General, later President Eisenhower and, a few years after, General Douglas MacArthur were both honored by ticker-tape parades.  And no wonder—both had been at the strategic epicenter of bringing terrible, costly war to an end.  Jesus also would have his own parade, as we know.  He, too, was welcomed by crowds into Jerusalem as the conquering hero, or the hero who would conquer, very soon.  He wasn’t a general, wasn’t even a soldier.  He wasn’t a priest or an elder.  He wasn’t a Pharisee . . . he was some guy from up north.

He didn’t look like much.  Don’t let all the pretty paintings fool you.  King Saul was notable for his height and for being good looking.  David had been particularly handsome and a skilled musician.  Solomon was renowned for his knowledge, wisdom, and wealth.  Nowhere is Jesus’ height recorded.  Nowhere does Scripture tell us that Jesus was regarded as handsome.  The gospel writers do have something to say about the wisdom of Jesus: what a pity it isn’t a taller, more attractive man speaking it.

People can have definite ideas about what a hero should look like.  We don’t often say what a hero should be like—good, obviously, or at least brave.  People who live in the public eye are bound to have very real concern for their appearance: research strongly indicates that the attractiveness of a candidate is a real influence in how people vote.  Richard Nixon wasn’t exactly a homely man, but how could he hope to compete with the likes of a Jack Kennedy?  George H. W. Bush was no John Wayne, but at least he didn’t have those Dukakis eyebrows—wow!  And he was a lot taller.

We know what a hero looks like.  People in the ancient world did, too.  The Jews were looking for a certain kind of savior, after the model of David.  Prophets were okay, of course, and priests, too, but a king—that’s what they wanted.  A king—a kingly king, a warrior king: fierce, wily, strong, brilliant, blessed.  We say a person is blessed with good looks; we might say a person is blessed with luck, a knack for success.

Where we take up in Mark’s telling today, Jesus had just asked his closest followers what people were saying about him: in what way did people think Jesus was blessed?  Most of the answers he hears might have led him to conclude that people thought he was blessed with the presence of God, like the prophets.  Jesus was some sort of prophet.  All remembered that there had been powerful prophets: Isaiah, Elisha, Elijah.  They might also have recalled that most prophets caused serious division, discord—loved by some, loathed by many, especially those in power and those who wanted to curry favor with those in power.

The question is always the same question: what do you want?

Peter wanted the Messiah.  All the apostles did, to a greater or lesser degree; so, too, nearly all the Jews.  The Messiah—he was going to be more David than Aaron or Ezekiel, more king than priest or prophet.  The king ruled a kingdom.  The king fought for his people, his nation, repelled invaders, retook by victorious, glorious conquest what had been lost through weakness, fear, and incompetence.  The king would execute epic, decisive defeats upon all the vile enemies of God’s people.  The king caused others to think twice about doing any hurt or harm to God’s people in God’s land.  The kingdom here, the kingdom now.  This was what they wanted, what they prayed about, the one whom they prayed God would send.

Peter, whether suddenly or after a long season of observation and deliberation, was convinced that God had sent that one in Jesus, the unremarkable man from Nazareth in Galilee who did remarkable things almost daily.  Well, there were those who said he was descended from David, as indeed he was.  Do you recall how many children—sons—David had, by the way?  Those family trees sure can branch out over a thousand years.

But Peter is on to something.  So, Jesus knows that now is the time to tell them, plainly, about what is happening.  People have been wondering; the apostles are wondering.  Jesus thinks they just might be ready, now, to hear.  “He then began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and that he must be killed and after three days rise again.  He spoke plainly about this” (8:31-32).  Good news.  Is this the Good News?  Can you take all that in?  If you’re looking for Superman and what you get is Beetle Bailey after a beating by Sgt. Snorkel, you’re going to feel a little let down.

The way of victory.  Peter and the others had seen Jesus work enough mind-blowing works of power to be convinced that he really could win the victory, just the way they had always hoped, always expected, envisioned.  They had faith that Jesus could bring the kingdom now.  That’s just what they wanted him to do.  They were ready.  They were willing.  They were eager.

The way of victory.  Jesus says victory comes through suffering, rejection, and death.  The apostles weren’t the only ones who outright rejected that.  Friedrich Nietzsche, son of a Lutheran country parson, let no opportunity slip to condemn the Jesus way of victory: suffering, rejection, and death.  We’re not exactly eager to pursue it, either, or be pursued by it!  Suffering?  Got enough as it is, thank you.  Rejection?  Anything but that!  I want to be liked . . . loved!  I daresay we’ve all experienced feelings of being rejected at one time or another.  How about a lifetime of that?  As if suffering and rejection weren’t enough, Jesus adds that he is a marked man.  He will be killed; indeed, as he puts it, he “must” be killed.  He knows the hearts of the religious authorities well.  But not just their hearts.

I mean, if the suffering and rejection were just the same as everyone else encounters in this life, because life in this world is just that way, because suffering happens even to the best of us and even rejection, every now and then—if that’s all Jesus meant, then we could probably live with that: our common lot!  But Jesus says something more, here; he says, “the Son of Man must suffer” and “must be killed.”  Must—not merely unavoidable but necessary, central to the mission, the main part of the plan.  Jesus is telling us he came to die, to suffer and die.  Remember that, every Christmas.  God lets us in on a few of the details: what do you think?

