Following Jesus means loving others in ways that reflect heavenly priorities, not just earthly ones. In Romans, Paul helps us imagine what this cross-shaped love looks like on earth.
Vicar Emily Hagen
The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 22 A
Texts: Jeremiah 15:15-21; Psalm 26; Romans 12:9-21; Matthew 16:21-28
Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
Most of us have found ourselves in Peter’s position at least once. We can imagine the rush of fear, sadness, and confusion that Peter felt when he learned that he was about to lose his leader, his dear friend—the one he had just acknowledged as the Son of God. Throw in the crushing news that his beloved teacher was walking knowingly and willingly toward a painful, shameful death, and we might have joined Peter in imploring Jesus to change the plan, driven to panic by the depth of our love and our dependence on his leadership. We too might have begged, as Peter did: “Stay with us, beloved teacher. We who love you cannot bear for this harm to befall you, and we cannot face a future without you. Stay with us.”
But it was not to be. Jesus rebuked Peter soundly, calling him the Opponent, the Adversary—the one who gets in the way. Jesus made it clear that his path served heavenly purposes, not earthly ones. He challenged us, his followers, to take up our crosses and follow Him, that we may lay down our lives… and yet find them.
His words sound rather bleak, even to twenty-first-century disciples who have already celebrated an empty tomb on Easter morning. But in these words, Jesus made a promise that can comfort his followers in every age. Jesus promised that the love and guidance that Peter so feared losing were not about to die on the cross. Until the end of time, Christ’s presence would abide within, among, and through his followers who have the courage to take up our own crosses and follow Him.
Of course, loving like Jesus is not as easy as it sounds. While we live in earthly bodies surrounded by earthly suffering, our call to love and serve as Christ requires us to bear a cross-shaped love… a love that practices humility, that forgives, speaks difficult but necessary truths, walks beside those on the margins, and returns good for evil.
In Romans, Paul describes one version of this cross-shaped love—a love that places heavenly things above earthly things, but also has the courage to stand up for what is right in this world. It calls us to love one another enough to tell the hard, deep truths—to do the difficult work that allows healing to begin and community to flourish.
Paul doesn’t shy away from naming the difficult ways we will be called to love one another. For example: “bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” This one is hard. But for some of us, myself included, an even harder version might read: “bless and do not curse those who persecute your loved ones.” When we see earthly injustice, bigotry, or cruelty prevailing and the vulnerable suffering, it becomes so hard to live out a cross-shaped love, even in small ways.
It is not easy to respond with humility when we are called out for an action that exposes our own bias. It is hard to take the deep breath before responding when a high school friend reposts some infuriating political talking point that cuts us to the heart every time because we know the relentless harm that those words cause our loved ones. It feels impossible to pray for blessings on powerful people who advance policies that deeply harm us or people we love. We see our dear ones’ faces in our minds, and it becomes so hard to respond to injustice with love—even though the emotion driving us is love. We get stuck between the desire to put our adversary in their place with a few well-researched facts and a smug parting comment for good measure… and social pressure to keep the peace, which lures us into silence under the guise of being the bigger person. After all… when online, it’s best not to feed the trolls.
Thankfully, Paul’s words reassure us that living into cross-shaped love does not mean suffering injustice in silence. The act of taking up our cross does call us to respond to persecution, not with curses, but with the love that overcomes evil… love that refuses to ignore the humanity within the enemy, and the need or fear—or even love—that might be driving them, when all we can imagine in their hearts is hate. Even when our righteous anger is fully ignited, we can speak powerful truth in a spirit of love and healing—and leave vengeance for God, the One who knows all hearts and sees the painful emotions that lie behind our friends’ hurtful Facebook comments. Their painful guiding emotions will not be healed by earthly vengeance—and neither will ours. They will not even be healed by performative kindness, the sort we might offer to enemies out of spite just to enjoy, as Paul puts it, heaping burning coals on their heads. We can only be healed—and our communities restored—in one way: through the authentic, transformative, cross-shaped love of Jesus. This is the self-giving love that refuses to curse, to condemn, to push away and instead draws others in by listening first. It speaks powerful truth calmly, and it leans in.
Sometimes this kind of love fails. But Paul has a second piece of good news for the righteously indignant. His words help us to find the boundaries of our earthly responsibility. Paul writes: “If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” We can show love in all those things that depend on us, but when we do, we are not ultimately responsible for the actions of others. We can’t make other people accept the loving truth or kindness that we offer. We can’t force others to agree with us, even if we are speaking powerful words of Christ’s restoring justice.
When Peter begged Jesus to stay, he showed us why this sort of love does not always succeed on earth. A cross-shaped love often doesn’t make sense to the people around us—maybe even those closest to us, as in Peter’s case. Jesus’ love violates our social expectations by building real peace where there has been false peace—one that relies on someone being quietly exploited. And sometimes that work has consequences, big or small. Sometimes telling a loved one the truth really hurts and requires some healing time. Sometimes relationships do break because despite our authentic love, the other party is not willing to budge an inch, let alone meet us halfway. We might even risk arrest, injury, or worse when we choose to peacefully advocate for the human rights of others.
Fixing our minds on heavenly things places love of God above personal comfort and public status in ways that can test us fiercely. And yet, in Jesus’ closing words to Peter, which at first seemed so stark and so laden with risk, there is also such deep reassurance. While we carry a cross, we do not travel alone. We will lack neither guidance nor love, because Jesus goes before us and is present among us and within us. In our cross-shaped love for one another, we recognize the love of Christ, which Peter so feared losing. And when we commit to setting our minds on heavenly things… when we make Jesus’ priorities our own priorities… we find the guidance that we need to join Peter and all the disciples in the continuing work of the church. In those challenging words Jesus spoke to His disciples, we can take comfort knowing that the beloved teacher abides with us. There could be no better authority to guide us and there can be no deeper love to receive us.
In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
