Have you
ever wondered what Jesus was praying about when he was praying alone? It’s an important truth of our faith that
Jesus truly was praying, not just play-acting or talking to himself. The Son can truly pray to the Father, because
while both are fully God, our God is one God in three persons. The “spirit of petition” that the prophet
Zechariah promised would be poured out on all people truly dwelled with Jesus,
and flowed from him to us, enlivening us to pray just as he prayed. But what
was he praying? I’d always written off
my curiosity about these moments as something to get past, maybe as a prompt
for me to pray for greater humility (not everything is mine to know), but
praying with and studying this passage from Luke’s gospel over the past week it
occurred to me that while the text doesn’t quite come out and tell us, it lets
us make more than a guess as to at least part of what Jesus might have been
praying about: Jesus prayed that Peter might know who he is.
Let me
back up. Firstly, Peter, like the other
disciples, has given absolutely no indication up to this point in the gospel
that he understands who Jesus is. All that
we’ve heard from the disciples, and from Peter their spokesmen, over the last
two chapters of Luke’s gospel is them not getting it: they are brave enough to
at least admit their perplexity after Jesus stilled the storm, not knowing who
this is who can do such a thing; Peter has no idea that Jesus is someone whose
body can heal when it is touched in a crowd, when the woman with the flow of
blood reaches out and is healed; and together with the other disciples, Peter was
sure that there was no way Jesus could feed a multitude. But now, Jesus asks who they think he is and
Peter suddenly gets it: this is the Messiah, the long awaited Christ! What’s changed? Peter’s confession flows from Jesus’
prayer. Jesus prays that Peter might
know him, might know who he is, and Jesus’ prayer is effective. Peter knows.
Now,
when I teach, I always pray for my students, and while I try and make my prayers
for them more holistic than just this, I’ll admit that before a test, I do pray
that they’d remember at least some of what I taught them. But, Jesus is doing far more than that. Jesus is not praying that Peter would
remember some fascinating intellectual tidbit.
He’s praying that Peter would not just know something about him, but
know him, and know him so well he can name that knowing, put into words the
insight that this is the Messiah, the one on whom God’s anointing rests, the
one from whom that precious oil flows out to us, this is the one who will lead
us to true freedom, freedom from sin and death, from all that keeps us from
living as lovingly, as holily, with each other, with creation, and with God as
he does. He prays that Peter will know
that because knowing Jesus that well, that intimately, is to love him, and to
be emboldened by that love. Knowing him
that well, that intimately is to be excited to holiness by him, to get a sense
of the grandeur of God’s dream for all humanity can be, and to be so ardently
enamored by the dream and the one in whom it takes flesh that we follow
him. That we follow in his love, that we
let ourselves be made able to live in holy integrity with love for each other,
for creation and for God, forever, for that’s what heaven is.
Jesus
prayed that for Peter, and Jesus prays that for us. Jesus sits at the right hand of his Father,
and prays, prays that we might know him.
Not so that we might gain points on some accuracy test, but that we
might know him well enough, intimately enough, that we might be able to name
that knowing, and love and follow.
For that’s
what comes next for Jesus, what has to.
Peter has given the right answer, an amazing right answer, but an answer
that’s insufficient in itself and so can’t be shared on its own. Jesus’ radical commitment to love us will
lead him into collision with Roman Imperial Power; he knows that. The kind of topsy-turvy messy salvific grace
that Mary sang of in the Magnificat
turns the world upside down, and worlds don’t like being turned upside down, or
at least the powerful that think they rule them don’t like it; so Jesus knows
he’ll come face to face, hand to nail, with all the force they can wield to
stop him. But love is more powerful than
death and so not even death, death at our hands, can keep Jesus from being with
us. He must rise on the third day.
And he
bids us follow him, because that’s the way to be with him, that’s the way to
come to know him (we learn by doing!), that’s the way to love like him, which in
the end is all there is. And if we
follow him, if we love like him, there is no way to avoid that cross, not in
this world. Whoever loves consents to
know grief even if we manage to avoid every other cross. But those who weep are blessed, Jesus assures
us, are happy, because those tears can only have come from love at least in
nascent form.
You will
see hung around the necks of Holy Cross religious the cross and anchors. It is etched in the floor of this basilica,
in front of the altar. An anchor gives
stability to a boat not by evading stormy waters, but by piercing through them
and finding the solid rock on the other side.
So, on his cross did Christ refuse to evade the suffering of humanity,
but pierce through it, leave it forever pierced, forever open to the glory that
lies beyond. And so we take up our
crosses, not because we delight in misery, but because we know they are anchors,
we know where they lead, we know they are our only hope.
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