Proper 16

A deacon and a pastor from the local church were standing by the side of the road, pounding a sign into the ground that read: “The End Is Near! Turn Yourself Around Now — Before It’s Too Late!” As a car sped past them, the driver yelled, “Leave us alone, you religious nuts!”

From the curve they heard screeching tires and a big splash. The pastor turned to the deacon and asked, “Do you think the sign should just say, ‘Bridge Out’?”

Sometimes it’s hard to find the right words. Or even good words.

That’s the problem that Sonja Lang faced when she was working as a translator in Toronto. She was feeling depressed and overwhelmed, and none of the words she knew in French, English, or German were giving her any relief.

So she created her own language, something simple to ease her mind and clarify her thoughts. She called it Toki Pona — “good language” — and gave it just 120 words.

“Ale li pona,” she said to herself. Words meaning “Everything will be okay.”

This new language helped to ease her mind, and then, much to Sonja’s surprise, the language took off. There are now thousands of Toki Pona speakers — people who sing Toki Pona songs, write Toki Pona poems, and chat with a Toki Pona vocabulary.

This is all part of a strange and surprising surge in new languages. Back in the day, only Star-Trek-loving Klingon imitators got excited about invented vocabularies, but now constructed languages are flourishing on the Internet and creeping into the real world.

Not surprisingly, the inventors of these languages have created a word for what they do: ConLang. It’s short for “constructed languages.”

Today’s Gospel from Matthew is full of invented vocabulary. From start to finish, this passage presents a fresh language for faithfulness, one that can continue to give us the new words we need.

Oddly enough, this verbal creativity begins with a location. The story starts with Jesus entering the district of Caesarea Philippi, about 20 miles north of the Sea of Galilee. This spot had gone through some name changes of its own, morphing from a Canaanite site for the worship of Baal into a place called Paneas, where the Greek god Pan was revered. Then Herod the Great came on the scene and built a temple to Caesar Augustus, and later Herod’s son Philip enlarged the town and renamed it after Tiberius Caesar and himself.

That’s how the name of the district became Caesarea Philippi. It marked a partnership between Caesar and Philip, in true ConLang fashion.

But does this really matter? Matthew thinks so, since he takes the time to mention the name of the place, unlike his fellow gospel-writer Luke. Matthew probably wished to emphasize that Peter’s confession took place in a spot with Jewish and pagan associations. It matters to Matthew that Simon calls Jesus “the Messiah” in the shadow of a Roman temple, in a place where pagans and Jews had worshiped their gods for centuries. Labeling Jesus as the Messiah is a real slap in the face to all of the false Messiahs who were revered on that spot: Herod the Great, Caesar Augustus, Philip, Tiberius Caesar.

Caesarea Philippi — that’s a spot with ConLang significance. It’s a risky place for Simon to call Jesus “Messiah,” maybe even a dangerous place. The name Caesarea doesn’t reduce anxiety, like the invented language Toki Pona — it increases it. A few years later, Roman troops returned to Caesarea after destroying the city of Jerusalem, and they threw some of their Jewish captives to wild animals.

Not a kind and gentle community.

We have our own Caesarea Philippis today, and we are challenged to take a Christian stand in the middle of them. They include:

The Caesarea of high school, where cliques are way more hurtful than those in High School Musical.

The Caesarea of college, where hook-ups and hard partying can do lifelong damage.

The Caesarea of the workplace, where cutthroat competition leaves people out in the cold.

The Caesarea of politics, where winning elections has become more important than public service.

The Caesarea of retirement, where people feel powerless, forgotten and ignored.

Caesarea Philippi is still a place with ConLang significance. It is in this anxious, risky and dangerous location that we are challenged to respond to the call of Christ.

Jesus says to his followers, in the shadow of the Roman temple, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (v. 13). The disciples look around nervously, not wanting to attract the attention of any well-armed legionaries, and answer, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets” (v. 14). The disciples figure they cannot get arrested for simply pointing out what other people are saying.

“But who do you say that I am?” presses Jesus (v. 15). Jesus is addressing not just one disciple with the word “you,” but is speaking to all of the disciples in the second person plural. Below the Mason-Dixon line, this would be translated, “But who do y’all say that I am?” Only one of them, Simon, answers, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” (v. 16).

Simon calls Jesus “Messiah,” and this is a bold, ConLang confession. The Messiah is the “anointed one,” the long-awaited king who is expected to save his people from oppression. Jesus is the Son of the “living God,” not the son of a dead god like Baal or Pan or Caesar Augustus. The confession of Simon is not polite church talk — it’s a courageous political statement.

Talk like this can get you killed.

Now we can be thankful that we don’t live in a country where it is dangerous to confess that Jesus is the Messiah. But there is still plenty of Christian ConLang that remains radically countercultural:

• The language of generosity, in a world of self-interest.

• The language of forgiveness, in a world of retaliation.

• The language of compassion, in a world of harsh judgment.

• The language of encouragement, in a world of malicious gossip.

• The language of worship and praise, in a world of relentless criticism and complaint.

This is the language we are challenged to speak today, the ConLang of faithful discipleship. It is as bold and surprising as the words of Simon in the district of Caesarea Philippi.

Jesus is excited by what he is hearing, and says to Simon, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it” (v. 18). Jesus responds to the language of Simon with some new words of his own — You are Petros, he says, and on this petra I will build my church. Jesus says that Peter is the foundation stone on which he will build the new Christian community.

Notice that it is Jesus who builds the church — Peter is simply the foundation. Jesus continues to have an active role in constructing the Christian community as a spiritual house, and there will be many “living stones” added to this building over the years. Like “living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house,” Peter goes on to write in his first letter, “to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (2:5).

So Peter is the rock, the foundation — and each of us is a living stone. The house that Jesus began to build with Peter continues to be constructed, and the gates of death have not prevailed against it. The word for church that is used in this passage is ekklesia, a term used only twice in the Gospels. It is another example of ConLang, a piece of vocabulary coined to describe the new Christian community. Ekklesia, translated “church,” literally means those who are “called out.”

Together, these words provide us with a rich new language for discipleship.

This ConLang is going to be surprising to some, and it will fill others with anxiety. There is nothing comfortable or calming about walking into a risky location, taking a countercultural position and joining with others in the work of the Christian community. But for those who dare to speak this language, Jesus promises that the power of death will not be victorious. “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven,” says Jesus to Peter the foundation rock (v. 19) — I will give you access to my life-giving and death-destroying teachings.

We have a powerful Messiah, a rock-solid Christian community and the keys to the kingdom of heaven. With such amazing gifts from God, the words of Sonja Lang are bound to be true: Ale li pona. Everything will be okay.