense and my understanding of justice have placed me on God's side.

Sometimes it takes godly ears to hear the whole story.

Especially when we're still on Friday.