Embracing the suffering...

Text:  Mark 8.27-33

Friends, we gather at a pivotal moment in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus, having journeyed with his disciples, sharing meals, teaching, healing, now asks a question that echoes through the ages: “Who do you say that I am?”

Think of the weight of this question. These men, Jesus’ companions, had witnessed his extraordinary acts, heard his radical pronouncements about the kingdom, seen the hope he ignited. They had left everything to follow him.  And now, their leader asks them, point-blank, to define him.

Peter, ever bold, declares, “You are the Christ.” The Messiah. The long-awaited king.  A powerful declaration. But Jesus immediately pivots. He doesn’t bask in the glory. He doesn’t confirm their expectations of an earthly ruler. Instead, he speaks of the Son of Man, and of the suffering that awaits him.

This title, “Son of Man,” is fascinating.  It appears throughout Hebrew scripture, particularly Daniel.  Sometimes it refers simply to a human being, emphasizing mortality.  Other times, it takes on a more exalted meaning, referring to a figure who will come in power to establish God’s kingdom. In Jesus’ time, the meaning was fluid, open to interpretation, carrying both human solidarity and a hint of divine destiny.

When Jesus calls himself the Son of Man, he's not necessarily claiming divine status as we understand it today. He’s not using later theological formulations like “Son of God.”  He’s drawing on scripture to describe his unique role, one that defies easy categorization. He’s saying, “I am one of you, human, yet also something more, something transcendent.”

And what is that “something more”? Not worldly power, not political dominance, not military might. It’s suffering. Jesus predicts his own suffering, rejection, and death. Not as a distant possibility, but as inevitable.  Remarkably, he assigns no theological meaning to this suffering. No explanation of sacrifice for sins, no atonement theory. He simply says it must happen.

Peter recoils. He can’t comprehend a Messiah who suffers. He rebukes Jesus.  But Jesus turns on Peter with startling severity: “Get behind me, Satan! You are not setting your mind on God's things but on human things.”

Harsh words. Why such a strong reaction?  Perhaps because Peter’s objection reveals a fundamental misunderstanding. Peter, like many, wanted a Messiah who conformed to expectations, a Messiah of immediate triumph, avoiding hardship.  But Jesus’ path is different. It leads through suffering, through vulnerability, through the depths of human experience.

What does this mean for us? What does it mean for our understanding of suffering? We live in a world that tries to shield us from pain, that promises ease and convenience. But Jesus reminds us that suffering is inescapable. It’s not to be avoided at all costs, but faced, integrated into our lives.

I’m not suggesting we seek suffering. I’m not saying we glorify pain. But when suffering comes, as it will, we shouldn’t deny it or run from it.  We should look to Jesus’ example. Embrace vulnerability, acknowledge pain, and trust that even in darkness, God is with us.

As many of you know, this week marks ten years since my installation as Rector. It’s been an exciting, transformative decade, for me and for this parish. But also, a decade of suffering.  Together, we navigated the Covid pandemic, many losing loved ones.  Personally, I faced health challenges, including heart problems and surgery, and periods of stress.  Our staff have also experienced stress, meeting the demands of modern society.  We’ve all suffered in different ways, through health, loss, and daily struggles. Yet, looking back through these years, through the suffering, I see the moments that brought us together – in mourning, compassion, service. I see the growth in our community, the building improvements, the generosity of so many. I see the hope of resurrection binding us. The suffering has not defined us, but in many ways, strengthened us.

The remedy for suffering is not avoidance, but finding meaning. Connecting with others, sharing burdens, offering and receiving compassion. Discovering resilience, the strength from brokenness. Recognizing that even in suffering, we are not alone. We are part of a larger story, of pain and joy, loss and redemption, death and resurrection.

Just as Jesus’ suffering wasn’t the end, neither will ours define us. It won't have the final word. It can be a catalyst for growth, a source of wisdom, a pathway to deeper understanding.  It can connect us profoundly to our own humanity, and to others.

So, let us go forth from this service, not fearing suffering, but embracing it. Let us follow Jesus, not on a path of worldly triumph, but on one of compassion, humility, love.  His question rings in our ears: “Who do you say that I am?”.  Let us answer not with empty titles, or theological dogmas, but with lives of service, hearts of compassion, and a willingness to embrace the fullness of human experience, its pain, its mystery, and its boundless hope. Amen.