Well, I don’t like it.  What you’re saying . . . is that we’ve left everything for nothing.  What you’re saying is . . . we’ve been fools.  That’s how Peter quickly saw all this playing out among the Twelve.  Peter didn’t know just what Jesus was talking about, but Peter still believed, everything in him was shouting at him, that Jesus was the Messiah, he was the one, and here was Peter, with him.  And together—together!—they would achieve the dream.  So, it was clear what Peter had to do: he had to stop Jesus.  Ha, ha, Jesus . . . Oh, you!  Not now, Lord; later.  He gets like this when he’s tired—you know that!  Hey, can I have a word with you —over there?  Peter, you see, could already see the expressions of rejection forming on the faces around him.  He knew they didn’t understand, that Jesus would explain it all later, probably—Jesus was always saying shocking, strange things!  They were used to not understanding him, waiting for when he would speak more plainly.  Sometimes, he would.

I don’t have the sense from how Mark describes the scene—how Peter remembered and relived it for Mark—that Jesus actually went off to one side with Peter, or that Peter was able to pull Jesus away for a hurried powwow.  Jesus had another aim in view: it was time to help his closest followers, his friends, to begin to understand what was happening, what must happen—must not only because the authorities were already set against him and waiting their opportunity to get rid of him, but must happen also because a much larger, deeper, holier plan was at work through it all, and had been, all along.  It’s not as if the apostles didn’t know anything about it: Isaiah had sung about the suffering that the one, to save, would suffer grievously.

Those songs had been with Israel for some five hundred years.  But that wasn’t the sort of saving they wanted.  They wanted salvation that looked like something: battle lines of bright swords and blazing banners, the deafening percussion of marching troops and the panic of fleeing, despicable enemies, squashed like bugs.  The cathartic thrill of slaughter.  Victory!  That’s how God did it!  Armies of Egyptians and Assyrians, annihilated in a single blow.  The wicked burned away while the choirs of the righteous sang.  That’s how God worked, thank God.  So, Jesus, let’s get to Jerusalem and get this done.  Oh, the waiting is the hardest part.

“Jesus turned and looked at his disciples” (8:33).  I guess when he told them how it would be, must be, they all sort of stopped dead in their tracks, except Peter, who was trying to keep up with Jesus, who wanted urgently to pull Jesus aside just for a moment, to have a word with him.  Peter told Mark that he began to rebuke Jesus (8:32).  That’s a strong term, but we don’t need to imagine it as if Peter is blowing his top at Jesus.  He’s giving Jesus a . . . you know, . . . a Come to Jesus talk.  Matters had gotten a little out of hand, so Peter had to try and get the situation under control, get things back on track.  Peter knew Jesus just needed a moment to get his mind right.  Peter could be impulsive, sure, but seasoned lakeman that he was, he also knew how to get a wobbly situation back under control, heading in the right direction once more.

And Jesus, looking around at the rejection he already sees in the eyes of his friends, his followers, the disbelief, the disappointment, the confusion, the . . . offense, Jesus gives Peter a Come to Jesus talk right there in front of them all: “‘Get behind me, Satan!’ he said, ‘for you are not setting your mind on God’s purposes, but on man’s.’” (8:33, NASB).  Why not say something like, “Peter, just stop right there”?  Not enough of a rebuke, a rebuke with no bite?  Or was it actually the case that Satan was speaking through Peter, and Peter not even realizing it?  There’s a scary thought!  Shouldn’t we at least be aware when our motives, actions, and words aren’t coming from God, aren’t honoring God’s purposes or in line with those purposes?  If we aren’t redeemed, we won’t: that’s the terror of sin—so many people sin in ignorance, not even knowing it’s sin or caring that somebody thinks so, until something changes, until someone begins happening in us, for us, even before we meet or know him.

Peter thought he was helping—sin can work with that; Satan can work with that.  Peter thought he was doing a good thing, the right thing.  Sin, Satan, was okay with that.  Peter wanted to get the attention of Jesus, help Jesus to see things correctly, get out of such a negative mindset: where’s the uplift, Lord?  Be uplifting!  Beloved, the one who was lifted up for our sake is always uplifting, in everything he does, in everything he says, even when he sharply rebukes Peter there in front of everyone.  Jesus is mean!  No, Jesus is holy, and he wants us to be holy, too.  There’s only one way to do that: the Jesus way.  If he has to have a Come to Jesus talk with us, right there in front of everybody, to get us on that way, securely, solidly, safely, he’ll do it, of course he will!  He has to because he loves us.

That testimony is also here before us this morning, upon this table.  This bread, this juice, this body and blood, is testimony of Christ’s suffering, rejection, and death: not accidental or incidental but central, necessary, the plan all along.  By grace, we do not reject but receive.  As we receive his suffering, his death, so we receive his resurrection life and his eternal glory.  O, the reach of God’s cosmic thoughts; O, the depths of His holy heart.  Taste and see.