Matthew 16: 21-27
From that time [of Peter's confession on] Jesus began to make it clear to his disciples that it was certain that he would go to Jerusalem, and there suffer much from the elders, high priests and pedants, and [also] be killed and on the third day be raised up. Peter, appalled, remonstrated with him, saying, "Heaven forefend that any of that should happen to you!" Jesus turned on him and said, "Go away, you devilish seducer, you are hindering me because you don't see the whole picture. You are thinking like a typical person." Then Jesus said to all gathered there, "Those of you would want to go with me must deny yourselves and follow my way. Keep in mind that those who try to spare themselves sacrifice will lose out in the end, but those who give themselves wholly for my sake will end up winners. For what would you exchange your life? Remember that The One Like Us will be coming in the splendor of his Father, along with his messengers, and then he will mete out rewards in accordance with what people have done. I'm telling you that some of those standing here right now will never so much as taste death before they see the domain of The One Like Us materialize."
(Translated and paraphrased by Harry T. Cook.)
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From Matthew's perspective, Jesus' destination is now obvious: Jerusalem. That is where he will meet those who would derail his mission. Matthew depicts him as saying he would suffer much (παθειν from πάθος (pathos), meaning that which befalls one or that which one suffers. Ernest Hemingway wrote somewhere that real manhood is "acting rather than being acted upon." The evangelists' Jesus turns that around to say that real personhood is attained through being willing to be acted upon -- a kind of passive resistance, like turning the other cheek. The agency of the suffering will be the Jewish authorities, so says the text. But the reality is that Rome will have plenty to do with it, as Rome could not abide another christos in competition with Caesar.
The prediction of suffering (or what has come to be known as the "passion prediction") includes the promise of resurrection. Together they form an early kerygma to which Paul, writing two decades before Mark and as many as four before Matthew, refers in 1st Corinthians 15:3 as "received." For the Pharisees (a sect that Matthew surely thought was part of the Jewish authority system), resurrection was nothing new. Their reading of Daniel 12:2 was that the righteous (in that case referring to the fallen heroes of the Maccabean revolt) would be raised on the last day. That is what Martha was referring to in John 11:24 when she said with some impatience to Jesus' traditional Pharisaic greeting of "your brother will rise again," "Yes, yes, I know that he will rise again on the last day."
It is the expression "on the third day" that makes it the more immediate, but the suggestion at this juncture is that the disciples heard not "on the third day" but "on the last day." This left Peter, the spokes-disciple, to express horror that such suffering could possibly befall the one he has just called "the Christ." Most texts say that Jesus "rebuked" Peter, but the Greek here suggests that it was more of a warning, as in: "Be careful, Peter, because you don't understand what you're saying." The reaction of Peter probably represents the denial in which late first century Jesus Jews abided, viz. not necessarily realizing the possible consequences of their choice to follow Jesus Judaism rather than continuing Judaism.
It is said in the usual translation of text that Jesus accused Peter of being on the wrong side - that of men rather than God. The latter side would understand that suffering had occurred, and because it had befallen one called "the Son of God," that it was the will of that God. How else could a credible proclamation have been made?
Finally at stake was the ψυχή (psyche or soul) or, as Aristotle used the word, one's "essence." So it is a quid pro quo deal. You take this; you don't get that. And it's not a matter of fate or destiny but of choice and consequence.
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At virtually every turn in a life one is presented with an array of choices, and must, perforce, decide on one. It is sometimes tempting to think that a particular choice will reclaim Eden for the chooser. Another, however, will be seen as an invitation to rigorous work and maybe even to sacrifice. In the pain-pleasure analysis, the former seems far more appealing choice. And it is often made.
It would have been far easier for some of us my age (75) to have been good little parish priests in our younger years, not so anxious to apply our vocations to the promotion of civil rights and women's liberation and the protest of the Vietnam war. We could have confined ourselves to "saving souls," whatever the hell that phrase ever meant. The collection plates might have been more generously filled, and we might not have had those nasty looks flashed in our direction at the church door. Some of us might not have been fired.
What it was that possessed us to take the hard way is a question probably left on analyst's couch. But I will say for myself that what I chose seemed to me the only choice I had. It wasn't a matter of seeking attention or martyrdom. It was the issue of how I could justify my existence and build a moral legacy that my children and grandchildren could claim. I did not want to pass my days in work that had nothing to do with justice flowing down like waters.
It is necessary to say that the mother of my two older children and the mother of my two younger children -- and the children themselves -- paid a price for my choice. I could have gone to law school, as my father had wished, and probably inherited his secure, if modest, practice. I could have curried favor with parishioners and other clergy and have been elected a bishop. I certainly could have moved up from smaller to larger parishes and earned more than the ratty salaries paid me over some 45 years.
I could have sucked up to my rock-no-boat bosses at the newspaper at which I strove for nearly nine years and ignored the internal urge to tell the raw truth about things, but I could not do it.
None of this makes me a hero. None of it makes me superior in any way to those who made other choices. But as I round the buoy to windward and look astern at the wake my little craft has made, I would have it no other way. I hope those I carried along with me do not believe they were deprived in any significant way because of my choice. I hope that, if they have not yet done so, they may come to affirm that choice despite the price they paid.
Not knowing for sure is the pathos of choice.
